by Dahlia Adler
He’s only had one nightmare since he started going to therapy, and even that one was considerably calmer than the first, but this time, he sounds miserable. So miserable that I’m shocked to see he’s actually awake when I slip into his bedroom.
“I think he’s sick,” says Tyler from where he’s standing across the room, as if Max is shedding cooties. “His forehead is hot and stuff.”
Shit. It really is. “Do we have a thermometer?” I ask Ty.
“How should I know?”
Right. That’s my job. Which means we definitely don’t. “Crap,” I mutter. I’m about to ask Ty to fetch the Tylenol when I realize Max probably needs some sort of children’s kind. The kid’s seven; pretty sure swallowing pills is out of his domain.
Kind of like parenting is obviously out of mine.
How am I still so bad at this? Nothing calling Nancy can do for me now; I need to get to a drugstore, and I can’t exactly leave Max here. But do I send Ty and have him miss school? Do I leave Ty here to babysit while I go? I’m obviously missing class either way, a fact I need to communicate to Professor Ivanova as soon as possible.
I’m itching to call Connor; I know he could and would help in a heartbeat. But I also know if I get within ten feet of him, I won’t be able to be held responsible for my actions, and I—we—promised a month.
Besides, he’s not their guardian; I am. And I need to be able to do this stuff on my own.
Executive decision time. “Ty, you should go to school; I don’t want you to miss your first day back, and I don’t need Max getting you sick, either. Do you have any friends you can ask to pick you up? It’s too cold for you to bike.”
He looks a little uncomfortable at the question, and my heart aches at the realization the answer might be “no.” Is it possible Ty’s been at school here two months without making any real friends? Jesus; I thought having only two was bad.
“Okay, forget it. I’ll drive you, and we’ll just have to bundle Max up in the backseat.” I hate the idea of taking Max outside, but I honestly have no idea what else to do. By the time I drop Ty off, Max is burning up and whimpering, and I still don’t have medicine.
I do, however, have all the respect in the world for single parents.
I drive us to the health clinic and tell Max to put on his cutest, most pathetic face imaginable.
Thankfully, it only takes us twenty minutes to get inside, and once we’re there, Max gets in relatively quickly. He doesn’t want me in the room—apparently he’s a very tough, old seven now—so I give him a kiss on his burning forehead and leave him with the doctor while I go upstairs to the pharmacy to stock up on all the children’s medicine I should’ve already had on hand.
I’m waiting on line at the counter when I notice the rows of colorful condoms lining the walls. I have a few on hand between my purse and my night stand, and Connor took back all the extras from Thanksgiving—not that there were many left over—but I’m definitely low enough that the promise of regular fornication would be leading me to buy some right now.
I won’t need them for a month, but there’s no harm in being prepared, right? Or will I look like a total perv, buying condoms along with children’s Tylenol?
“Miss?”
I blink, and realize there’s no one standing in front of me, and I’m holding up the line. To buy or not to buy?
“Um, you’re next,” says the girl behind me.
Thank you, Captain fucking Obvious. “Sorry, you can go ahead,” I say, quickly stepping behind her. I don’t know why I’m so hung up on this. They’re just condoms. I’ve bought them a zillion times. Well, more like four or five—Trevor was actually really good about it, and before him, there were just random guys here and there, most of whom optimistically carried them in their wallets.
She gives me a weird look but moves forward, empty-handed. “I’m just here for a refill,” she says to the guy behind the counter. When she gives the name of the medication, it actually sounds familiar, and then I realize that’s because it’s Cait’s birth control pill.
I’ve never been on the Pill before; I’ve never really trusted myself to do the whole “take it at the same time every day” thing. But now I have an actual, daily routine…one that will hopefully involve copious amounts of sex starting a month from now. Really, really good sex. Sex involving a man who’s quite skilled with his tongue and—
“Next!”
I shuffle up to the counter and put down the bottles of chewable pills.
“Just these?”
I glance up at the condoms on the wall behind him one last time. “Just these.”
• • •
By Thursday morning, Max is back in school and I’m an anxious mess. I contacted Professor Ozgur rather than Connor to tell him I’d be missing class on Tuesday, and Connor had the assignment sent to me through someone else as well. After going on four days with no communication, not to mention the fact that I’ve barely left my apartment and Ty’s been super ornery since we got back, I’m going a little crazy and a lot paranoid that he’s changed his mind.
I hope not, both for obvious reasons and because I’ve got an appointment at the clinic later this afternoon to get tested and get a prescription for the Pill. Just thinking about seeing him in class this morning fills me with nervous butterflies, and I’m not sure I can wait. After all, I reason as I change from the outfit I wore to drop off the boys this morning, we should probably see each other in private first. Just to make sure we’re okay.
It’s a stupid idea, and I know it, but I need it for my own sanity. Connor’s office hours are officially on Tuesday and Friday mornings, but I know he’s always there for the hour or two before class on Thursday on as well. I take a little more time with hair and makeup than usual, add a little of the jasmine perfume I know he loves, and head over to the history department on what feel like strangely unsteady feet.
As I near his office, I start to get flashbacks to the day I let myself into his office to kiss him, and I’m tempted to turn and run. I’d been so confident that day, so sure of where things were gonna go, and I couldn’t have been more wrong. Well, I suppose I could’ve been a little more wrong…but if he pulled the same initial freakout now, after Thanksgiving….
No. I shake my head as I turn the corner to the hallway to his door. He wouldn’t. Not again.
And then I freeze in my tracks. Because there’s an actual line of students tracking from his office. A conspicuously all-female line. In all the times I’ve been here, I’ve never seen more than one student waiting for Connor, and that was usually when we had to run paper topics by him. What the hell is going on?
“Did I miss a paper assignment?” I ask the two girls chatting at the back, both of whom are wearing miniskirts with their Uggs despite the fact that it’s a billion fucking degrees below zero outside.
“Nope,” one of them—Cecily, I think—responds, flipping long cornrows over her shoulder. “Just hoping for a little extra help before the final.”
The other girl, a skinny redhead with a cute rash of freckles across her nose, just smiles cheekily, and the two exchange a glance and dissolve into giggles. There’s clearly a joke everyone else here is in on, and I don’t get it.
Then Connor’s door pops open, and a girl with flawless peaches-and-cream skin and a smirk I wish I could literally pull off her face with my stubby nails walks out. So fucking hot, she mouths at my new friends as she walks toward us down the hall, and Cecily laughs and gives her a behind-the-back high five as she passes.
What the hell?
“Is she talking about Connor?” I ask the redhead. “Am I in the right place?”
Both girls look at me like I’ve gone insane. “Uh, duh,” says Cecily. “Girl, where have you been?”
Underneath him! I want to scream, but I settle for clenching my fists at my sides as I watch the next girl prance inside and close the door behind her. “I just…never really thought of him that way,” I lie.
“I didn’t
at first either,” the redhead admits, “but he’s become a serious babe lately.” She nods down the line. “Pretty sure we’re not the only ones who’ve noticed.”
If my insecurities about our relationship were playing just below the surface before, now they’re pinging around everywhere like pinballs, threatening to burst out of my skin. Especially when I hear flirtatious laughter coming through the door, and it doesn’t all belong to the girl.
“I thought he was a total tightass,” Cecily adds, “but then he was really fun when he led class on Tuesday, and—”
“Wait. He led class on Tuesday? Not, like, discussion session, but actual class?”
Cecily and Redhead laugh. “Guess you skipped, huh?” says Cecily.
“Not on purpose,” I murmur, and then the door opens again, a shotgun blast stirring everyone into silence. The girl walks out slowly, wearing her two minutes alone with Connor like some weird badge of pride, and I grit my teeth so hard they might actually crack.
Then, suddenly, Connor himself steps out of his office, and I suck in a breath through my teeth. Holy shit. He does look different, I can see now that we’ve been a few days apart. He’s sticking with the flat-front pants and slim-fitting shirts, but they look more sexy-casual on him now, with his sleeves rolled up to reveal those solid forearms, and an extra button open up top. His hair looks different too, not like he’s cut it but like he’s actually spent three seconds with it. And he’s smiling, something that used to rival unicorn sighting in its rarity.
The overall effect is fucking gorgeous.
“Seems like she gets it now,” I hear either Redhead or Cecily murmur to the other, and a deep, visceral longing for the days when I was the only one who did—other than Frankie, admittedly—jars me.
“I really appreciate how many of you are making an effort to come to office hours,” says Connor, “but I’m afraid most of you are gonna be late—” His eyes flicker on me then, standing on line like all the other horny losers in his class, and I can feel my face reddening. “I’m gonna have to close up shop now. But feel free to come back tomorrow morning at nine.”
There’s some grumbling and a little just-shy-of-pathetic begging, but eventually, the line dissipates and girls start to shuffle off. I genuinely don’t know if I’m supposed to shuffle off with them, but when I glance up at him, there’s a hard, hot look in his eyes that makes me think I need to find an excuse to stick around just a minute longer. I pull out my phone and pretend to text someone, as if I’m not quite ready to move back out into the cold without a new plan, and stay put while everyone else drifts out around me. Finally, when I can no longer hear the chattering of voices, Connor jerks his head toward his office and disappears inside.
I look around one last time, and, satisfied that we’re alone, I follow him in and close the door. “Hi,” I say as we take our usual seats on opposite sides of his desk.
“Hi.”
“You taught class on Tuesday.”
The corner of his mouth curves up. “I did.”
“Apparently, you were great.”
“I thought I was pretty good, yeah,” he says bashfully, but I can hear the pride coloring his voice.
“I’m sorry I missed it,” I say, and I mean it as much as I’ve ever meant anything.
He laughs sheepishly. “I was too, until I realized I probably would’ve been twelve times as nervous if you’d been there. Probably for the best.”
I just nod. Ordinarily I would’ve taken a lot of pleasure in the fact that I make him nervous, but right now, he’s making me nervous, and it’s more than a little unsettling. I don’t want competition when it comes to Connor. I just want him to be mine. The image of his body beneath me, biceps flexing as he held me firmly, flashes through my brain, and the need to claim him again is so strong I have to dig my heels into the carpet.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he says hoarsely.
“Like what?”
“Like you know what.” He swallows, hard, and it’s a relief to see I still have this effect on him.
“Like I want to fuck your brains out?” I ask innocently, feeling a little more in control again. “It’s okay to say the words, Connor.”
He groans but offers no other articulate response.
“You’re looking at me the same way, you know.”
“I know,” he says, voice low. “Trust me, I know.” He drops the pen he’d been unconsciously clicking and pushes back from his desk. “Did you have to wear…that?”
“What’s wrong with my outfit?” I’m being an asshole. I may not be wearing a miniskirt, but my boobs look insanely good in this shirt, and the neckline ensures you can see as much as you like. Especially when I lean over his desk. The red lace bra I’m wearing underneath probably isn’t helping.
“You want to ruin me, right? That’s your plan? Revenge for the first month of middling grades?”
He’s not angry. I know his face, his voice, when he’s angry. The fact that he can’t keep his eyes out of my shirt isn’t a bad sign either.
“Of course not, Connor,” I say honestly, getting up to check and see if there’s a lock on his door. There is, and I click it. “I definitely don’t want that.”
This time, I can hear his swallow from across the office. “Elizabeth—”
“You had it right the first time,” I say as I sashay over to him and drape myself in his lap, wrap my arms around his neck, smile. “I just want to fuck your brains out.”
His cock jumps up behind his fly—poor restrained thing—a split second before he thrusts a hand in my hair and pulls our mouths together. He tastes like his strong coffee, which explains the delicious buzz I feel as his tongue strokes mine. A little purr of contentment rises from my throat, and tapers off into a whimper as he nibbles my lower lip. Then he moves to the hollow below my jaw, and when I feel his gentle sucking at my skin, I can’t stop myself from moaning.
“You’re making me too loud,” I pant as he slides a hand up my shirt.
His lips curve into a smile against my neck. “I know.” He leaves a trail of hot, wet kisses on my throat and along my collarbone. “But you make the sexiest sounds.” Dipping his head, he kisses down the skin bared by my wide-open collar. Both his hands are massaging my breasts now, lazy thumbs caressing my nipples until they could cut glass.
“Jesus, Connor. You used to be such a good boy. What happened to you?”
“Extremely good sex,” he responds without missing a beat before mouthing a breast through my top. “It’s a terrible impediment to making good decisions.”
It feels so good I can’t even form a coherent response, but I know I should stop this, shouldn’t even have started it, not in here. But the warmth of his mouth and delicate grazing of his fingertips on my ribs feels so damn good, and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to remember why I want to stop this.
Because in all honesty, I don’t.
But I also know Connor. I know if he bends me over his desk like I want him to, he’ll feel nothing but self-loathing when he sits down at it in the morning. Some teachers get off on the idea of fucking students, but to him, the fact that I’m in his class is probably the biggest turn-off about me.
And I know that not so deep down, despite that he’s officially made his peace with it, the fact that he’s fucking a student is probably his least favorite thing about himself, too.
So even though I know I’ll be spending the entire night with my vibrator as a result, I cup Connor’s cheek in my hand and lift his head up until our foreheads are touching. “I’ll still love you in a month,” I say softly.
He collapses against me, his gentle laughter ghosting over my lips. “You sure know how to take the sting out of rejection.”
“I’m not—”
“I know, I know.” He brushes my forehead with his lips. “I’m sorry. And thank you.”
“I’m sorry I started it. I’ll try to be good.” I tip my head. “Well, at least for the next month. Then all bets are off.”
His lips curve up slyly as I extricate myself from his lap. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“I sincerely hope you plan to be good too,” I warn him, motioning toward his door. “If I’d known half the girls in the class wanted to fuck you, I might’ve been a lot less amenable to this whole ‘month’ thing.”
He laughs. “Your jealousy is cute, but those girls were just here because the final’s coming up.”
“Oh, Connor.” I roll my eyes. “My jealousy isn’t half as cute as your absurd naïveté, but okay. Every girl who was here wants to bone you.”
I can tell he thinks I’m kidding, but when I don’t crack a smile, his eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously?”
“Don’t get too excited about it.” I lean over and take his lower lip between my teeth, sucking it into my mouth for a couple of seconds before releasing it. “I can guarantee I’m a better lay than any of them, and I’m not doing the sharing thing anymore. Plus,” I add, thinking about the appointment I have scheduled later, “I have a surprise for you, once the semester’s over.”
“Is that so? Do I get a hint?”
“‘Once the semester’s over’ was your hint.” I smooth my top and roll my shoulders back. “I should go. I’ve got class in a few minutes, and I don’t think my TA would like it if I showed up late.”
“He sounds like a hard-ass.”
“Emphasis on ‘hard,’” I say lightly, glancing down at the glaring bulge behind his fly. “Sorry about that.”
“No you’re not.”
“No,” I say with a grin, “I’m not.” I give him one last peck on the lips, but he surprises me by burying his hand in my hair and pulling me close for a long, deep, hungry kiss.
When he pulls back, I swear my mind has gone completely blank, and I know my lips will be too puffy for anyone to miss. “Just wanted to clarify that I’m not, nor will I be, holding these kinds of office hours with anyone else. Ever.”
I can only nod in response.
I’ve never been so excited for a doctor’s appointment in my entire life.