Yeah, she’d given up on the silly idea of romantic love. Life had made her very self-reliant emotionally, and that was probably for the best. Whatever doesn’t kill you, right? After she’d finally pulled herself together after the college boy fiasco, she’d learned to focus on herself, her career, and her friends. Screw the rest.
“I can’t believe this,” Marci said. “I don’t lose.”
Tyler snickered. “Well, you got something out of it.”
When she got home and Tyler asked who was buying whom drinks the next time they went out, Marci had asked what counted as sex. Tyler made it very clear that sex was actual, full on intercourse. She and Owen definitely hadn’t made it that far. Although, what they’d done had been a little bit heavenly. She’d had actual, full on intercourse that hadn’t been nearly as good as fooling around a little with Owen had been. That man knew what to do with those large, strong hands of his. She could only imagine how far his talents went. He hadn’t allowed her to go past imagining.
“Yeah, yeah. As you so nicely pointed out, it doesn’t count.”
Tyler flipped over onto his back and turned his head in her direction, his blond hair falling across his face. “You had a good time, didn’t you? Not everything is about winning, Marci.”
“I guess,” Marci grumbled. Clearly, he and Glenda King had different ideas about that. Glenda King, her mother, had never changed her name again after the first divorce. Glenda King, the neurosurgeon, had looked down on every choice Marci had made since dropping her pre-med major in undergrad.
Marci’s phone vibrated on her nightstand. She lifted the phone, held it in front of her face, and read the name displayed across the screen. Speak of the devil. Sliding her thumb across the bottom of the phone to answer the call, she put it to her ear.
“Mom,” she said, pulling herself from her bed and going out to the balcony. Because she paid the majority of the rent, she got the master bedroom with the attached balcony that ran from her bedroom to the living room.
“Marci. Guess what?” Her mom certainly seemed to be in a good mood. Probably she either just completed some complicated twenty-hour surgery that would involve an explanation full of multisyllabic words Marci would never be able to pronounce or else something had happened with that guy her mom was seeing. What was his name? Sean? Stan? She could never keep them all straight. Only two things lit up her mother’s world—surgery and men.
“I’ll never guess. No clue. What is it?”
“Come on, try.”
“You…I dunno. Performed some really complicated surgery on a car crash victim whose head was bashed in.”
“Not even close. I’m getting married.”
Marci took that back. Three things lit up her mother’s world. The third thing being getting married. This would be husband number eight. Ever since Glenda and Marci’s dad split, her mom seemed to be in a constant race to outdo herself when it came to the number and duration of her marriages. At this rate, one day, Glenda would be getting married and divorced weekly.
“What? You and Daryl just got divorced in March.” And it was only October. And Glenda hadn’t even met what’s-his-name until May. What was his name? Something with an “S.” Maybe Sam?
“I know that.” Glenda’s tone started to cool. “Who’s the mother here?” Glenda let it be known that she didn’t like being judged—especially by her daughter. And a “wayward, liberal artsy-fartsy daughter” at that. She never ceased to remind Marci of the paucity of black female neurosurgeons in the world and that she, Glenda King, was one of the best. She also wasn’t averse to dropping into a conversation that Marci had made a huge mistake by “wasting” her intelligence and talent by not pursuing a career in medicine.
Marci was not in the mood for a fight with G.K. “Have you guys set a date yet?”
“We’re actually in St. Martin right now.”
“For what?”
“We’re eloping.”
“What?” Marci couldn’t keep the startled half-scream out of her voice.
“Sherwin and I are both busy people, Marci. We had to squeeze it in when we had time. And really, after the first marriage, there’s no point in throwing a big party and inviting all your friends.”
Or your daughter apparently.
Ah. Sherwin, that was right. He was an E.R. doc. It was kind of coming back to her now. And as for the big party, G.K. had stretched it out to the first five before finally giving up. If people hadn’t started to talk after the second one, she might have left it alone at three. But G.K. didn’t like people thinking they had the right to judge her. Yet people’s opinions mattered to her so much in a way she’d never admit.
“Well, I guess all that’s left to say is…congratulations?”
Her mother laughed. “Don’t sound so unsure about it.”
“No, I’m—it’s great. So are you married yet?” Marci pulled at one of her corkscrew curls.
“This evening,” her mother said in a singsong voice.
“Congratulations,” Marci said again. She didn’t know what else to say. At least she wouldn’t have to dress up this time, find a date or make Tyler go with her—she loathed actual dating—and take time away from her busy schedule to fly home to California. Especially right now when she needed to focus on that American Progress class before Professor Ming ruined her life. She needed to be on Professor Ming’s good side. As much as it was possible for anyone to be on Ming’s good side. The woman was harsh but brilliant. And Marci planned on asking for her advice with how to approach the next steps in her doctoral program, which involved the dreaded comps. There was a lot Marci could learn from her—if given the chance.
“Well, I’ve got to go,” Glenda King said. “I’m on my way to pick up my dress. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll bring you something nice from St. Martin. We’re staying at this villa. You’d love it. The next time you and I come here, Marci, we have to stay at this place.”
“You don’t need to bring me anything.”
“I know. But I will. Talk to you soon. I love you, honey.”
“Love you, too, Mom,” Marci said. After ending the call, she stared down at her phone until she heard the balcony door slide open behind her. She looked up into Tyler’s concerned face.
“What’s going on?” He slid his hands into the pockets of his slim fit pants. Any normal person would wear sweatpants on a veg day, but Tyler abhorred and detested sweatpants. The white cotton pants he had on were probably called something like “leisure pants” or “Sunday brunch pants” and he’d probably ordered them from one of those catalogs where even the font on the cover looked expensive.
“That was Glenda King.”
“What’s she up to?”
“Oh, she happens to be getting married in a few hours.”
Tyler’s mouth dropped open.
“That was my reaction, too.”
“Oh, Marci.” Tyler reached for her.
“It’s fine.” Marci hugged him.
“No, it’s not.”
She laughed. That was why she loved Tyler. That amongst many other reasons. “No,” she admitted. “It’s not.”
They walked back inside with Marci ranting about her Mom’s latest marital escapade. As usual, Tyler made her feel justified in her tantrum. Friends like Tyler were invaluable. She would’ve probably offered to pay their tab even if she won the bet. But still. You couldn’t just buy friends. She didn’t want to end up like Glenda King who still thought after all these years that it was possible to buy off a daughter.
Chapter Six
Marci’s Monday afternoon shift at the writing center started off slow, but it didn’t stay that way. She was working on a paper of her own for a class because she’d finished up her appointments for the day, and there’d been no walk-ins so far. All of a sudden, Claudia, who was the only other volunteer on shift with her that afternoon, ran over to her cubicle in the back of the writing center. There was supposed to be
a third tutor on their shift, but the third one had either no-showed or was really late. They’d known not to expect the fourth tutor who had called out without getting anyone to replace him.
“Claudia, what’s going on? Calm down.” Marci capped her pen and sat back in her chair to look up at the frantic Claudia.
“Sonya called, and she has the flu. She’s feeling really awful. She can’t even get out of bed,” Claudia said. Sonya was scheduled to be the third tutor. “She wants me to go get her and take her to student health.”
“Okay,” Marci said.
“I don’t have any more appointments lined up, but Sonya has one that should be here in a few minutes. I was going to take it, but maybe you could. Would you be okay here by yourself?”
“I can handle one appointment.”
“And walk-ins?”
“Sure. Besides, I’m not alone. The receptionist and Professor Maren are here.”
“But you’d be the only writing tutor here.”
“I’ll be fine. Go. Take care of Sonya.”
Claudia smiled, but she still looked worried. “Thanks.”
“Of course. Poor Sonya. Now go before she passes out or something.”
“I’m gone,” Claudia said before jogging over to her own cubicle, grabbing her purse, and scooting out of the door.
And Marci might have actually been fine if Sonya’s four o’clock appointment had been anybody else.
The first thing Marci felt when she saw his face was embarrassment. The second was an irrational anger. What the hell was he doing here? Had he tracked her down or something?
When his eyes landed on her, he paled, and his lips tightened. No smile today. And his eyes didn’t have that welcoming, friendly shine to them they’d had on the other occasions she’d seen him.
“I didn’t know you volunteered here,” Owen said. The warm, cheery tone of voice was gone as well.
She cleared her throat, forced herself to remember that she was supposed to say something here. “Yeah. I do.” She twisted her Dad’s class ring around on its gold chain out of nervous habit.
“I had an appointment with…Sonya.” He pulled out a planner and began rifling through its tatted pages, looking down at it with a concerned frown. She couldn’t help but think that the frown was kind of sexy. What was this? She was going to be into him now that he wasn’t interested? She’d always liked a challenge, but damn. This was crazy.
“Sonya’s sick,” she said.
“I can wait for someone else if that’s…better.”
“I’m the only tutor left today,” Marci said.
“Damn,” he said softly. “And my paper’s due tomorrow.”
“Your paper’s due—” she started and then cut herself off. Of course it was. This was the oblivious boy who’d almost run her over with a bike. The happy-go-lucky air was gone, but that didn’t mean he’d changed into a different person. Owen didn’t strike her as a planner. The day planner he held in his hands had crumpled pages, and the cardboard cover was missing from the front, but that was likely due to being stuffed somewhere in the bottom of his backpack more than overuse. She bet that if she flipped through the pages, most of them would be blank.
He looked up at her, his gray eyes cold. She hadn’t thought about what a cold color gray could be when she’d looked into them the other times they’d met because he’d always been so warm and welcoming. “Don’t give me that look,” he said even though he was the one giving reproving looks at the moment—or at least formidable ones. “I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.” He scratched the back of his neck. He wore a long-sleeved white shirt under a Carolina blue T-shirt.
“So…you didn’t know I tutor here?”
His eyes narrowed. “Look. I didn’t plan this or anything if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not stalking you, and I’m not chasing you,” he snapped. “Can you help me or not?”
It took Marci a moment to pull together a response. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but she certainly hadn’t expected that. Not from Opie over there. Or at least he’d been Opie whenever she’d seen him up until today. Eventually she said, “I’ll get you checked in.” She stumbled over her feet on her way to the receptionist’s desk. Why was he even more attractive today? No, he was sexier. No. She had to stop.
“Who is that?” the receptionist murmured as she handed Marci the appointment book and stared over Marci’s shoulder at Owen.
“A guy I know,” she said. “Owen.” Why was she feeling so proprietary all of a sudden? Of course the receptionist was going to look. Owen was gorgeous. And it wasn’t like she cared. She was done with him. He’d had his chance. It was one night or nothing. He wasn’t some special exception to her rule. There were no exceptions. Past experience had taught her to guard against exceptions.
She’d help him get this paper into some sort of halfway decent shape—even with the extremely short turnaround time—and then she’d never see him again. Right? Except every time she said that, he popped up again. And every time he did, she wanted him to go away a little less than she had the time before.
They went into a nearby classroom that wasn’t being used so that they’d have room to spread out. When they sat down to work on the paper, Owen pulled a few library books out of his backpack and then pulled out a laptop with a scratched lid. His hair hid his expression from her as he leaned forward and pressed his forearms into the black plastic border that ran around the white table in front of them.
“What do you have so far?” Marci asked.
“A topic.” Owen opened the laptop, powered it up, and pulled up a blank Word document.
“Literally? That’s all.”
“I want to write something about carbon footprints.” Owen bit at the corner of his thumb and shrugged. “I’m not much of a writer. Which brings me here.”
She got lost in thoughts of where those hands had been Saturday night. When Owen looked up at her, focusing his gray eyes on her, she brought herself back to the classroom and Owen’s dilemma.
She cleared her throat. “So it’s a science class.”
He nodded. “Environmental science. Something about saving the Earth.” He shrugged again. “I don’t attend half the classes. It fulfills one of my gen ed requirements, and it works for my major, too.”
“Science major?”
He nodded. “Physics. Math, I get. Writing? Not really my favorite.”
He was way too young for her anyway. Could he even drink legally yet? Maybe he’d used a fake ID to get into The Hops. “What year are you?”
“Senior year, second time around. Five year plan,” he said. “I do work study at the library, and I work full-time at Java Time on top of that,” he added as if she might judge him. Well, she probably would have. “I’ve had to space my classes out a little bit.”
“Okay.”
“We’re probably about the same age, though.” He leaned back in his chair until only the two back legs of it remained on the ground and rested one of the library books on his thigh. Looking up, locking his eyes on hers, holding her gaze unfairly on his gorgeous face, he said, “I didn’t come straight to college from high school. Worked for a few years first. Had some…family things to take care of.”
“Okay.” They needed to get down to business because it was getting too personal in here. “Triage.”
“Huh?” Confusion rippled over his classically beautiful face. Angular jawline, ski slope nose, strong chin. Surprisingly soft lips, she knew from experience.
She had to draw herself out of thinking about those lips. Clearing her throat and scooting her chair away from his a little, she said, “Your paper. Um, you. We. Uh. Triage. We’ll start with the biggest issue and work our way down until we run out of time.” She’d like to work her way down Owen until she ran out of time.
“Oh. Okay.” He flipped through the book that rested in his lap.
“You have a thesis?”
He gave her a lopsided grin that reminded her of the Owen she’d firs
t met, and she was a little shocked and horrified to realize she felt relief. Even worse, she wanted to grin back. Had she missed Owen? She didn’t “miss” any guy. Except for maybe Tyler whenever he actually disappeared long enough to allow her to miss him, but that was different.
“Marci,” he said, and she braced against the feeling that rose up from the bottom of her belly when he said her name. She really liked the way it sounded in his mouth, on his lips. Damn. She hadn’t felt this since when? A middle school crush? Maybe. She had only a vague recollection of middle school and crushes. Anything that’d happened since middle school was too dangerous to think about—to even consider.
She squirmed in her seat a little and busied herself with arranging the two library books that remained on the table.
Leaning forward and pressing close so that his head was only inches from hers, he said, “I told you. All I have is a topic. And I already gave that to you.”
Among other things he’d given her. What was wrong with her? She jumped up from the table, and her thighs bumped against the edge of it she was in such a rush to get up. She played it off like she’d needed to stand and stretch. Stretching out her arms, she said, “Then we have a lot of work to do.” Good. Something to focus on other than the way that Carolina blue shirt hinted at Owen’s very nice chest. She’d seen and felt just how nice that chest was. Pushing those thoughts aside, she said, “First, we need to get you a thesis statement and an outline. If we have time after that, we can start working on the first draft.” She grabbed one of the books from the table. “You know what’s in these books?”
Owen squinted at the book in her hands and stroked his jaw in a mock serious gesture. “My best guess would be…words?”
Marci laughed in spite of herself. “Right. Well, like I said, we have a lot of work to do.”
Chapter Seven
Owen stumbled into his apartment around six Tuesday morning. After meeting with Marci at the writing center, he’d gone to the library and worked on his paper all night. Finally, less than an hour ago, he printed it out and carted it off to his professor’s office and slid it into the box the professor had left outside to collect the class’s papers. His old school professor didn’t believe in emailing papers by the deadline or any of “that electronic blackboard nonsense” as he put it. Nope, his prof wanted a printed copy. And now it was six in the A.M. Just two hours before the paper’s deadline.
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