by Autumn Grey
The name Rick ricochets inside my head over and over as fear spikes like a potent drug through my veins.
I need to breathe. I can’t let him win. Not again. I promised myself I would banish all memories of that jerk from my head.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
I do this repeatedly until the lightheadedness begins to fade.
“I’m okay,” I murmur, taking one big lungful of air, then sitting up straight. “I’m okay,” I repeat, more to convince myself than to reassure Amber.
Her hand stills on my back, and she squats in front of me. “I’m really sorry.”
I smile, trying to assure her that I’m okay, but my bottom lip quivers, destroying my attempt. I clear my throat to get rid of the tightness there and ask, “What did he want?”
She starts to chew her bottom lip again.
“I need to know, Amber. What did he want?”
“He tried to call you on your old phone number, but when he didn’t get through, he called me. He said to tell you he wants to see you. To apologize.”
God, no.
She must see the panicked look on my face because she continues, “But he can’t do that. You still have the restraining order in place. He can’t come within three hundred feet of you.”
I shake my head, shutting my eyes and taking a deep breath. “It ran out six months ago.”
This can’t be happening. Not when my life is back on track and I’m doing so well.
“Shit,” Amber mutters under her breath. “What do we do now?”
My eyes flutter open and I meet her worried gaze. “We wait.”
“I hate this so much. Will you be okay?” Amber asks, rising to her feet.
“Yes,” I say with false bravery.
She hugs me and turns to leave.
“Amber?” She stops and looks over her shoulder. “Add a bottle of wine for me, please.”
“Got it.”
Once I’m alone in my room, my shoulders fall, and I allow the fear I’ve been holding back to flood through my body.
There’s no way I’ll be able to work on the work I took home with me from the office after that news. I shoot up from my chair and head to the kitchen, my body buzzing with anxiety and nervous energy. My brain is on autopilot and my thoughts are a chaotic mess as I turn on the oven to preheat it, then pace around the kitchen, randomly collecting various ingredients and placing them on the L-shaped counter.
In most cases, baking helps me to de-stress, and right now, I need to get ahold of my emotions and not allow them to consume me.
I begin mixing the ingredients in a white plastic bowl, not sure what I’m working on. When the batter is ready, I pour it in a baking pan, slide it inside the oven and set the timer.
I don’t want Amber worrying about me when she comes back, so I grab my cello and return to my room to work on reining in my panic. Setting the instrument between my legs, I let myself go, playing random pieces I’ve long since memorized.
Nor was right. Fear cripples us, makes us weak. If you allow it to take over your life, it can easily incapacitate you. But if you stare it in the eye, chances are you’ve already defeated that feeling. It’s only through fear that we discover how strong we are.
THE NEXT FEW DAYS PASS in a blur, and by Thursday of the following week, I’m desperate for the week to come to an end.
In between school work, my job, Professor Rowe and rehearsing for the fundraising ball, the news about Rick being in town is pushed to the back of my head.
Well, not as far as I’d like it to stay. My mind subconsciously plays the conversation I had with Amber last week, and I’m wearing paranoia like a second skin. Like the other day right after my cello practice when I was walking to the spot I’d parked my car in, I had this feeling that someone was watching me. Upon scanning the area and failing to see anything suspicious, I chastised myself for letting that asshole reduce me to the kind of person I’d fought so hard to forget. Always afraid of my own shadow.
Right after our Music Theory lecture, Amber and I walk out of class. She slings one arm across my shoulder, gently bumps her hip against mine and asks, “Want to grab a super early lunch before our next class?”
I shake my head and pat my bag. “I packed my sandwich this morning. Plus, I want to finish some work before—” he gets there, I finish the sentence in my head. Speaking out those words feels absurd. I’ve tried hard to avoid crossing paths with my new professor. Other than looking his usual surly self, Professor Rowe keeps mostly to himself. We hardly ever see each other outside of Music Theory class, and most of our communication is done through email, which is fine with me.
“You still avoiding him?” Amber asks, squinting at me.
I stare straight ahead. “Avoiding him? Don’t be ridiculous.”
She raises an eyebrow at me. “Your nose wiggled.”
My hand flies to my face and duck my head. Stupid nose, giving me away.
She snickers and says, “Girl, I can’t remember the last time I saw you this ruffled by a guy.”
I roll my eyes to cover the fact that her words hit home hard. Honestly, I’m not sure if I’ve been avoiding him or opting to reduce the stress currently weighing down my life.
“Speak of the devil. . .” she murmurs, snapping me out of my thoughts. Then she drops her arm from my shoulder and steps back the way we came from and says in a loud voice, “Professor Rowe, I have a few questions about the assignment.”
I groan inwardly. I swear I’m going to punch her in the boob. Since when did she have any questions?
Professor Rowe lifts his head, pulling his focus from his masculine watch on his wrist, his eyebrows bunched up slightly. The little frown clears as he halts a few feet away from us. He gives me a cursory glance before shifting those flinty eyes to Amber. “Come and see me after your classes. I’ll be in the office until four o’clock.”
Amber grins wide and nods. “Thank you, Professor Rowe.” I send her a glare, trying to convey that she’d better watch out because I’m planning to throttle her.
Professor Rowe strides confidently down the hallway and disappears through the main door that leads to the quad, and I literally have to tear my gaze from the door.
“Drooling much?” She snickers. I pick up my jaw from the floor and clear my throat.
Her eyes grow big, literally bugging out of her heart-shaped face. “Oh my God, you’re blushing!” she whispers loudly, making me cringe.
“I am not!” I whisper heatedly, glancing around and noticing a few students have paused whatever they are doing and are gawking in our direction.
Amber doesn’t seem to realize she has unwittingly gained us an audience. She breaks away from me, shimmies her shoulders and starts singing the lyrics to “Crush” by Jennifer Paige, teasing me about my crush.
I swat her shoulder and laugh. “You’re crazy. I’ll see you at Sebastian Hall at two o’clock.”
“Gotta love that Jennifer Paige chick, though!” she yells as I practically run down the hallway, stumbling out the same door Professor Rowe went through.
The sunrays splash across the campus grounds as I traipse past the fountain, heading to the admin building. I stop at the door, change directions, and walk off the campus grounds. The weather is great today. Maybe a little walk to the second-hand bookstore across campus will kick my mood up a notch. Books tend to do that for me. Besides, I need to replenish my to-be-read paperbacks pile so I can have something to read over the weekend.
Fifty minutes later, I walk into the office and drop my purse and the bag with my books on the floor, then lower myself into the chair. I grab the documents I printed out yesterday and begin to proofread them.
My phone pings with an incoming text message. I lean down and dig it out of my bag, swiping the screen.
Are we still on for tonight? :)
My heart slams into my chest, my eyes glued to the strange number the text came from. In light of Rick contacting Amber, my brain is in hyperdriv
e and I want to puke.
Could this be Rick? But how did he get my number?
Before I completely drive myself crazy with speculation, I wipe my clammy hands on my shirt and type, Who is this?
A message immediately pops up on my screen. Sean.
Seconds later, my phone pings again.
Your sister hooked us up?
I groan under my breath. Shit. I had completely forgotten about the date Elise had set me up on a week ago. A while back, she encouraged me to start dating again. She had played a big part in integrating me back into the dating pool by setting me up with men, since she seems to horde them.
Sean: You’re killing me here ;)
Shit.
My fingers fly through the keyboard as I type, Of course. Sorry. What time? and then I press send.
It takes a while for Sean to reply, the message coming through after a few minutes.
Jet’s Place on Jet Boulevard and 7th Street. 7 p.m. good?
Me: Make it 7:30. I’ll meet you there.
Sean: Can I pick you up? Let me at least do that. ;)
Aw, gosh. He sounds so sweet.
Me: It’s fine, really. I have my tutoring class. It ends at 7.
Sean: Cool. See you later.
I smile, dropping my phone back inside my bag. Elise and I have always had an easy relationship, and I wish I had had that with Nor growing up.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and my skin tingles in awareness. My head jerks up toward the door, and I see the tall shadow gracing the threshold, stealing the smile from my lips.
Professor Rowe.
My fingers shake a little, and I curl them into a tight fist to hide the nerves. I thought I’d be used to him by now, given that a week has already passed since he started teaching my Music Theory class, not to mention him being my boss.
I was wrong.
He’s devastatingly hot and unforgettable, and the second he enters the room, his presence takes up the whole space. The air stills, tension in my body skyrockets and I find myself fighting to breathe.
Right now, he’s leaning one hip on the doorframe, his hands tucked in his pants pockets. The look on his face is indecipherable as always, those lips stern as if he’s ready to reprimand me.
Ah geez. Does he ever smile? Or maybe he has a hidden button that needs pushing before a smile appears on his face.
I clear my throat and say, “Professor Rowe.” Heat rises to my cheeks, responding to his open perusal.
“Miss Blake.” He curtly nods in greeting.
That voice startles the butterflies in my stomach, sending them flying all over the place, as if his mere presence isn’t enough to leave my toes curling. As if his intense eyes don’t make my heart skip a few beats.
Ack! I want to smack myself in the face for letting those lingering pieces from the crush I’ve had for this man since my teen years slip through my armor. The armor I built over the past few days.
I glance down at my laptop and let my fingers fly over the keyboard. From the corner of my eye, I watch him walk past me to his office. I exhale the air trapped in my lungs, and I bury my face in my hands.
Sheesh, control yourself, Elon.
My feelings are all over the place this week. First, the man I’ve looked up to—not to mention had a crush on—becomes my professor. Then Rick contacts Amber, asking about me. Yesterday, I spoke to Nor, who told me Josh’s health has been declining every day. The only thing keeping him alive is his last wish to see his estranged brother Cole, who he hasn’t seen for nine years. I’m worried about what will happen if he. . . oh God. If he dies.
I’m an emotional wreck, and those feelings are looking for something to latch on to. So when Professor Rowe looks at me the way he does, my already weakened walls begin to crumble.
Time to put them back up and focus on other things. Like the mountain of second-hand romance novels on the floor next to my feet waiting to be devoured.
Inhaling deeply, I lift my head from my hands just as my phone beeps. Before I can dig it out of my bag, I hear Professor Rowe’s terse, “Miss Blake”.
My tummy flutters in apprehension as I make my way to his office, ignoring the beeping phone.
His head is bowed, his entire focus is on whatever he’s working on on his laptop when I step inside his office. My fingers itch to sift through that chestnut-colored hair. I bet it’s as soft as silk. His strong fingers reach forward and slide the pile of papers on his desk toward me.
I clear my throat to get his attention. “Sir?”
“I need twenty copies of Evolution of Music printed out.” He looks up at me through his glasses. My knees quiver when his gaze meets mine, his eyes full of things I cannot fathom.
I nod and shift on my feet. “When do you need them by?”
“Tomorrow, three o’clock in the afternoon.”
I nod again. “I transferred most of the files to your drive. Could you please check the ones on the D-drive, as well? I can delete or save whatever you don’t need.”
At first, I think he probably didn’t hear me. He’s staring at the screen in front of him, his brows deeply furrowed. But then he lifts those intriguing flint-colored eyes, and the second they collide with mine, the urge to shrink into my chair overcomes me. But I don’t. He’s like every other man, so why should I let him bother me so much?
He nods once. “Thank you.” He’s quiet for the next several seconds, just watching me, searching for something. But what? Why the hell does he look at me the way he is right now?
Feeling slightly perturbed and mildly hot, I smile at him briefly, hoping that the warm gesture will thaw that look on his face that’s doing all kinds of things to me. The smile seems to work for like one point five seconds, and I see something else in those depths. Something that flashes across his face quickly, then vanishes before I can figure out what I just saw.
I clear my throat to get rid of the tightness that’s there. “I was about to head out. Do you need me to do anything else?”
He sits back in his seat with his elbows propped on the armchair in a relaxed pose, which does wonderful things to his forearms. He tents his index fingers in front of his mouth.
“Running away from me again, Miss Blake?”
“What? No!” I answer quickly, caught off-guard by his voice, then follow those hastily-spoken words with an awkward laugh. No, a snort-laugh. My cheeks burn with embarrassment, but I don’t look away from his gaze.
His eyebrows shoot up, amusement fleetingly washing across his face.
We hardly ever talk outside Music Theory class and usually communicate through emails in our small office. I didn’t think he’d notice I’ve been sort of making sure our paths don’t cross.
The curious, challenging look on his face sends a thrill through my veins, making me want to talk back.
And so I do.
“Why would you think that, Professor Rowe?” I ask softly, slanting my head to the side.
His eyes widen slightly, and I swear his lips twitch. But I might be seeing things. Dude never smiles.
“She talks back.”
“I only speak when I have something to say.”
He’s looking at me again, staring at me as if he can really see me, the girl who wants to be more than her past. The girl who wants to hold on to who she is, while at the same time wants to break away from the invisible rope that tethers her to the earth. It’s unnerving, and yet, having someone focus that kind of attention on me makes me feel visible.
He blinks and the look is gone. “Have you been avoiding me?” he asks, mirroring my pose.
Huh. Why would he care if I’ve been avoiding him? Maybe he senses I’m crushing on him and he’s just toying around with me. Or maybe. . . maybe he feels something.
I laugh at that silly notion, but the noise that shoots out of my mouth is the most unattractive sound ever made in the history of this world. Professor Rowe’s eyebrow arches up at the sound.
Oh my God. This is so embarrassing.
<
br /> “Something funny, Miss Blake?”
“No.” I spit out the lie swiftly. Way too quickly. “Why would you think that?”
“Think what?” he asks.
“That I’ve been avoiding you?”
“Because you won’t look me in the eye, even in class.”
BecauseyouhavethemostamazingeyesI’veeverseenandlookingintothem—
“Miss Blake?”
“. . . is like looking into a blazing fire.” I finish my thought out loud.
He looks at me in confusion. “What?”
Shit. Shit. I can’t believe I just spewed my thoughts out loud.
“Sorry.” I inhale through my nose and exhale the words, “You’re quite overwhelming.”
Damn it. Why can’t I just be normal around this man?
He blinks several times before he says, “Oh.” He looks so cute right now as he grapples around trying to find his footing in this conversation. A ghost of a smile flits across his face before he taps his bottom lip twice and asks, “Who is your instructor for your private cello lessons?”
The abrupt change of topic gives me whiplash. Geez. Give a girl a warning, boss. “Professor Masters.”
His lips slightly tighten as if mentioning that name irritates him. He nods and shifts his focus to the laptop. He starts typing and clicking his mouse, and if I could guess, I’d say he has completely forgotten I’m still in the room.
“May I ask you something?”
Leaning back in his chair, he props one elbow on the desk and waves his hand at me, so I assume this is a green light for me to go ahead and ask. The way he’s watching me, though. . . shit. How am I even standing right now? I should be mush at his feet, melted by that smoldering look in his eyes. This man is a walking contradiction; his moods interchange between surly to smoldering. There’s no middle ground, at least not what I’ve seen of him so far.
“You’re looking at me—” I clear my throat “—again.”
One dark eyebrow rises, amusement joining the wicked heat in his eyes. “Am I?”
Is he flirting with me? “Are you flirting with me?” I ask.
Those lips pull into a little half-smile smirk, like he knows something I don’t. Something naughty. My brain and body scramble to adjust to this man’s mood.