“I’m not avoiding.” I shrug and reach for my cup, but she swats my hand away. “Ouch.”
“Did you bang?” She grins wickedly, almost looking like a lioness with the way her frazzled hair curls around the edges of her plump face. “Did you ride him or did he fuck you while you were on your back?”
“You’re jumping to conclusions.” I sigh, playing it a little coy before offering a knowing grin. “But neither. Mostly sort of doggie style?”
“You hussy!” She pushes herself backwards, causing the seat to scrape against the tiled floor, which draws enough attention to make me blush. That’s nothing compared to what transpires next as she jumps to her feet, throws her arms outwards and starts jiving while singing, “Grace got laid. Grace got laid. Grace got laid.”
“Sit your ass down,” I seethe through gritted teeth and reach upward to grab her by the wrist and force her back into her seat. “We’re not friends anymore.”
She knows it’s nothing more than an empty threat though. She drags her elbow onto the table and rests her head dreamingly on her palm. “You are living a real-life telenovela and I’m jealous as fuck.” She sighs, blushes a little. “But, I should warn you…”
I roll my eyes, not looking forward to having her drag me down from the high-heavens and back into the land of reality. “Can I just have my moment?”
“Enjoy yourself while you can, but you should know that while many telenovelas go on for generations, others are yanked off the air midseason. This could all come crashing down without a second’s notice.” She flips her hair and leans back in her chair. “My advice to you? Take as many trips on that Murder Express as you can because you never know when that train is going to derail faster than Keanu Reeves’ career.”
I shift my eyes to her and drop my gaze a little. “There’s more…”
“More?” she stammers before taking a sip of my coffee. “If you’re going to tell me he’s into bondage, then you’re going to have to wait until I’ve eaten my muffin.”
“Nothing like that,” I say lowly and lean towards her. “Well, sort of like that, I guess.”
Her mouth drops open. “When this is over, you should consider writing an anonymous tell-all. It would rocket to the top of the bestseller lists.”
“He took me to a sex club.”
Her eyes widen, matching the gaping hole in her mouth.
“We didn’t do anything there,” I continue with a shrug. “He took me into this room and we watched this man and woman play out a fantasy.”
“Student-teacher fantasy?” She cocks a knowing brow.
“Doctor and patient.”
She purses her lips and nods her head contemplatively. “Not my style.”
“That’s what I would’ve thought too but it was…hot,” I murmur, my cheeks flaming. “And then we went to a hotel and we did things.” I shake my head, rip my cup of coffee back into my possession and push myself back in my chair. “But I haven’t heard from him since, and I’m a little anxious because I’m getting ready to see him in class.”
“Play it cool.” She rises to her feet and swings her bag over one shoulder. “Real men like confident women, not needy hangers on.”
Play it cool? Ha!
“Right.” I nod and then, “Where are you going?”
“I’m already late for Biology.” She points a finger squarely at me. “But don’t think you’re getting out of spilling all the sordid details because you and I have a date tonight drinking wine and eating ice cream.”
I agree half-heartedly and rush out, heading for Jack’s classroom. I take a long deep breath before daring to step foot into the room. As soon as I do, I realize that he’s standing there at the front of the room. He glances at me and I gaze right back, almost like we’re communicating with nothing more than a quick, simple look.
I try to play it cool, but on the inside I’m melting as I remember what it was like between us. It was raw and passionate, filthy and way too quick. I check him out once more as I slide into my seat to find his gaze still affixed on mine. He clearly remembers it too. I can tell by the way his jaw flexes and his nostrils flare.
These next fifty minutes are a killer. My legs tremble when he speaks, my core aches when he moves, and my heart pounds when he glances my way.
Once the lecture is over, I drop my notebook into my bag and rise to my feet. For obvious reasons, I was mostly unable to focus on the lesson at hand, so I’m hoping my brain has a functional autopilot mode because I sure wrote a heck of a lot of notes for someone who didn’t seem to hear a word that was said.
I pass him a short smile before exiting the classroom and heading down the long corridor. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him follow behind so I straighten myself out and walk with my head held high.
His pace quickens until he’s tearing past me, pushing a notecard into my hand discreetly as he passes. He shoots a heated gaze over his shoulder as he rounds the corner at the end of the hall.
I glance down at the notecard: My office, now.
It almost feels like I’m in trouble, and maybe I am. But it doesn’t matter. He wants me in his office, I’m so there. I waste no time in racing down the hall, delivering a polite knock on the door before entering without permission.
I close the door behind me. “Well…I’m here,” I say, trying not to fidget as his gaze trails down my body.
“I have eyes.” He leans backwards against his desk, gripping his hands—the same hands that caressed every square inch of my naked body—on the edges of the wood. “Do you know why you’re here, Grace?”
I tilt my head and blush, my knees buckling but just slightly. Part of me wants to be bold. Say, “Because I’ve been a bad girl?” but I straighten myself out immediately. “No,” I say nervously, “but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”
“You ran out on me the other night.” He crosses his arms over each other and stares me down. “It always seems like you’re running away.”
“Like I said, I forgot I had homework to do.”
His lips move to speak, but he pauses. I’m not a complete fool so I know that he’s not buying my excuse. I can see the gears turning in his head though.
“I have a proposition for you.” He’s ice cold and dangerous as he takes a measured step towards me, shoving one hand into the pocket of his slacks.
“A proposition?”
“That’s what I said.” He draws one palm over his mouth and smirks wildly before backtracking and leaning back against his desk. “I know students are notoriously broke, and truth is that I’ve been on the hunt for a new sexual companion.”
“Oh,” I whisper, my throat suddenly as dry as the Sahara Desert. I scratch nervously at my forehead and push the hair out of my face.
“I want you to be mine…”
I want to be yours.
“If the price is right…”
You can’t put a price on love.
“The price being ten thousand dollars…”
That’s a lot of wine and ice cream.
“If you’ll be mine for a month.”
“Oh,” I stammer, even lower than before. I’m unsure how to process this newest development. I’m hurt and I’m furious, but the reason I don’t speak out about my dissatisfaction—other than being a chicken shit wallflower—is because deep down, I’m both compelled and intrigued.
For whatever reason, I’m drawn to him and I might even like him—Thanks, Freud—and he’s treating me like a hooker in return. At the same time, his proposition would allow us a whole month together.
I’m processing what my answer is going to be when I notice something peculiar sitting on the desk beside him. It’s today’s newspaper and the front news story has a picture of a familiar-looking man with the headline; Child Sex Ring Uncovered, Alleged Crime Kingpin, Donny Carmichael, Executed.
“You look pale, Grace.”
“Huh?” My eyes snap to his as my stomach begins to turn. “Yeah, I’m fine. But I have to go,” I sputter
and reach for the doorknob. “To the bathroom.” I pull open the door and duck out. “To poop.” I pop my head back into his office before pulling the door shut and fleeing down the hall.
I’d be embarrassed by my half-witted excuse if it weren’t for the very real possibility that all my darkest fears about Jack have turned out to be true. That man, the one in the newspaper, was the man Jack was spying on in the bar the other night.
And now he’s dead.
Will I end up dead too?
15
Jack
I don’t know what I was expecting.
I stare at the door blankly, wondering what the hell just happened. I should have seen this coming. After all, I can’t remember a single time she hasn’t fled the scene of the crime, usually with a truly fucking awkward quip.
My eyes trail down to the newspaper laying flat on my desk, and I can’t help but to wonder if she was perceptive enough to remember that Donny was in the bar that night I caught her spying on me. That could explain why she ran so abruptly, but maybe I’m giving her too much credit.
Or not enough this whole time, a little voice whispers.
I circle my desk to look out the window, but instead of seeing the college scenery all I can see in my head is her. More than see, I can feel her tight body beneath mine, feel her fingers digging into my back.
I think about how she keeps on surprising me, and not always for the worst. I think about how I need to keep her as close as possible, and quiet too. At least until I can get to the head of the snake; one Phillip Mazzo.
Phillip was Donny’s boss, before Donny was called home to the fiery pits of hell. Despite what the press thinks, Phil is the real kingpin. Who most certainly will finally poke his head out now that his business is being threatened. The heat in this city is about to turn up to blazing hot, and although I’m worried that Grace could potentially become a target simply for being close to me if that wasn’t her true mission after all, I’m determined to see this through to the end.
The work I do, not in the classroom, but when the sun goes down, is the one thing in this world that holds me down in this life.
The one thing I can be proud of. The only thing that keeps me sane after what happened to Scarlet. And until Mazzo has been brought down, I can’t stop.
I won’t stop.
But Grace is my responsibility and I need to protect her at all costs.
Grace
Grace Farrow, young and bright, has the world at her fingertips. She’s a straight A student who prides herself on going to bed early and being the first one to class every morning.
That girl? I hardly recognize her anymore.
It’s amazing how fast someone’s life can seem to change. One day I’m fantasizing about my Criminal Law professor, and the next I find myself tangled in a dangerous game, a game where the goals always seem to be shifting. Just when I think I’ve got it. That yeah, he wants me, and the only thing he’s hiding is some kink, something else rears its head and drags me back into this tornado of worry and curiosity and emotion.
I need to figure out what Jack’s hiding.
I twist a pencil between my fingers and tap it furiously against my open notebook. While my body is physically in a lecture hall, my mind is anywhere else.
I think about the Army Ranger tattoo etched on his perfect chest, and think about how, looking back with hindsight, I’m sure I felt a gun at his hip one of the times we were together. I think about how strong he is, but most worrisome, I can’t help but to think, what if he might be behind what happened with that man in the papers, as outlandish as that might seem.
I know I should be disgusted, or at the very least, afraid. But I’m not. I’m almost…proud of him?
When I was twelve, I had a soccer coach who once tried to touch me. He followed me into the bathroom after practice, his tall body lingering over mine like a nefarious shadow. I remember how terrified I was after that experience, and how it made me shy and withdrawn for years. That singular moment changed me forever. If it wouldn’t have happened, perhaps I’d be more like Willow, someone who’s always strong.
I thank God every day that someone walked in on the coach and I, effectively interrupting what was about to happen. I quit soccer the very next day, crying to my mother that I hated it through a flurry of tears. To this day, I don’t think she knows the truth about why I really quit. She’d often question why I had no interest in activities outside of academic pursuits but I could never bring myself to tell her.
And now, on some level, I can’t help but feel like Jack is some sort of hero. A man who preys on the people who prey on the innocent. A man who takes the law into his own hands.
A vigilante.
I shake my head, realizing that I don’t care either way. His proposal is haunting me. It’s not like I want his money, or need it, not right now, anyway. Just a few weeks ago, I received a small inheritance from my great aunt back in Schenectady that should pull me out of the student loan debts piling up.
But what I do want—hell, maybe even need at this point—is Jack.
I dig my phone from my pocket, clearly violating the rules found in the fourth section of Professor Keating’s syllabus. Then I tap out a text.
When do I start?
16
Jack
My place is in order, but then again, it always is. I’m an orderly man who can’t fucking stand clutter. This place—my loft apartment—is my sanctuary away from the world outside. It’s the one place in the world where I don’t ever have to perform or put on an act.
Tonight’s a little different.
Everything is different when it comes to Grace. If I expect her to do one thing, she’ll do the opposite. The only thing I can count on when it comes down to it is her fleeing just as things get too intense.
I’ve had an erection since approximately three in the afternoon when I glanced down at my phone to see a message from her, implying that she had agreed to the terms laid out to her in my office after class. An erection for six long fucking hours. The doctors on the TV would tell me to do something about that; go to the ER or something.
But nah, the fix I have in mind is something I could never find in a hospital.
As hot and bothered as I may be, I’m still battling a bout of confusion in my head. Hank—always reliable Hank—still hasn’t been able to dig up anything incriminating on Grace. On my own end, I seemed to come to the same dead-ends with one notable exception.
When it comes to sex, that girl is not pretending to be inexperienced. What could have possibly made her choose to go so far against her normal personality to be with me? There would have to be a compelling underlying reason.
I step to the bar that separates the kitchen from the living room in the otherwise open space, and pour myself a short glass of scotch. After the first taste, the liquor wetting my lips, I stand at the window and stare outside as college-aged students trickle down the street.
Then it’s back to Grace.
It always fucking goes there.
I had offered Grace this crazy proposition because I couldn’t stop myself. It’s not like me to put myself on the line for someone who may or may not be working against me, but when it comes to her, it’s almost as if I don’t even have a choice.
Perhaps if she is strapped for cash or desperate…if they’ve got her over a barrel somehow, this arrangement I’ve worked out for the two of us will be the perfect opportunity for her to open up to me and tell me the truth.
Maybe then, I could help her.
Fuck it.
I bring the scotch to my lips and down it in one go before dropping it back off onto the counter, and leaning against the marble surface for levity as I continue wracking my head for answers.
The more I think—the more the gears in my mind turn—the more pissed I get at myself for being such a damn sap. There’s no need to get attached to her, because attachment ends in disappointment, or even worse, detachment. I should be fully capable of watching her ba
ck without idealizing her.
“This isn’t love. It’s just sex and common human decency,” I say to myself out loud, hoping that by verbalizing those words, my inner-workings will take notice and shut the hell up. One thing is certain in the cluster-fuck of my mind, and that’s that I can’t get emotionally attached, but I do need to realize there’s a very good chance there are ulterior motives at play.
That’s just a part of the human condition. Good people. Bad people. Everybody’s working towards something.
I draw my finger to my lip, contemplating. Whatever the case, I’m more convinced than ever before that because of the look on her face when she saw that newspaper sitting on my desk, that she knows something. And I’m good with my decision to keep her close until I figure it out.
As I pace along the hardwood floors, the wood creaks beneath each step. I take a quick glance into the bedroom through the open door. There’s a pile of clothes—some of them naughty costumes—that I purchased for her after I left my office.
I wonder if she realizes just how close I plan on keeping her…
A knock on the door steals my attention, sending my heart into overdrive as it beats against my chest.
“Come in,” I yell as I lean back against the bar, pushing a hand into each pocket.
The door peels open, and at first, she’s just a shadow. Then she’s something more, dressed in nothing more than a tank top and tight jeans. It’s a new look for her, a look she doesn’t quite realize she’ll soon be trading in for something else. But, damn, is she hot.
My cock twitches in my jeans as she closes the door behind her and then turns to me with a wary gaze. She scratches nervously at her nose and then brushes her hair behind one ear. Shoves her hands into her pockets and just kind of fidgets, her eyes searching the place.
“You know, as I was coming up the steps outside, the funniest thing occurred to me,” she says, taking a careful step towards me. I can see it in her eyes, can read it in her body language, she’s trying to be confident.
Saving Grace: A bad-boy virgin romance Page 11