"You aren't his type, you know."
I glance at her. "He doesn't have a type."
Nik snorts. "Atti has always had a type—me."
I blink. It's almost funny—almost. “He loved you, Nik. He wanted to spend his life with you—and you think it’s just your looks?”
Something flashes across her face, a hesitance that makes me think she knows how much she fucked up. "Atticus wants a girl he can laugh with. One who is more than just amazing in bed—a girl who is amazing in life. Maybe that's where he went wrong with you."
Her eyes widen a little, and I wonder if she'll slap me.
"You think he cares about you, but you’re just a little side action he's using to keep me angry."
I bite down on a carrot. "Sugar, Atticus couldn't care less if you’re angry. And frankly, my relationship with him? It's none of your damn business."
"He's my husband," she snaps.
"Only because you won't sign the fucking papers. Which, by the way, is pathetic. I get it—you love him and despite your colossal fuck-up, you don't want to let him go. Whatever. Time to put on your big girl panties and face the music. You fucked up. Deal with the consequences. Hanging on to a guy who so obviously doesn't want you?" I shake my head. "Have a little dignity."
My phone buzzes, and I pull it from my pocket.
The Professor: On my way. You want to go out for dinner?
I glance at Nik, but her gaze is unfocused, so I tap out a quick message.
Me: Nik is here.
The Professor: WHAT? How long has she been there?
Me: WTF does that matter? Get your ass home.
I shove the phone back in my pocket and look over at the Nik.
"He won't ever love you," she says, and I jerk, pulling away from her. "Not like he loves me. And even if he did—he'd give up everything to be with you. He'd have to, because you’re his student. And, eventually, he would hate you for that."
I feel like she's slapped me. My mouth falls open, but I can't form a sentence. A smile, cold and self-satisfied, turns her pretty mouth, and she nods at me, standing. "Tell him if he wants a divorce, he can call my lawyer."
She stands up and stalks to the door. I can hear her steps, slowly descending the stairs. Atticus pulls up before she reaches the bottom of the staircase. Even three stories up, I can hear him talking to her. He's furious, and she's quiet and calm. I step outside, and watch them.
I wonder if she's right.
It doesn't matter. I'm not letting Atticus give up anything for me—that's not the kind of relationship we have. Neither of us was looking to fall in love.
Atticus
Nik is coming down the stairs. She's dressed to the nines, classic Nik. She looks good—a little thinner than I like, but good.
My gaze darts past her, up the stairs. I can't see Avery, and it makes me nervous—Nik is a stubborn bitch. She never retreats.
"What did you say to her?" I ask, my mouth dry.
"Nothing but the truth. She's not very pretty."
I don't argue with that—what's the point? She'll never see the beauty I see. "Leave her alone, Nik. She's not the reason I'm not coming home."
She crosses her arms and cocks out a hip. "What do you think is going to happen here, Atticus? You think you can find a happily ever after with her? Did you get into Scout's stash?"
"Leave my sister out of this."
"That is a child. A little girl—she's a student, for crying out loud. You can't have a future without destroying your professional career."
I shake my head. "Maybe I don't give a fuck about my career. Do you realize I could research anywhere? And, as you've pointed out—quite often—it's not like I need the work."
She doesn't react. If I were anyone but her ex-husband, I'd miss the slight tightening of her eyes and the stiffness in her posture. "You love teaching."
I glance up, not terribly surprised to find Avery staring down at us. She's got the saddest look on her face, an expression I want to wipe away. "Maybe I love her more."
I refocus on Nik. "Are you going to sign the papers?"
"I love you," she says, but it's soft, lacking any real conviction. She knows it won’t change anything.
"You have a week, Nik. Then I'll take you to court—but either way, I will divorce you. Just accept that."
Then I push past her and hurry up the steps.
Avery is shoving her papers and laptop into her purse. She's getting her stuff together—I know this ritual. It's what she does when she's about to leave.
She can't leave.
"Don't go," I murmur, and she pauses then reaches down and straightens a pile of papers. My papers.
"I really should. It's late."
"You heard that," I say, and she shakes her head, too quickly.
Fuck. This isn't how I wanted to tell her—I wanted to whisper it to her while she woke up, or on a beach, or any other way than on the heels of seeing my ex.
"Don't run."
"I'm not."
I catch her arm, and she pulls away. "Don't, Atticus," she says.
It's the first time she's told me no, and I jerk away as if burned. Even when there was nothing between us but sex, we had that. And she's shutting it down? Dread squeezes my heart.
"You’re coming back, though. Tomorrow." It’s a statement, because I can't make it a question.
Her shoulders slump, but her eyes are firm when she finally looks at me. "Do you really think that's a good idea?"
"Avery."
"It's the end of the summer. We both knew this was coming—Kelly will be back on campus in a week. You have classes to put together. And I have tutoring and my own classes to attend. It's time to let it go, Atticus."
"I can't," I say. "I love you, Avery."
She inhales sharply, a little noise that carries a world of hurt. "Love wasn't part of the deal, Atticus."
"Things changed."
Her eyes open, and they’re hard. Cold. "Two things didn't—I'm still a student, and you’re still a professor."
"I don't care about that."
"I do," she shouts, her voice shrill. "I've worked too hard, Atti. I'm not throwing everything away for some guy. I can't."
Her words hurt. I don't want them too, but they do. I reach for her, trail a finger down the curve of her cheek. She shudders, but leans into my caress. "You care about me too," I murmur as I pull her gently into my embrace. She's tense, but as I lower my head and nuzzle kisses into her shoulder, she begins to relax. Tension seeps from her until she's pliant and hungry in my arms. "You can't tell me you don't care about me."
"It doesn't matter if I do," she murmurs, her voice so sad I think she believes it. "It doesn't change anything."
I push her against the door of the office, brace her body there with my own and kiss her, my tongue teasing at the seam of her lips, twisting with hers. I suck lightly on her tongue, and she whimpers. "I love you," I murmur, my lips not leaving hers, and she inhales my words. "That changes everything."
She's crying, silently, and for the first time in our relationship, I pull away from her. "I want to make love to you. Is that okay?"
She nods, a tiny little motion that I'd miss if I wasn't watching her for any minute gesture.
It's different. Even I can tell it's different. She's still and quiet as I strip her and pull my shirt over my head. She comes up on her knees when I reach for my shorts, pulling them over my hipbones, freeing me. Peppering kisses along my navel. Her tongue slips below the waistband of my boxers, her hand finding me through the thin material. I groan as she eases my boxers down, and takes my cock in her mouth. The wet heat is like being home, and I struggle not to thrust into her mouth—I want her riding me. I want to watch her eyes glaze, want to fill my hands with her breasts and kiss her when she slumps against me in climax. Want to hear her whisper my name like a prayer and a plea.
She can deny it. She does deny it. But when she's here, with nothing between us but skin—when there is nothing to hide beh
ind, I can see the love shining from her.
I make love to her, and when she cries, after it's over, I hold her.
I'm not ready to let her go.
Chapter 24—August
Avery
"Do you want to go out tonight?" Kelly asks. I blink, focusing on my roommate as she finishes tucking her blanket down neatly. For the last time all semester—Kelly likes having everything neat and orderly to start the semester, but her side of the loft will slowly devolve as sorority duties and classes and boys distract her.
"What?"
"Going out? Brian and a few of Kappa Sigma are back in town—they mentioned stopping by Black Hole."
My stomach drops. I can't go back there. The entire place is a great big trigger pointing at my heart.
It's been a week and a half. I spent that first week on Jeff and Jason's couch, playing with the baby, eating brownies and crying.
It wasn't supposed to hurt this much. I was supposed to get the fuck out before it could hurt this much.
"The Hole? No. Let's head to Victorie.”
Her eyebrows shoot up, but she doesn't say anything. I know what she's thinking—Victorie isn't a club I often frequent. Not many of the sorority girls suggest the Victorian-themed strip club. But I don't want to chance running into Dane at Speakeasy, and the Hole is so not happening.
"Move your ass, Avery. We have to go."
I swallow my sigh. I've been putting it off—but I have to meet with my advisor. I grab my purse and sunglasses and follow Kelly down the hall. We walk across the street and onto the campus—freshman arrived two days ago and have exploded across my tiny town. They are so eager and adorable, like little puppies tripping over their own feet as they try to find their place in Branton.
"How was the wedding? You haven't said much about your summer."
"I worked a lot."
"And that's exactly what I'd like to hear about. Tell me about the bossman."
I look away, and she stops abruptly. "Oh shit. Avery," she says, her eyes wide. I freeze, looking around. She doesn't know who he is, but maybe—for a heartbeat, that's the only thing I can think she's seen. "You like him."
Anger fills me. "Of course I like him. Why would I sleep with him if I didn't like him?" I snap.
"What happened?" she asks quietly. The bell rings the hour, and I pull her into motion. She matches her step to mine, and I loop my arm through hers. For all that Kelly is crazy and loud and crass and sleeps with too many guys—she is my best friend. I've missed having her around.
"He wasn't a good guy for me. Not for my life. It wouldn't have worked."
She's quiet as we step into the admin building. "Did he care about you?"
I love you, Avery.
I shudder, the words echoing through my head, summoning the feel of his body under mine, his hands on me as he made love to me one last time.
"Yes," I say, simply, as we enter the registration hall.
She can't say anything else. Her advisor—a psychology department prof—pulls her away, demanding to know about her summer.
"Ms. Emili?"
I turn, pasting a smile on my face as I approach Dr. Randall. He's been my advisor since freshman year, the head of the history department. I sorta adore him, even if his specialty—the Tudor period—bores the hell out of me.
"Have you got your class schedule, my dear?"
I pull it out, and, for a little while, all thoughts of Atticus vanishes as we haggle classes back and forth. "Who did you have working on your senior thesis?"
"Sir?"
He waves an impatient hand. "I forget. We never made a general announcement. My wife has had some health problems. I was going to hand my students to the other professors in the department. Here—" He shuffles around his desk and produces a paper with the professors and their office numbers listed. "Pick one you think you can work with. All of them are exceptionally talented. I think Dr. Vozler and Professor Grimes are still pretty open to new students."
His name goes through me like a blade, stabbing at the wound in my heart. I wonder, vaguely, if it will ever truly heal. Or if I'll be broken forever.
I smile weakly. "I think Dr. Vozler would be good—I loved her class last year on Far East cultures and mythologies."
"Excellent. I'll pencil you down for her—try to get by her office and introduce yourself, hmm? She'll want to talk to you about scheduling your progress."
I nod and type a quick reminder for early next week. "Okay, kiddo. You’re all set. Take this to registration and enjoy your last year."
I give him another smile, a real one, and gather my purse. Kelly is jabbering about classes and who she'll be doing her senior project with, and I'm half listening.
I'm looking for Atticus. Even though I know I shouldn't, I can't help searching the campus as we walk through, eyeing the history hall, half hoping he'll pop out calling my name.
My morning text was there, when I woke up. He quit calling after the first day—and twenty-eight voicemails. But the texts come like clockwork. I miss you. I love you. I want to talk. Please talk to me.
Each one breaks my heart, but the texts telling me about cheesy science fiction movies or boring documentaries that make me sit up half the night, those are the ones that make me pick up the phone.
I can't count how many times I've pulled up his number then changed my mind.
"Avery!"
I jerk, violently, and collide with Brian.
He smells like boy and beer and sweat, slightly rank where it mixes with his cologne.
It's a smell I never used to mind, but today it turns my stomach.
"Babe, I've been calling you."
I glance up at him, startled. He had? "Just now, or in general?"
He flushes, "Well, it was a busy summer. I didn't want to bother you."
"You didn't. And you’re right—it was a very busy summer." I turn away and start walking. I glance at History Hall again, and I'm stunned. Atticus is standing on the steps, hands in his pockets as he talks to a student. His hair keeps falling in his gaze, and he shoves it back absently. As if feeling my gaze, he looks up. I don't wait, don't watch the emotions flying across his face.
All he needs is to be caught looking at a student inappropriately.
"Kelly, let's go," I call, my voice a little shrill. She says something to Brian and jogs to catch up to me. I glance back once, wave at Brian.
But I'm looking for Atticus. And it hurts, more than I have any right to hurt, when I realize he isn't there.
"Tell me about him," Kelly says, when we're sitting in the Hill with two large lattes and a brownie the size of my head.
I hesitate, and she kicks me. "That wasn't a request, chick."
"I think I love him," I say, voicing a thought I haven't dared speak out loud. Not before this moment. Speaking it makes it real, somehow.
"So what’s the problem?"
I shouldn't tell her—but she's my best friend. "You promise it doesn't leave this table?" I ask, my voice low. Her eyes widen, and she nods, "He's a professor."
Kelly chokes on her latte. She coughs, hard enough that Jeff gives us a worried frown. I wave him away and wait while she composes herself.
"He's a fucking prof? Are you insane? And you slept with him?"
I sniff. "You can hardly point fingers about sleeping with inappropriate guys. You slept with your dad's CFO."
"His assistant!" she snaps. "And he was hot."
"So was my prof," I mutter, drinking my coffee.
"But you’re the smart one," she says. "You aren't supposed to fall for a pretty face."
"I didn't. I mean, I did—he was hot and that was part of it. But he was sweet. He'd call me when he was bored, or when he thought I might be, trapped in an apartment by myself. He taught me a lot about research and helped me finish my grad school applications. He made me laugh. Work never felt like work, because he kept me laughing at stupid stories from when he was playing football, or about Jean Lafitte.”
"And
now you’re hung up on him," she says, abruptly. "Did he leave you?"
I shake my head—I don't offer up what Atticus said that afternoon. That he'd leave it all behind for me. I won't let him, even if he thinks that's what he wants.
"You need to distract yourself."
"How do you propose I do that?" I ask.
She smirks and I shake my head. "No sex."
"Sugar, you already gave it up to the prof. Now it's time to compare cocks—try Brian out. It might be enough to distract you. If nothing else, it'll be fun."
"How do you know?" I demand, exasperated. "He could be complete shit in bed."
A smug smile turns her lips. "Oh, sweetheart, don't even worry about that. Now come on—let's get you dressed and ready for your breakup sex."
I throw a few bills on the table and flash a smile at Jeff as Kelly almost drags me from the cafe.
She's got me in the shower, shaving all my bits and pieces. When I step out, my doubts haven't settled at all, but I know that tonight will be fun, if nothing else.
A text message is waiting.
The Professor: God, you are so gorgeous. I miss you, Avery. So much it hurts. I didn't think I'd miss you this much—but I guess, I didn't think you'd ever really throw us away.
The words shred me, and I drop on the edge of the bathtub, tears coursing down my cheeks.
Kelly finds me there, twenty minutes later. "What's taking so long?"
I hand her the phone and she scans it quickly, thumbs through his previous texts. Finally she whistles. "Fuck."
I nod. Pretty much.
"You aren't going to rebound from this one, huh?"
I shake my head. "I'm sorry."
She smiles. "Don't be sorry, Avery. Just be happy. Whatever that is—be happy."
Atticus
"Professor!" I blink, looking behind me as I head for the exit. A sophomore I advised last year rushes up to me, trailed by two friends. "What can I do for you, Ms. Milan?" I ask.
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