"I finalized my classes for the semester, but I wanted to take your survey on Cajun culture."
"It's full," I say, stepping outside and holding the door open for her.
She smiles prettily. "I know. Registrar said you could accept me into the class, so I thought I'd take a chance."
I shove my hands into my pockets and stare at her. She's a good student—hard working and focused. But I've never been really comfortable with her—she toes the line of friendly and flirtatious.
"I'm sorry, Mandy. I'll be offering the survey again next semester. It's full this time around. But, I'll be giving a series of lectures if you'd like to attend those."
A frown flits across her face. I glance up, distracted, and it feels like a blow to the solar plexus.
Avery is standing with two other students—one has to be Kelly. I recognize her from the pictures in their loft. Avery’s blonde hair curls around her shoulders, a pair of shorts and tank top baring her beautiful legs and perfect arms.
I want her. I lurch, a little motion, toward her, and Mandy makes a startled noise. It jerks me from my shock and paralysis, and I look at her quickly. "If you'd like the info, I can email it to you?"
I look back, for Avery, but she's grabbed Kelly and is headed across the quad. I want to watch her, but Mandy glances behind her briefly, curious as to what has distracted me. Swallowing, I force a smile. "Actually, why don't you come back to my office? I've got a few flyers with the info."
A smile lights her face. Ignoring the sharp pang and the almost physical urge to follow Avery, I lead Mandy back to my office.
It takes a while to get rid of Mandy. I sort of despise registration week. It's a mass of students streaming through my office, hoping to get into a closed class, or waived for a required course.
It's busy work, but it keeps me distracted. For almost two hours, I don't get the chance to text her.
Finally, I lock my office door and duck outside, beelining to my truck. In the cab, I grab my phone and type out a quick text.
It's only the second for the day. Not bad.
For the millionth time, I wonder if this chronic texting is as lame as it seems. She doesn't respond—she never responds. But even with the lack of response, I can't stop myself. I feel closer to her when I send a little something. And I miss her too much to deny myself that.
My phone dings, and my heart almost stops. I shove the keys into the ignition and crank up the AC then grab it.
Dane: Dude. Drinks tonight? Was going to invite that little paralegal you like over. Melanie, too. You down?
Meaningless sex. Great meaningless sex, but that's all it will be. The little paralegal—Jesus, what is her name?—was killer in bed. She could do things with her tongue I'm pretty sure Nik would kill to learn. But she wasn't interested in a relationship.
And neither was I. Not with anyone but Avery.
Me: I'll pass.
Dane: Come on, dude. You can't let this one girl throw you off forever.
Me: Have fun, man. I'm just not up for it today.
I put the truck into gear and pull out. My stomach is growling, and I head for a BBQ drive through. The phone rings, and I answer it. "Yelling at me isn't going to get me into bed with the paralegal, Dane," I say.
"Fine. Forget the paralegal. What can we do to get you over Avery?"
That's the question, isn't it? "I don't know," I say. "I don't even know that I want to be over her."
He sighs, and I can hear him rub a hand over his face. "Fishing?"
A smile curves my lips. "What about your ladies?"
"Fuck 'em. They'll be there next weekend."
I laugh and nod. "Fine. Fishing."
The fishing hole we favor is a little known spot in Branton. Most of the college students stick to the main trails into the Marsh—and the rest stay the fuck away from nature, afraid a gator will eat them.
It's actually a reasonable fear. This is the swamp, after all.
I grab a beer from the open cooler between us and slap at a mosquito buzzing around my head.
"We always forget the fucking bug spray," Dane grumbles.
"You said you had everything," I shoot back, and he curses me. I hear his chair creak as he settles into it. The soft zip of his line and the light plop of the bobber hitting the surface.
Fishing in gator-infested waters in the dark is probably not the smartest thing either of us has ever done, but we're not really known for our brilliant decision making.
"It's been three weeks."
I grit my teeth.
"Three weeks after you caught Nik, you were doing a pair of twins in my bed. So what's the deal, Atticus?"
"She isn't Nik," I say.
"And thank God for that. It still doesn't tell me shit."
"I love her, Dane," I say. "I love her, and I can't have her."
"You’re still chasing her, aren't you?" he says, popping the tab on his beer.
I don't answer. Dane would kick my ass if he knew I was texting her so often. "Dude. Did you tell her you love her?"
"Yeah. It sorta came up when Nik was at the apartment."
"I don't even want to know how that happened," Dane says, laughing. Bastard. "You want her. You love her. So what's the problem?"
"She won't risk her career for us."
"Well, no. She's smart and practical. Which is a huge step up after Nik, by the way."
"Shut up, dude," I say, halfheartedly. There's a jerk on my line, and I yank it up, reeling the fish in. By the time I fight it up, it's snapped the line. I grab my second pole—fixing the broken line in the dark is not my idea of a good time.
"She won't give up school and her career for you. But you—what would you give up for her?"
I stab myself with my hook and curse. "Everything," I snap. "I'd give up everything for her."
"So what are you going to do?"
I look at him—at his silhouette in the darkness. His head is tilted back, his fishing pole held loosely. Negligently. Like so many things in his life.
Sometimes, it's hard to remember that it's an act. It's hard to remember that it's just a face he gives the world. Fucker is such a head case.
"What can I do? She doesn't want me," I look away.
The words are bitter, and I almost choke on them. But they're the truth.
"Asshat," Dane mutters. "Look, the girl is scared. She's a smart kid, and she's been hurt, right? So what do you do? You send a few stalker-y texts, but there hasn't been anything—no real gesture to show her you mean it. That you'd give it up for her. Quit saying it, and show her."
Chapter 25
Avery
It's the first day of senior year, and it starts like every other semester. Kelly is too loud, bouncing around the loft in a haze of short skirts and glitter and expensive perfume. I make coffee and shower, dressing in the outfit Kelly helped pick out the night before. Honestly, I just want to crawl back into bed and bury my head under the blankets.
I haven't had another text, not since that one after I saw him on the steps of the History Hall. I wonder if he's finally decided I'm not worth chasing—if he's leaving me alone.
I should be glad, if he has. But the thought alone makes me want to assume the fetal position and sob like a baby.
"Let's go, gorgeous," Kelly barks, and I jerk out of my thoughts. My foot, in a wedge sandal, drops to the hardwood floor with a clack. She surveys me as I stand. I look good—Kelly's kept me busy and distracted. We spent a day at the spa, and my hair is shorter, with feathery layers framing my face. My sun dress is flirty without being slutty and loose enough to be comfortable—my insistence, since I have four classes today, and sitting in a tight corset laced dress was not even gonna happen.
I wonder if I'll see him today. I can't decide if I want to or not. Taking a deep breath, I slide my sunglasses on and follow Kelly out of our apartment.
The morning is uneventful—economics and Spanish before I meet up with Kelly and a few of her sorority sisters for salads in the
quad. They're laughing and talking about summer and who hooked up with who over the break.
"Did y'all see the yummy prof in the history department?"
I jerk, spilling my tea, and Kelly shoots me a worried glance. The girl, Mandy, continues on, my personal crisis unnoticed. "He's so fucking hot. I hear he graduated from here—and played ball."
"Was he Greek?"
I nod, but Mandy answers, "Yep. Sigma Phi Epsilon.”
"So, has he hooked up with you?"
I gasp, paling, and Kelly squeezes my knee. "No." Mandy frowns. "I talked to him last week, but he's pretty reserved. I mean, he's a professor. That's to be expected."
"I got a hundred bucks that says you won't get him in bed before the end of the semester."
Mandy’s eyes narrow, and I stand up. I can't stay and listen to this—I want to rip her hair out and be sick and tell all of the stupid bitches to back the fuck off.
And none of that is the least bit rational. I walk, blindly, headed for my next class. It's in the History Hall, and I know this campus better than I know Grovetown. Kelly catches me in the stairwell. "Is that him? Who they were talking about?"
I nod and shove out of the staircase, into the hallway. There are a few students coming out of a classroom, and I dodge through them. "It doesn't matter," I say over my shoulder.
I collide with something, and start to rebound off it, but two arms slip around me, catching me to his chest.
My heart shatters. I have a heartbeat—less—to revel in the feel of him holding me, the warmth of his arms around me, and then it's gone.
I push my bangs out of my eyes and look up at Atticus.
He looks tired, but a smile is playing at the edge of his lips, and I want, more than anything, to kiss him. To feel that smile spread against my lips.
"Ms. Emili."
Oh, Jesus. Hearing his voice wrapping around my name. It's intimate and distant all at the same time, and it knocks the breath right from me. I step back, away from the hand he's using to help support me. Force my legs to steady and a smile to appear.
"Professor."
His gaze darkens a little. "It's good to see you. How are your classes?"
"Great. I'm loving them." That, at least, is honest.
Kelly makes a rude noise at my side, and I jerk, pulling her forward and shoving her at Atticus. "My roommate, Kelly."
Atticus grins at her, a real smile. "It's good to meet you. Avery told me a lot about you."
"Ditto," she says, and his eyes narrow a little. Atticus darts a quick look at me, but I look away. I can't stare at him. It's hard to even stand near him—I'm having a really hard time holding on to why I left in the first place.
"Professor Grimes," Dr. Randall says, coming up behind him. "Can I talk to you for a few minutes?"
Atticus responds instantly, turning with the other professor. "It was good to see you, ladies. Have a great day."
And I'm dismissed. That fucking fast, he's moving on. I turn away, heading for the bathroom. I can feel tears burning in my eyes, and I have to get the fuck away from here, away from him—away from everyone who could possibly witness me falling apart.
Kelly holds me when I start crying. Slides down the wall with me until we're sitting on the floor, my legs curled under me as I sob.
I have a class to get to—we both do. But right now, I can't see anything but Atticus turning away from me, barely bothering to dismiss me as he did.
"Shh," Kelly murmurs, petting my hair. "It's going to be okay."
"No it's not. He's already forgotten me."
"If he has, it's his own fucking loss. But you—you’re better than this. You don't do this—falling apart in the bathroom is my strong suit."
I laugh, hiccupping. It's true—I've spent so many classes in the bathroom while Kelly cried or raged at whatever guy had hurt her.
"He couldn't even use my name," I murmur, wiping my face.
She pulls me to my feet and hands me my makeup bag. "I think you’re looking at it wrong. He couldn't use your name, because when he did, even talking to me, I could tell he cared about you. He turned away because the department head was standing there, and he was trying to protect you. He cares, Avery. I don't know him at all, and I can see that."
I look at her, my eyes itchy from crying. "What do I do?"
Chapter 26
Atticus
"I don't think I understand what you’re saying, son."
I rub my eyes. My head is pounding—my lack of sleep is finally catching up with me. Dr. Randall leans back in his chair, watching me.
"I know it's a lot to ask."
"I don't think you do, Atticus. We offered you this position because we know you—we trusted you. This—" He shakes his head. "—it's not a good way to inspire more of that trust."
I manage, barely, to hold on to my temper. "Excuse me, sir, but you hired me because I was top of my class and my research on the Gentleman Pirate will bring attention to the university. But if you want that research, and you want it done well, you need to give me time."
Randall sits back, his eyes narrowed on me. "My colleagues and I cannot pick up an entire semester worth of classes. Certainly not now, two weeks into the semester."
"And I wouldn't ask you to. I've set up my classes so that they can run online, with video lectures and scheduled Skype visits that will allow me to interact with the class on a weekly basis while still giving me enough free time—and the lack of distractions—to complete the book on Jean."
"That is a tall order, Atticus. Those students didn't sign up for online classes."
"I know that. If I didn't need this, I wouldn't be asking."
Randall sighs. "Tell me what's really going on, Atticus."
This is the problem with working for a man who mentored me through my undergraduate years. He knows me well enough to call me on my bullshit.
But telling him the truth—telling him about Avery—isn't really an option. "Nik is fighting the divorce."
"She would. She's not used to being told no, and she's certainly not used to sharing her toys."
I blink. It's the first time Randall has ever spoken ill of my ex. "You don't like her."
"Nik was never a good match for you, son. Watching you marry her was like watching a train wreck—it killed a little bit of Stella's soul. She always wanted to protect you."
I glance into the other room, where his wife is puttering around the kitchen, cleaning and tactfully giving us time to discuss business.
"So she's fighting, and you think time and space will help?"
"It can't hurt," I say. "Dane thinks she might get distracted—and even if she doesn't, it'll give us a little bit more time to gather some evidence that she's being unfaithful."
All strictly true. None of it is the reason for me leaving, but it's all very strictly true.
"You know I'll have to discuss it with the board and department. And it's not going to help you get tenure, Atticus."
I grin. "Come on, old man. You know I'm not in teaching for the money."
He rolls his eyes and shoves to his feet. "Do you know where you will go?"
I nod, and his eyes narrow again. For a moment, he stares at me, so deeply I think he will see the truth hidden in my eyes. Finally, he shakes his head. "I'll do what I can. You put your life back together and get back here. I didn't hire you so you could be an internet proctor while playing hermit."
"Yes, sir," I say, smiling.
I'm shooting a game of pool with Dane and an SPE brother who stopped by for drinks on his way to Baton Rouge. My phone buzzes in my pocket. The email from Randall is brief and to the point, and my nerves begin to settle.
I'm free. Until Christmas, I'm free to work without reporting to the university.
Dane is watching me, and his eyebrows arch a little. I nod wordlessly, and he grins. "Are you going to tell her?"
Nathan finishes his shot and looks up at us. "Tell who what?"
"Nothing," I say, giving Dane a dirty look. He
shrugs unapologetically, watching a pretty redhead strut through the bar. She looks Scout's age, and I almost say something. But I'm hardly in a position to point fingers about ill-advised hook ups.
"Atticus is taking a sabbatical," Dane say, throwing back a shot of vodka. I cuss, and Nathan turns to me with surprise in his eyes. Dane grins, a wicked light in his eyes, and stalks over to the redhead.
It takes less time than I thought to finish tying off the loose ends. I make the announcement in class and field more emails than I can count. Word spreads through the campus like wildfire. Rumors are following me everywhere, but there hasn't been any contact from Avery.
The night before I leave, my phone finally rings.
"Hey," she says, her voice shy and quiet. It's unusual for her.
"I didn't think you'd call."
"I wasn't sure I should."
She's quiet, and I'm itching to say something, to explain all of it, but I bite my tongue, forcing the words down. She's not ready for them. And I know it.
"Where are you going?"
"I need a little quiet and space to finish my book. UB has a vested interest in me finishing, so they're letting me go."
"I know that," she says, a bite to her tone. "I asked where."
I almost tell her. "Does it matter?"
She's quiet, and then: "No. I guess it doesn't. Do you need anything before you go?"
Come with me. Don't throw us away. I love you.
"No. I think I'm good. Dane is going to check on the apartment, and I've got my research. I'll be back in December for finals."
She inhales sharply. "You'll be gone the entire semester?"
I wonder if she's making the connection—if it matters to her. She doesn't say anything, though. "Yeah. Most of it."
"I'll miss you," she whispers, so softly, I can tell she doesn't mean to actually say it.
"I already miss you, sweetheart," I murmur, dropping onto the bed where I last made love to her.
She's crying. I can hear the soft hitch in her breathing. I want to hold her, wipe away her tears and whisper reassurances. I force my voice to be steady. "I've got to go, Avery. If you need anything, Dane can get you in touch with me. And I'll have my cell."
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