by Linnea May
“You should talk to them before you do anything stupid,” she warns. “Like seriously… dropping out of school?”
I huff at her.
“I’m not dropping out!” I protest, my voice in a desperate, high pitch. “All I’m saying is that I’m not sure whether a doctoral degree is the right way for me to go. I never said anything about not getting my master’s degree. Jeez, Harriet!”
She rolls her eyes again, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms in front of her chest. “This would be a huge mistake, Lana. Trust me.”
“Why?” I seriously want to know, leaning forward and raising my chin defiantly. “Because mom and dad might get angry? Or because you can’t think of anything else I could do that would make me as happy as you are - or maybe even happier?”
“Yes to both!” She exclaims. “What on earth will you do with a degree in social studies? Like seriously, it’s not like the free market is waiting for someone who has never done anything but do research on society. You have never even worked except for your job at the library.”
“I have a minor in Economics,” I remind her. “I didn’t focus on cultural studies like you did.”
“A minor in Economics,” Harriet repeats, laughing as she rolls her eyes for a third time. “Yeah, sure. That’ll help.”
“It might,” I argue. “Besides, nothing is said and done yet. There’s no reason for you to freak out like this.”
“I’m not freaking out,” she says, uncrossing her arms as she leans over to me. “I’m just worried you might do something stupid. Where’s this coming from so suddenly? You never mentioned that you had any doubts about doing this before.”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I never really thought about it. But now that my graduation is coming closer, I thought it would be time for me to re-evaluate a few things and-”
“Is it a boy?” Harriet asks, furling her eyebrows. “Did you meet someone?”
“What?” I exclaim, my voice squeaking at the worst possible time. “Why would you say that? That’s… I mean… How-”
“Oh God, it’s a boy!” Harriet concludes, rolling her eyes so hard this time that it almost looks painful. “Please don’t tell me you fell for one of those damn hippies in the humanities department.”
She looks at me with an expression of disgust on her face.
“No!” I insist. “And please, Harriet. Stop blaming this on me falling for someone. I didn’t. It’s not that at all. I’m just thinking about where I want to go in life after I graduate from this degree - why is that so hard to believe? Just because you never second guessed taking the same route as mom and dad have, doesn’t mean that I can’t.”
“Fine,” Harriet says. “Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”
I frown at her. “I won’t do anything stupid.”
While I may still decide to follow up on that doctoral degree, saying that I won’t do anything stupid might still be a stretch.
I’ve avoided Mr. Portland for the past week and I even skipped class - for the first time in my life – so as to not have to be confronted by him. I know he’s waiting for me, but I don’t know how to face him. The idea of having to see his face today in class, in front of all my unsuspecting classmates was too much to bare. I chickened out, lying every person I talked to today, including my roommate. Celia wouldn’t judge someone for skipping class, but she would’ve bugged me with a thousand questions, because she knows me well enough to sense that there must be something seriously wrong with me to do something like that. Especially skipping the class of the teacher she still refers to as Mr. Awesome would have made her more suspicious than ever.
“I gotta go,” I announce, glancing down at my phone on the table next to my plate. “My next class is starting soon.”
My sister lets me go without another word of warning, but I can tell by the way she’s looking at me that she’s worried - and she’ll most likely share her concern with my parents.
At least I only have one class left for the day before I can get home and try to catch up on the sleep I’ve been missing.
A relaxing evening with a glass of wine and no further emotional turmoil. That sounds wonderful.
I shuffle toward Cleveland hall with my head hanging low, alternating between staring at my phone and the pavement beneath me as I drag myself home. It was no lie when I told my sister that I hadn’t slept well for the past week.
I was so agitated and confused because of what had happened at Mr. Portland’s office, and I still am, truthfully. But now that Monday is over and I have another six days before I have to worry about seeing him, I feel as if a heavy weight has been lifted from my shoulders.
That is, until I approach the entrance of my dorm building and see him sitting there. He’s sitting on a bench next to the path that leads up to the entrance door, about ten feet away from me, demonstratively holding a newspaper up to his face and studying the content of it.
I know that he saw me - and I know that he’s here because of me.
I freeze mid-motion, standing at the curve that leads to my dorm and staring at him as if a monster spawned in front of me.
He’s here for me, but how the hell did he know where to find me? How does he know I live here, in this particular dorm building?
I was going to have a nice, relaxing evening, hoping to make use of the time that’s left for me to think about a strategy to deal with what has happened between us. Now, he’s robbed me of that much needed time and space by appearing out of nowhere, unannounced and unexpected.
I’m suddenly so furious at him, gone is the shock and worry that I just felt moments before!
I march up to him with long strides and angry steps.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I bark at him, returning to my old self, the same Lana who approached him after that first day of class.
Mr. Portland chuckles and calmly folds his newspaper before he looks up at me with the sweetest smile imaginable. He’s dressed rather casual today, wearing dark jeans and the exact same sweater he lent me a few weeks ago beneath an expensive looking leather jacket with a light and thick fur collar.
“Is that any way to address a teacher of yours?” He asks without the slightest indication of anger.
I frown at him, quickly checking our surroundings. Students are walking across the campus in the distance, and while no one is currently within earshot, I know that people will be returning to the dorm as the last classes of the day are ending. Celia will be among them.
“Sit with me,” Mr. Portland says, placing his hand on the free space on the bench next to him.
I shake my head. “I can’t, I need more-”
“Sit with me,” he repeats, putting a frightening emphasize on the first word. His eyes narrow to slits as he looks up at me. Threat is written all over his handsome face. “You sit down now or your next punishment will multiply the last one by the hundreds, Lana.”
Fuck.
I blush and follow his order, plonking myself down on the bench like a sulking child, arms crossed in front of my chest.
“Good girl,” he says, and my insides instantly catch fire.
Fuck. I don’t want this. Not now. I can’t handle this.
Yet, my cheeks are burning, my heart is racing and my mind is trembling while I’m sitting next to the man who is more than capable of turning my entire being, and everything I thought I knew, upside down.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JACKSON
“You missed class today,” I say without looking at her.
Lana is sitting next to me, wearing dark blue skinny jeans that fit her slim legs like a second skin and a gray coat that wraps the rest of her - which I know to be beautiful - in shrouded mystery. She has her arms crossed in front of her chest, her school girl satchel placed next to her feet and her legs pressed together as if she was scared of me reaching between them.
“I was worried,” I add, still avoiding eye contact. I know I startled her, and she definitely n
either anticipated nor wished to see me today. But she’s not the one making the rules here, and the silent treatment has never worked well on me. On the contrary, it makes me chase a woman even more.
“I’m sorry,” she says, her eyes resting on her lap while she does that thing with her black ring again, nervously turning and fiddling with it.
“That’s not what I want to hear,” I say. “I want to know what’s going on with you. Where are we at, Lana?”
She inhales loudly, shaking her head as if admitting defeat, “I don’t know.”
“You do know,” I insist. “You’re just scared to share it with me.”
I lean forward, placing my elbows on my knees and turning to her. “Look at me.”
She lifts her eyes and turns her head to me, her face partly concealed by her brown hair, falling down like a curtain on either side of her face. She looks so fucking vulnerable, and so angry. Her eyebrows are furled and her lips pressed together, turning them into a slim line as she looks at me grimly.
“I don’t know,” she repeats, sounding more confident this time. “I really don’t know.”
Our eyes remain fixed on each other for a few moments. She’s withstanding my gaze, but I can tell how much it aches her to do so. However, her lashes aren’t flickering, which means that she holds a calm anger at me, and her heart rate has not spun out of control. Yet.
“You didn’t use your safe word,” I tell her, leaning in closer.
Her eyes widen and she moves away from. “People might see-”
“What they will see is a teacher talking to one of his students,” I explain calmly. “A student who missed class today, a student who has never missed a class before and thus made her teacher worry.”
Her eyes narrow as she regards me with a skeptical look. “But-”
“You didn’t use your safe word,” I repeat.
“To avoid punishment?” She asks.
“Not exactly,” I say. “But to gain clarity on what is going on. Safe words exist to prevent you from getting hurt.”
She looks at me, doubting. “You humiliated me.”
I nod. “Yes. That was the point of it.”
“Why?”
“Because you misbehaved.”
She huffs and leans back. “I already apologized for that.”
“That’s not good enough for me.”
I want to say more, but hesitate when I see the look on her face changing as she stares toward the sidewalk that leads up to the front door of Cleveland hall. A short girl in blue jeans just walked around the corner, heading for the dorm building with small and quick steps. Her round face lights up when she looks over and spots Lana on the bench next to me. However, her expression changes when she notices that it’s me next to Lana. Her eyes widen with surprise, flitting back and forth between me and Lana. Her pace slows down, but she doesn’t come to a complete halt while her eyes don’t leave us.
I can feel Lana tensing up next to me, straightening her back and clenching her hands into fists as if she’s about to enter battle. She shoots a glare at the girl, who lets out a short giggle and winks at us.
Her gaze finally draws away from us and she returns to her original walking speed. Lana remains tense and quiet until the girl has slipped through the door and is out of sight.
“Fuck,” she hisses.
“Who was that?”
“My roommate,” she murmurs. “The last person I wanted to see us together.”
Hearing her say that sends a rush of accomplishment through my chest. If her roommate knows about me, Lana must’ve mentioned me more than once.
“I feel flattered,” I say in all honesty, sitting up and leaning back against the backrest of the bench.
Lana gives a look from the side. “You shouldn’t.”
“She knows about me?” I assume.
“You are well known among most students, Mr. Portland,” she murmurs. “It’s not like your face hasn’t been plastered all over media when your book came out.”
I smile at her. The undertone of disgust is so apparent in her voice that it should infuriate me, but all I can see is the success of getting under this girl’s skin. I love watching her battle as she tries to arrange herself with her inner turmoil.
But we need to step forward. I have no time for her little dance. One step ahead, two steps back - that’s too much tussling, even for me.
“Look, Lana,” I say, my voice soft and serene. “I have no time for your little games and inhibitions. We both know that I have something to offer you - and we both know that you are curious to find out more about it. You either dare to jump in at the deep end, or-”
“Or you’ll punish me?” She hisses with a sardonic undertone.
“No,” I retort. “There will be no punishments if you say no. There will be nothing. You’ll return to be nothing more than a student in my class and we’ll forget about all of this.”
The look she throws at me strongly suggests that she doesn’t want that. But of course, no words follow to confirm – or deny—this assumption.
“What are your plans for tonight?” I ask.
She clears her throat. “Why are you asking?”
“Just tell me, Lana,” I persist. “I told you, no more games.”
She shakes her head, lowers her eyes, and fiddles with her ring. “Nothing.”
“No plans? No homework?”
“Nothing,” she repeats. “Except for explaining to my roommate what I was doing with you down here.”
“Good,” I say. “I have a proposition to make.”
She looks at me quizzically.
“Obey me one more time,” I begin. “And let me make things up to you. Tonight.”
“How?” She wants to know.
“Give me your number, go up to your room and wait for me to message you and tell you to come back out,” I say. “I won’t be waiting for you, but a cab will. You will get into that cab and let it take you to an address I provide.”
“To your place?” She asks in a whisper. The excitement in her voice is obvious.
“That doesn’t matter,” I divert. “Just follow my orders. Or don’t. You’ll have a few minutes to think about it, and if you don’t get into that cab, I promise you, I will leave you alone. No repercussions.”
She nods. “Okay.”
The minutes that pass between me sending her the text and her liberating reply seem to cover an eternity.
I heave a sigh of relief when I read her answer.
“In the cab.”
Those three simple words are enough for me be fueled with excitement. I didn’t exactly plan this. When I sat down on the bench in front of her building, I couldn’t be sure that she’d actually show up, and even when she did, I knew that things were anything but settled between us. She’s scared, confused and hurt by the humiliation I caused her during our play in my office. I don’t regret doing it, as this is all part of the process. But I still feel bad about her being this distraught because of it.
I said I would make it up to her, and I will.
I’m not sending her to my place, because I don’t want to risk her being seen around there. Instead, I’ve rented a suite in a hotel, far away from campus and everyone who knows the two of us. I told her to walk up to the reception desk and tell them to ask for my room so they can send her up to me, hoping that this doesn’t make things too shady for her. She’s investing a lot of trust in me by following these instructions.
A shy knock on the door announces her arrival, about half an hour after I entered the room. I don’t make her wait long and hurry to the door immediately.
She’s standing before me, wearing the exact same clothes I saw her wearing when she came home after class, a coy smile on her face and a little shoulder bag instead of her usual satchel.
“I didn’t have time to change or-”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, beckoning for her to come inside.
She follows my gesture and stands a bit lost in the middle of the roo
m, while I close the door behind her.
“Wow,” she exclaims. “This room is gigantic.”
I lock the door and chuckle. “I’m glad you like it.”
“It’s quite something, Mr. Big Shot,” she says, turning around to me.
I’m glad to see that she brought her sassy side along. It will make things a lot more fun.
“Can I offer you a drink?” I ask. “Water? Tea? Champagne?”
She tilts her head to the side and something about her cute smile tells me that she’s made up her mind. She’s here to enjoy herself and she likes the idea of being pampered by me.
She’s in for a treat - and a lot of trouble.
“Champagne?” She asks. “I’d like that. Haven’t had any in years.”
“Years?” I ask, making my way to the bar. “It’s about time then.”
I fetch the bottle from the metallic ice bucket and open it. While I fill our glasses, Lana wanders through the rooms. The suit is nothing special, at least not to my eyes. It’s just a small living area, connected to a bedroom with a big king size bed. The colors are not really my taste, a lot of red in varying shades, topped with golden accents. The thick curtains in front of the windows cover the entire length from ceiling to floor. I’ve already closed the ones in the bedroom, but left them open in the living room area, so that Lana gets to enjoy the magnificent view from up here.
Indeed, she walks up to the floor length windows, stopping right in front of them with her hands behind her back as she looks outside.
“Wow,” she gasps.
I move next to her and hold out one of the glasses to her. She turns to me and takes it, casting a coy smile up at me. “Thanks.”
We clink glasses, and when she takes a first careful sip of hers, I can see her entire body relax instantly. I can’t have her drunk, but a little buzz to take the edge of never hurts.
“You like it?” I ask, nodding toward the glass in her hand.
She nods. “Very delicious. A lot better than the last one I had.”
“Good,” I say. “I hope you’ll say that about me, too.”