by Layla Frost
Only it hadn’t been for the better.
Professor Caine was an even bigger asshole than before. What little notations I’d been receiving on my papers were gone, a single grade left in their place.
Other than embarrassing me by calling me out in class for messaging with Tonia, he hadn’t said a single word to me in over a week. He hadn’t visited Sinners.
He hadn’t even glanced my way.
We were worse than when we’d started, and we’d started out pretty damn bad.
Not that any of that was why I’d been looking at apartment listings. He may have thought he was a god, but he was just one thing on my long list of stressors.
My breaking point had come when I’d stopped at my student mailbox a few days before. Mixed in with the junk mail was a nondescript envelope I’d almost thrown away.
I really wished I had.
Instead, I’d flipped it over, and my stomach had twisted painfully at the handwriting I’d hoped to never see again. With shaking hands, I’d torn both the envelope and part of the letter before finally freeing it.
I’d never thought of myself as a masochist, but that was the only explanation for why I’d read it—and not just once or twice.
No, I’d read it repeatedly.
So many times, in fact, I had each strategically chosen word memorized.
Eden,
How are you? And school? Your mother and I are doing well, in case you were wondering. I’m sure you’re very busy in your studies, and that’s why we haven’t heard from our only child. Maybe we will see you soon. Wouldn’t that be a surprise for everyone…
There’d been no signature, not that one was needed. The short note had been effective. My dad didn’t care how I was—he never had. It’d been years since I’d left, and that long since I’d heard from him. He’d just wanted to make sure I knew that he’d gained the upper hand. Not only was he aware of where I was, his threat of a visit would loom over my head so I could never truly be comfortable.
As a teenager, when I’d concocted my initial escape plans, changing my name had been high on my list. Only, as with everything else, the process wasn’t as simple as TV and movies made it seem. The cost alone was much more than I could afford with frivolous things like food and shelter getting in the way. I couldn’t just declare myself someone new and expect the government to get behind it. There was an extensive process, including a paper trail that would’ve led my parents directly to me anyway.
And, strangely, no matter how many dark alleys I walked by, no sketchy man in a trench coat offered me a new ID and social security number.
A flashed penis that looked like a baby carrot that’d been forgotten in a hot car for a month, sure.
But anything useful, no.
After a while, I’d learned to embrace my name for the asset it was. Because when my exhaustion had reached its limits and quitting had been so tempting, hearing my name would strengthen my resolve. It’d remind me who I was and why I was working so hard.
Which made it a pretty sick cosmic joke that I’d been working myself into an early grave, yet with one vague note, I was right back where I’d started.
Feeling suffocated.
Looking over my shoulders, expecting to see their disappointed faces.
Bracing, waiting for their hissed admonishments.
With the carefully worded threat looming over my head, I wasn’t free of them—not that I ever had been. Almost every decision I’d made in my life was because of them. To get away from them. To be different than them. To spite them.
By running to escape them, I was only giving them more power over me. Something needed to change.
And it would.
Just not then.
Between school and work—not to mention Professor Mood Swings—I was stretched thin. If I added the inevitable showdown with my parents, something would have to break.
And I was pretty sure that something would be me.
I was still holding out hope my parents’ home would randomly burst into flames, and while they fled from a blaze that would destroy every shred of evidence I existed, they’d trip and hit their head, thereby erasing all memory of me.
Of course, while I was wishing for unrealistic nonsense, I also threw in winning the Powerball jackpot and discovering a way to eat all the pasta, bread, and cupcakes I wanted while never gaining a pound.
Since none of that was likely to happen, I’d spent every moment of free time frantically getting things in order to move. I hadn’t told anyone because there’d be inevitable questions, and there was only so much evasiveness I could pull off without looking like I was fleeing from a recent murder. My goal was to be gone within a week, which was unrealistically ambitious, but I was a woman with a plan.
A bad plan, but it was a plan.
Surprisingly, the easiest part of my decision had been deciding where to go. South Carolina offered great colleges, affordable living, and, most importantly, the ocean. Depending on what school I went to, the ocean wasn’t going to be right outside my window, but I’d be willing to drive a few hours to experience the peace it brought me.
Until I heard back about my applications, I’d needed to figure out my living arrangements. I’d found some possible apartments along the coast that were outside of the popular tourist destinations. Since it was also outside of vacation season, some places were listed at a steal, and had week to week leases.
If there was a silver lining to it all, it was the prospect of living completely alone. But that was a thin lining and more nickel plated than actual silver.
My first move had been almost all silver lining. Platinum, even. There’d still been a cloud because adulting was shit and life wasn’t always psychedelic rainbows and glittered puppies. But the lining of positives that’d surrounded it had been thick and beautiful.
Nothing about my impending relocation was like my first one. It wasn’t carefully planned out over years and years. Joy and excitement weren’t bubbling through me so strong, it took every ounce of willpower I had to act natural. Anticipation of a new adventure wasn’t making me giddy.
Last time, there’d been no doubts. I’d known to my soul that what I was doing was the right choice.
But with each step I took toward leaving, my doubt grew.
I was scared. Not the good kind that produced a rush of adrenaline—like from a roller coaster ride or, oh I dunno, going toe-to-toe with a maddening professor.
It was the bad fear. The toxic kind that ate away at my sanity and made me do stupid things, like looking at a brand-new apartment listing without thought to where I was.
Or who could see.
I didn’t want anyone to see, but I especially hadn’t wanted Professor Caine to. On one hand, there was the chance his arrogant, caveman bullshit would fuel me to give him a double one-fingered salute—heaven knew he deserved it.
Or it’d be the push I needed to leave Boston—again, while giving him the well-deserved salute.
But I greatly suspected he’d pick up on my doubt and pull at it. Like a loose thread on a sweater, he’d unravel me until there was nothing left.
And I’d bend.
Not just because of our connection and the stupid heady power I got from it.
Not just because I feared him—the good kind that made me feel more alive than I ever had.
But because I wanted to bend.
That weakness was why I didn’t dare look into his midnight eyes when I shook my head. “I have class soon, and I have a lot to do before then.”
“So I saw.” His words were spoken so close to my ear, I jolted and scooched forward before twisting in my seat to look at him.
Oh shit.
His hands were wrapped around the back of the seat as he leaned toward me. Arching a brow, he dipped his head toward my laptop, killing any remaining hope I had that he hadn’t seen exactly what I’d been looking at. “Does it really matter if you miss class?”
“Yes, it does,” I said, my voice firmer t
han I felt. Grabbing my bag, I turned my back on him as I packed up. “I have things to finish.”
“Are we going to do this song and dance? You say no. I say yes. You say no again. I threaten to make a scene. You do what I say. How about we switch things up, and you just do what I say?”
I rolled my eyes. “And break this fun tradition?”
“Eden,” he practically growled his warning, earning subtle glances from the baristas.
Realization hit, and a freeing sense of do-not-give-a-fuckery followed it. I smiled wide. “You’ve lost your leverage. What’re you gonna do, tell people I strip? I’ll do it for you.” I spun and opened my mouth, ready to share my truth with whoever was around to hear.
Before I could, his rough growl was right at my ear. “No, but I can do something about that attitude.”
I whipped around. My voice didn’t hold the same confidence it had moments before. “You wouldn’t.”
“No?”
“You still work here,” I pointed out.
“You think that’d stop me? That I give a damn?”
“You’d care if they fired you.”
“Get this through your head, Eden. You will never win this battle because I don’t care about anything else. Go ahead and tell everyone how fucking badly I want to spank your ass red.” A sinister smile curved his lips as his gaze moved to the cluster of students who’d walked in. A challenge burned in his eyes when he tossed my words back at me. “I’ll do it for you.”
It shouldn’t have mattered. My foot was out the door, the wheels of change were in motion, and I was days away from ghosting everyone.
If people found out about… whatever it was that crackled between Professor Caine and me, it’d have no bearing on me because I was leaving.
Which was why it made no sense that my hand shot out to grasp his thick wrist and my mouth opened to blurt, “No. I’ll meet you in your office in ten minutes.”
He studied me like he was a human lie detector before nodding. “Make it five.”
Then, as if nothing had happened, he casually strolled from the shop, leaving me to wonder whether or not I was going to follow.
*******
Damien
She’d smiled at me.
Not a small one.
Or a sad one.
The week before, after a long day of school, an even longer night at Sinners, and a short amount of sleep that’d barely constituted a nap, she’d grinned at me.
Grinned.
Like the world was perfect when she of all people knew it was not.
Maybe because she’d been too damn exhausted to keep her mask in place, I’d gotten a small glimpse of the real her. The one who’d broken my fucking heart by telling me she’d never been carried before. The one who’d curled up to me like I fucking deserved an angel in my bed. The one who refused to drown in life’s bullshit, and instead was able to look relaxed and carefree as I drove her back to her fucking slum.
If she could still smile and laugh like that, how could I be the one to ruin her? And I would. It was inevitable. I could hold off as long as possible, but eventually I’d have to be me. And I’d make her miserable.
I was controlling.
Manipulative.
Ruthless.
Selfish.
She already thought I was an asshole…
But she hadn’t seen anything yet.
For once, I was trying to do the right thing by letting her be.
That’s what I told myself every damn day in what had been the longest week of my life.
I hadn’t gone to Sinners. I’d only spoken to her once, and that was because jealousy had burned away my control when I’d seen her smiling at her laptop. After that, I hadn’t even looked at her.
When I’d gone to get coffee, I’d had no clue she’d be there. It’d been a punch to the gut and a rush to my dick. I hadn’t been able to resist walking behind her, needing to be close. My eyes had landed on her screen, and I’d been relieved to see her checking out apartments. Her neighborhood was a mess and her apartment a shining beacon of dilapidation and danger.
But then I’d seen the address.
She was planning on moving states away.
Guilt had been plain on her face, adding to the stress that marred the perfection. It’d been clear her move would be sooner rather than later.
And it fucking killed.
When I got to my office, I couldn’t sit. I could barely stop myself from throwing something.
I sent out an email cancelling classes for the day before packing my bag, my gaze straying constantly to the clock and door.
If Eden didn’t come, I’d find her.
I’d always find her.
*******
Eden
There was no avoiding Professor Caine. I may have been moving, but I didn’t want to go out in a blaze of gossip and humiliation.
And I didn’t, even for one moment, doubt his willingness to make the kind of scene that would ensure that happened.
When I got to his office and saw him holding his bag, I nearly slumped with relief.
Good. This’ll be fast.
I hesitantly rapped the door before taking a single step in. “Hey—”
“We’re going to my house.”
I’d have almost thought he was talking to someone else had it not been for the stubborn look he skewered me with, just daring me to argue.
“Wait. What?”
“Do you remember how to get there?”
I shook my head. “Why can’t we talk here?”
Caine held out his hand. “Let me see your phone, and I’ll put my address in.”
“I don’t have GPS.”
He arched an eyebrow, assuming I was lying. “Unless you want everyone to hear, I’d suggest we talk in private.”
I may not have been a hostage, but the tip of never going to a second location seemed solid. “Why don’t we take some time and talk tomorrow?”
Or never.
His eyes narrowed as he prowled toward me, trapping me against the wall, just out of view of the mostly opened door. “Is there something about me, Eden, that makes you think you can play me?”
“Uhh, no?”
“Then do you have GPS?
Embarrassment burned my cheeks, and I hated it. Hated him. Hated myself for not really hating him. “I… don’t have enough data on my plan to use it.”
His jaw clenched and ticked even as his eyes softened. Backing away, he went to his desk and pulled out a pad of paper and pen. He wrote quickly before tearing the page out and handing it to me.
I looked at the step-by-step directions written in his masculine scrawl.
“If you’re not there by—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I deepened my voice and mocked, “Be there when I say, or I’ll come find you.”
“Would it fucking kill you to just once do what I say without the attitude or arguments?”
I shrugged. “Maybe not, but why risk it?”
I may have been ballsy enough to poke the bear, but I wasn’t crazy enough to stick around to see what he did about it.
Moving fast, I headed for the door, ignoring his muttering that was filled with words like ‘spank’ and ‘red assed’.
Just like I ignored the heat that shot through me.
I’m so fucked… up.
Chapter Thirteen
* * *
Dance Naked in the Rain
Eden
For the entirety of the trip to Professor Caine’s, I tried to convince myself to keep driving. In my head, it was just me and the open road until I eventually landed in a nearly deserted coastal town. The town, of course, had all the necessities, like a coffee shop, a smattering of restaurants, a bookstore, and a bakery. Plus, there were hunky men who served cocktails on the beach.
Unfortunately, I had nothing packed, which meant even if I did find such a paradise, I’d smell fairly rank. Whatever money I had would need to go toward clothes and not generous tips for said hunks.
Beyond that… Okay, there were still a number of flaws with that plan. Most pressing, however, was that I wanted to go to Professor Caine’s. I wanted to hear what he had to say.
I needed to see which way our dysfunctional pendulum was swinging that day.
If curiosity killed the cat, then I was quickly turning into Tom from Tom and Jerry.
I just wasn’t sure how many lives I had left before my nine—and my luck—were up.
When I pulled into his driveway, Professor Caine was leaning against the back of his car. He looked almost casual, though I could see he was anything but. Tension marred his scowling face as he watched me park.
I hadn’t even removed the keys from the ignition when my door swung open. Leaning in, he unbuckled me and helped me out before reaching back in to grab my keys, pocketing them.
That does not bode well.
“Get inside,” he rumbled.
On principle alone, the word no hovered on my tongue.
But my damn curiosity got the better of me, and I walked up the path to his opened front door. “What’re the chances I’m getting my keys back if I ask nicely?”
“About the same as you never giving me attitude again.”
“So, not good,” I murmured.
“No, my depraved angel, not good.”
Depraved angel?
That’s new and oddly… flattering.
Rather than question him on the pet name, I ignored it and the warmth that settled in my chest and regions farther south.
When we entered his house, he closed the door and started right in. “Why do you think you’re moving to South Carolina?”
“I was just curious about houses in different areas,” I lied. “I blame my HGTV addiction.”
“Bullshit. Why?”
“I told you, there was this episode of House Hunters—”
The noise of his bag flying across the room and crashing into the wall echoed around us. “Why the fuck do you think you’re moving to South Carolina?”
My hands fisted at my sides. “Because I am! What does it matter?”
“What do I keep telling you? Watch the attitude,” he warned.