“Soon,” Ren said. “Before the end of the quarter. That will allow for the safest, smoothest travel, and I should be able to catch some of the star drifts.” Star drifts were something that the Prime Minister of Travel and Recreation had discovered several hundred years earlier; small pockets in space that seemed to act almost like wind, and would push a ship forward, thereby reducing the drag from normal travel. This saved on the ship’s wear and tear, and also helped with fueling. Now, the ships were stronger and the fuel was automatically created on board the ship, so there was no technical need for accessing the star drifts beyond that they seemed to make the travel more comfortable somehow.
“And when will you return?”
“As soon as I have at least a hundred women willing and able to travel back to Mador with me,” Ren had answered immediately. “And not a moment before.”
He was pulled out of his thoughts by the return of Bethany, who plunked herself down right next to Ren, on his side of the booth, knocking into his shoulder and hip. He looked at her, surprised, and was even more surprised to find her lips puckered up and waiting for his.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” she said, “and this beer is going straight to my head. What do you say we go back to my place?”
She leaned in and began to kiss Ren, who, before he could pull away, tasted both beer and cigarettes on her lips. He recoiled automatically, sliding away from her on the booth.
“I have an early class tomorrow,” he said, putting as much sorrow tone in his voice as he could manage. “I’m really sorry.”
“Your class can’t be that early,” she purred, inching closer to him once again on the booth. “You can leave as soon as we’re done.”
“Done with what?” he asked. He racked his brain trying to remember if she’d mentioned an activity after they left the restaurant.
She burst out laughing, a loud, braying sound that seemed too big for someone of her stature. “After we’re done fucking, silly! God, are you from another planet or something? Get with it!”
He bristled and stared at her closely, scanning her body for any signs that she knew his true past, that she somehow had figured out who he was and where he was from. He wasn’t getting any outward signs that she knew anything, though, so he relaxed.
“I’ll walk you to your car, Bethany,” he said in a smooth, controlled voice. “Then…” he paused, thinking about what he’d just said. “On second thought, I’m going to set up an Uber for you. I’ll stay with you until it gets here if you like.”
Bethany’s face turned bright pink and, for a moment, the memory of Morgan, his student, flashed through his mind. How her face had flushed when she’d asked her question. He stared at Bethany and wondered how he could have been so drawn to Morgan’s flush and find the same biological event so repulsive on Bethany.
“Don’t bother, asshole,” Bethany said as she stood up. “I’m not going to beg for it.” She turned, stuck her ass out in his direction, and giving it a light smack said “I don’t need to.” And she was gone.
Ren sat in the booth for another several minutes after she left. He sighed. It wasn’t the terrible date running through his mind, or the fact that he had just failed yet again at finding a woman who might be a good match to bring back to Mador with him. His thoughts were on Morgan. The flush of her face, the pink against her smooth, pale skin, and the curves of her body that filled out her top and jeans as if she was a model.
Thinking about Morgan, he wondered how she might sit at his right hand side at his home on Mador.
Chapter Four: Morgan
Morgan sighed and closed her eyes, the image on the computer screen other disastrous short story still visible on the backs of her eyelids. It was nearly dawn, and she had stayed up all night writing. She had a passable draft, but there were several scenes that she knew wouldn’t pass the critique of even the most basic fiction class. There was no way she could present this to anyone and expect to be taken seriously.
“Why!” she moaned out loud. “Why do I always do this to myself?”
“The better question is, why don’t you just find Dr. Mador, before you turn your story in, and tell him that he should save his energy reading it and bang you instead?” Ann said as she popped into Morgan’s bedroom with a cup of steaming coffee.
Morgan took it gratefully and smiled. “You should write romance novels,” she said, taking a sip of the coffee after blowing on it to cool it down. “You have such a way with words.”
“I’m sure I’ll eventually move in that direction,” Ann said, a mock serious expression on her face. “You know, when I’ve retired as a billionaire designer. Or,” she sat down, “when you marry Dr. Mador and you adopt me as your assistant lady of leisure…”
“Jesus,” Morgan said. “It’s early, but I’m not that delusional… yet.”
Morgan wished, more than anything, that she had Ann’s confidence and ability to warm up a room. Ann was gorgeous, model gorgeous, which was sometimes off-putting to people when she first met them. But, no matter who it was, by the time Ann had spent five minutes with anyone, they’d absolutely fallen in love with her.
On the other hand, Morgan knew, even if she had the confidence to speak to Dr. Mador, he would never be interested in someone like her. Dishwater blond hair, a few extra pounds—though Ann insisted on describing her as curvy—and dull eyes. There was nothing extraordinary about her.
“Besides,” Morgan continued. “As soon as Dr. Mador reads this story, he’s going to kick me out of the MFA program and I won’t see him ever again. It’s that shitty of a story.”
“You always say that,” Ann said, “and your stories are always brilliant.”
That was also true. Morgan had always downplayed her abilities. She lacked confidence, but, as had been proven time and time again, not talent. She’d opted for journalism because she enjoyed the urgency, the last minute rush of getting a story to press just in time, even writing the headlines with every single word being just perfect was something that had actually increased her belief that she was a good writer. The awards she’d won, her position as Editor, it all showed her that she was, in fact, a great writer.
She’d moved into fiction as a way to develop her skills even further. She never would have expected to, in many ways, like fiction more.
Except for now. Now she was hating it.
“Let’s go out and grab an early breakfast,” Ann said, standing up. “Come on.”
“Are you kidding? It’s not even five o’clock in the morning yet. The sun isn’t even up.”
“So? There’s always something open. You need to get out of the house. Come on, I won’t take no for an answer.” Ann reached out took her hand and pulled Morgan reluctantly to her feet. “I’ll even treat.”
Ann was right about one thing, at least: the fresh, crisp air as Morgan walked with Ann to the Denny’s a few blocks away did wonders at clearing her head. She started to imagine eggs and bacon and her spirits immediately improved.
“I think I definitely need to include a breakfast scene in my story,” she said as she and Ann found a table and sat down, sitting opposite each other in a restaurant that was surprisingly full considering the hour. The main part of the restaurant was full of night shift workers on their dinner break, and even a large u-shaped booth of university students who looked like they were cramming for finals, even though it was still the start of the term.
“What’s your plan for the day?” Morgan asked Ann as they perused their menus. Ann began to list out everything she needed to get done before five o’clock when Morgan looked up at something that had flashed out of the corner of her eye.
One of the guys at the table of students was looking at her. She glanced his way and, thinking their eye contact was accidental, she looked away immediately. She looked back out of the corner of her eye to see if he was still looking—he was. Morgan felt her trademark flush rise in her cheeks.
“What’s wrong?” Ann asked loudly. The guy quickly turned
back to his books.
“Shhh! Jeez!” Morgan said in a whisper. “Could you be any louder?”
“Well,” Ann said, lowering her voice slightly, “what’s wrong? You’re turning eight shades of red.”
“There’s a guy over there who keeps looking at me,” Morgan said through her teeth. “Don’t look!” But it was too late; Ann stared at the table, and waved at the entire group of them. A few waved back, including the guy who had been checking Morgan out.
“He’s cute!” Ann said brightly. “Not Dr. Mador cute, obviously, but cute all the same. You should go over there. Or…I could wave him over here?”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind!” Morgan seethed. “And I’m not going over there. The last thing I need to worry about right now is a relationship. You know that; I don’t have time to date.”
“Blah, blah, blah,” Ann said. “No time to date, no good at writing, no sex with your professor, you’re no fun at all. How did we end up being roommates in the first place?” The grin on her face was typical Ann, sarcastic to the core.
“I believe you were about to be homeless and I took you in,” Morgan said dryly. That had been exactly what had happened, though the women had lived together for three years.
“Oh yeah…” Ann said, fixing her face in an expression of nostalgia. “Those were the days…”
The server arrived at the table to take their order and left with their menus and a promise to be back to refill their coffee. Morgan was just about to ask Ann about her latest design project when Ann’s face brightened and she grinned.
“Look who’s on his way over!” she said.
Before Morgan could say anything, the guy from the study group was standing at their table. He was attractive, definitely an athlete, and he looked to be about twenty-two. Morgan felt her stomach drop at the sudden requirement of a social interaction, and she kicked Ann under the table, Morgan’s non-verbal warning for Ann to keep quiet.
“Uh, hey,” the guy said, and Morgan smiled a bit in spite of herself when she noticed a slight flush rising above the guy’s collar.
“Hey,” Ann said, though the guy was looking at Morgan. “How are you? How’s the studying?”
“Uh, yeah, it’s good,” he said, sounding a little confused as he turned his attention to Ann, though his eye stayed on Morgan. His tone took on that of someone trying to swat a fly that kept escaping, and this made Morgan smile even more.
“What are you studying?” Morgan asked. She tried to keep her voice up, having been told she could be quiet around people she didn’t know well.
“Yeah, it’s a microbiology class… really fricking hard.” The guy shook his head. “It’s, like, the first week of the term and I already feel like I’m too far behind to ever get caught up.” He paused for a moment. “I’m Rick, by the way.” He stuck his hand out in Morgan’s direction and smiled. His teeth were straight and white, and his smile brought a level of energy to his face Morgan hadn’t noticed before. It seemed to rise up into his eyes, filling his cheeks with a glow as it moved.
“I’m Morgan,” she said. “This is my roommate, Ann.”
“Cool. Do you two live around here? I’ve never seen you before. You students at Columbia?”
“Yes,” Morgan said. “Grad programs. What about you?”
“Ah, yeah, I’m at Columbia too, pre-med. Final semester, thank God, then it’s off to med school and,” he shrugged. “You know…”
“Yeah,” Morgan said. She felt herself starting to relax. Rick seemed harmless enough.
“You want to join us?” Ann said. “Or did you just come over to brag about being a future doctor?”
“Ann!” Morgan said and Rick laughed.
“Ha, yeah, that’s exactly why I came over. And to give you this.” He slid a piece of paper from the palm of his hand onto the table, setting it next to Morgan. “If you’re interested, call me sometime.”
He didn’t wait for an answer, but, instead, he turned and walked back to his table. He said a few words to his study group, and they all looked over, some nodding. Morgan realized that Rick hadn’t told them that he’d asked her out. More likely, he’d said she was someone in one of his classes, or, say, a friend of his sister or something.
Ann was grinning, and Morgan rolled her eyes. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how a girl gets hit on,” Ann said. She leaned back against the chair as the server arrived and set the food on the table.
“Anything else?” she asked in a tired yet kind voice.
“No, thank you,” Ann said. “This is perfect. That bacon looks divine.”
“Best in town,” the waitress said, a smile growing on her face. “Enjoy, ladies.”
“Whatever,” Morgan said, putting the slip of paper with Rick’s number on it in her purse.
“Are you gonna call?” Ann said, taking a bite of the crispy, Applewood smoked bacon.
“No,” Morgan said.
“But you put his number in your purse,” Ann pointed out. “You’ll call. You can say you won’t, but I know you. Just promise you’ll wait until tomorrow.”
“I promise I’ll steal that bacon right off your plate…” Morgan said smiling as she reached for Ann’s plate, moving slowly enough to allow Ann’s hand to smack hers away lightly before any bacon left the plate.
Chapter Five: Ren
Ren grabbed the top story from the pile, the title page already folded over so he couldn’t see whose it was. He’d overheard some of the other professors talk about how they graded their papers “blind,” a phrase that he determined meant that they would refrain from knowing whose paper was being graded until it was time to enter the grade. Supposedly, this kept the whole grading process more objective and decreased favoritism. Ren didn’t understand that, though, because after only one story, he’d figured out the various speech and writing patterns of his students.
He began the first paragraph and, by the end of the first page, he had settled into his chair, pen in hand, but with a strange feeling in his stomach. He’d come across Morgan Hill’s story; he knew that much already. She had a tendency to always start her sentences the same way, and he recognized her style.
The content, however, was something else.
“Is this for real?” he said out loud to his empty living room.
The story was about Miranda, a single woman in her early thirties. She was a typical woman, as far as Ren could tell, in every way. Successful in her career and her social life, yet she hadn’t married and didn’t have children. She yearned for an adventure; something to shake up her life and give her some inspiration.
At the top of page three, she met a man.
At the top of page five, the man, Petronet, asked her to move in with him, though it meant traveling to a place she’d never been before.
At the top of page six, Miranda said she would need to consider such a significant move. She spent pages six, seven, and eight considering the decision and discussing it with her friends.
At the bottom of page ten, Miranda said yes.
At the top of page twelve, after two pages of travel, during which Miranda was unconscious, Miranda and Petronet landed on Petronet’s planet.
At the bottom of page twenty, Miranda observed that she had never felt so happy and fulfilled in her entire life.
Ren put the story down, stood up, and began to pace his apartment. He unconsciously ran his hand through his hair, tugging on the strands in the back as he thought about what Morgan had written. What was she trying to tell him? Was this a message that she knew who he really was?
“Don’t be paranoid,” Ren scolded himself out loud. He’d also questioned Bethany, even though there was no way for her to possibly have any idea. “Morgan doesn’t know. How could she?”
It was impossible for her to know Ren’s truth. But, still...
He wrote up his critique and attached it to the top of Morgan’s story. He briefly thought about writing a note to her asking for her to please see him during his office hours, som
ething else he’d heard the other professors doing. Instead, he vowed to keep an eye on Morgan during class next Tuesday, when her story was being critiqued. It would be natural for him to be looking at her and he would be able to determine exactly where her mind was.
He thought of Leif and what Leif would say. What he had said.
“Be careful, Brother. This planet cannot survive without you.”
Chapter Six: Morgan
Morgan sat outside Dr. Mador’s office, trying to keep her leg from shaking, a nervous habit, and drinking her water to avoid the cottonmouth she always got when she was about go to in for a job interview. She’d dressed as sexily as she could without making it obvious; skinny jeans, that hugged her curves tight, tucked into knee high boots with a low heel. She’d opted for a wrap top with long sleeves that caressed every curve of her upper body. It was burgundy, which complemented her skin, and incredibly low cut. She’d taken a second look at herself in the mirror before she’d left the house that day, wondering if it was too much.
It was Ann who had said, with a small amount of irritability, “Oh for shit’s sake, just go. If your boob happens to pop out, see what he does. He’ll probably love it.” Then, she’d wiggled her tongue in such a ferocious way, both women had dissolved into giggles.
“Okay, fine,” Morgan had said. “But if I get arrested for sexually harassing my professor, you better be the one standing there with my bail money in hand.”
“No problem, now get the hell out of here. You look sexy, act like it.”
And now, here she sat, waiting while Dr. Mador finished with some poor undergrad who was probably failing all her classes. She was desperately trying to get her flirt on with Dr. Mador, to Morgan’s amusement. She could see Dr. Mador through his partially closed door, but the looks on his face, alternating between pained and patience, were priceless.
A few minutes later, they finished, and the door opened.
Romance: Yes, Stepbrother! Page 39