The Intern Serials: Complete Box Set

by Brooke Cumberland

  I can’t help the stupid grin that forms on my face as I make my way to the front of the room. I laugh to myself as I think of her calling me sir. Shit, that brings back some memories.

  I start with a refresher from last class. Having them show me their stances and punches. After watching most of them successfully nail it down, I demonstrate kicks again. We didn’t have much time last class, so that’s where I begin again. I show them a routine that I want them to learn.

  “Keep doing it and soon we can add in some music to match the pace and rhythm,” I call out as I walk around. I’m dying to rush to the back right away and get a chance to touch her again, but I’m not so sure she’d let me this time.

  I finally make my way back toward her and her friend. Her friend is stumbling around like a spider on a hot plate. I re-position her body, pressing my hands against her hips and tilting her body to the right angle.

  “Damn, Celia. You were right about his hands,” she says right to Ceci as if I’m not here listening.

  “Oh, my god.” Her cheeks blush instantly. “Ignore Cora. She has no filter.”

  I laugh, amused. I walk toward Ceci and watch her, nodding my approval.

  “Celia, huh? How many names do you have?” I mock, walking away and heading back up to the front.

  It’s a rude comment, especially since we ended things on okay terms. We aren’t friends, but I still care about her. I have so many questions I want to ask her—what she’s been doing the past couple years, if her mom ever came clean, if she plans to go to her dad’s lock box next year. But I’m not sure I deserve answers to those questions. The moment I let her walk out of my office was the moment I let her walk out of my life.

  I see her scowling at me as I stand up in front of the class. She moved, angling her body and giving me a direct view of her now. Her body’s matured some since the last time I’ve seen her. Either she’s been working out or she’s on the ‘college diet’ she use to pretend she was on before—ramen noodles if I remember correctly. God, she sure played that well.

  Everything in me is fighting against each other. What she did versus who she is. Knowing why she did it helped give me closure, but it doesn’t change the fact that she lied and manipulated me. It also didn’t change the way I felt about her, but that was something I had to let go of the moment I found out.

  I blast the stereo and tell them to do some freestyle moves. I tell them it’s good to get to know the bag well, to know their strength, and to have fun. It’s only the second class, and I like letting the students enjoy their time, especially in an intro class.

  I use the opportunity to walk around, watching them punch and kick the bag with all their strength. It’s humorous as I see girls the size of my pinkie beat the living shit out of a punching bag.

  I step behind Ceci and watch her in amusement as she kicks the bags’ ass. I can hear her laughing with her friend as I move in closer to her.

  “Looks like you’re really enjoying that,” I say in a deep tone. Being this close to her again is putting every one of my senses on alert. I can practically feel the shiver that ripples through her.

  “I am,” she replies without looking back, giving the bag another hook. “Using your face as a target really helps my game,” she spits out quickly.

  I hold in a laugh at her serious tone because, fuck, she’s so goddamn adorable when she’s pretending to be pissed off.

  “I guess I deserved that.” I step around her and plant my feet next to the punching bag, crossing my arms. “Show me what you’ve got.”

  She eyes me curiously before curling her lip up into a suspicious grin. She cracks her knuckles and swings her arms around. She gets into the stance position I taught her and gets her arms up before kicking and punching the bag. She then swings around and back kicks it before one last jab.

  She then stands upright with her feet together and puts her hands flat together, bowing down in front of me, like you would in the Japanese culture.

  I try to hold in a laugh, but once our eyes lock and she bursts out in a laugh, I can no longer hold it in.

  “What was that?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugs lightly. “Practicing.”

  “It’s a part of her major,” Cora interrupts, breaking our connection.

  My brows raise in question.

  “I’m studying Sports Management,” she clarifies quickly.

  My lips curl up in a hasty grin. “Looking for an internship?”

  Her eyes narrow, obviously not amused by my joke.

  “You’re an asshole,” she spits out, annoyance laced in her voice.

  “I see you still have the same attitude as before.” I smirk, unable to stop myself from spewing the words out. Her body remains still, the chemistry building between us doesn’t go unnoticed.

  I step toward her and place a hand against her cheek. I don’t even realize I’m doing it until she leans her face into it, making me forget we’re in a room of thirty other people.

  “Good work.” I nod, frazzled from the way two years of suppressed feelings rush back in. I step back, needing to put space in between us. She watches me with wide eyes as I back up and walk toward the front.

  Once I’m in front of the class again, she doesn’t make eye contact with me, and I avoid her for the rest of the class.

  This is a bad idea.

  A really fucking bad idea.

  But then again, nothing involving her has ever really been a good idea…and that never stopped me in the past.

  Chapter Twelve

  Cecilia

  I DON’T KNOW why Bentley flirting with me evokes emotions inside me—anger and lust—both fighting with each other as to which one I should be feeling.

  The first year after Bentley was so fucking hard. I isolated myself and stayed distant until Katelynn peeled back all those heartbreaking layers, still it took her a long time to break my shell and finally move on with my life.

  So why the hell am I doing this? Why am I putting myself in a position to see Bentley twice a week and letting my blood boil every time he’s near me?

  Because you still love him.

  Shut up, heart.

  Cora makes me continue going for the next four weeks until Fourth of July week. Classes are suspended the entire week, and I can finally breathe without the anticipation of seeing him.

  We haven’t talked since the last time he cradled my face with his hand. There’s something so familiar in his touch. Something that makes it impossible to forget him, or how he made me feel.

  I call Simon and beg him to take me out somewhere. I don’t care where. I just need to get out of my house.

  “Thanks,” I say softly as I get into his truck. It’s already dark out so he can’t see how bloodshot my eyes are from crying.

  “Where to?” he asks enthusiastically.

  “I don’t care.”

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” He turns and forces my face to look at him. “Why’re you crying?”

  I sniff once and reply, “Because I’m an idiot, Simon.”

  “You’re going to have to be a bit more specific,” he mocks. “What happened?”

  “Bentley,” I say quickly. “He’s my kickboxing instructor.”

  “No shit!” he yelps. “No wonder you’re enjoying that class so much,” he teases.

  I cock my head at him and tell him that’s not it.

  “Then what is it?”

  “It’s as if two years never even passed. My body still craves him, wants his touch. My minds a damn clusterfuck, and I don’t know how to control these feelings lingering inside me. It’s as if we could pick right back up where we left off. You know—before everything blew up in my face and I never saw him again.”

  “So what’s the matter? Have you talked to him?”

  “No, not really. We spoke the first week of class, barely, but he hasn’t said a word to me since. He watches me and that’s it. And I think that’s what’s pissing me off. He’s treating me like any other student
.”

  “Perhaps it’s what helps him see you after all this time, Celia. Maybe he’s struggling with seeing you just as much as you are. Maybe he’s confused considering he probably didn’t expect to see you again.”

  I know Simon’s right, but I hate that he is. But I’m not like every other student in that room. He’s had me in positions I’ve only ever read about. He’s kissed me with such passion and aggression that my insides felt it. We had so much between us before it was ripped apart.

  “I just hate that I’m having these feelings toward him. I thought I was over him, Simon! Over. And now? Fuck, I don’t know.”

  “Have you tried speaking to him?”

  “No. He always has like a hundred girls waiting for him. And one of the other instructors always comes in right after class and is like all over him. I can live with the idea of him moving on, but I don’t think I can just sit there and watch it. That hurts even worse.”

  “Damn.” I see Simon’s pained expression, and I know he feels for me, but isn’t sure what else to say. There really isn’t much else to say. I put this all on myself. “Well, I know where I’m taking you.” His lips curl into a wide grin. “Time to get you drunk.”

  I laugh as he pulls out into the street. “Why is that always your answer to everything?”

  “Booze heals the weak and brokenhearted, my love. Trust me.”

  I narrow my eyebrows at him, confused at his words. “Who are you longing after?”

  He tilts his head at me, but doesn’t say anything because it’s too obvious.

  “I knew it!” I squeal. “I always knew, Simon.”

  “I know,” he says softly. “I just wish she did.”

  “Cora knows. You just need to grow some balls and tell her. Tell her you want her exclusively, not just one-night sleepovers. Tell her how you really feel.”

  “I will when you do,” he mocks. “You tell Bentley that your panties are still wet over him, and I’ll tell Cora.”

  “Oh, my god.” I blush. “Such a romantic.”

  We end up at a bar where his friend works and gets us in since we aren’t twenty-one yet. Simon keeps feeding me drinks until I finally loosen up and play pool with him.

  I bend over the pool table and line my stick up with the red-stripped ball. I pull my stick back twice before finally smacking the white ball. It flies over the table and begins rolling down the floor.

  “Shit!” I screech. I put the stick down and run after it. It rolls under a high-top bar table, so I bend down to grab it. I’ve had way more than I remember. I stand up, forgetting I’m under the table, and smack my head against it. “Dammit!”

  I stumble backward into something else and immediately regret those last three drinks. “Son-of-a-bitch.” I brace myself for the pain to come, but it never does. Two large hands wrap around my arms, securing me in place.

  His scent consumes me immediately, and I know exactly who those hands belong to.

  “Are you all right?” he asks, his voice raspy and deep.

  “I’m fine. You can let me go,” I plead. I don’t want to see his face. I just want him to let me go so I can walk back to Simon.

  “You’re stumbling all over the fucking place. What are you even doing in here?” His tone is angry, and I feel myself getting brave as the alcohol floods through my veins.

  “I was playing pool with a friend. Is that okay?”

  “No,” he responds curtly. “You need to go home and sleep it off.”

  I pull my arms out of his grip and turn around to see a pissed off Bentley.

  “Who the fuck are you to tell me what I need to do? You aren’t my boss anymore, Mr. Leighton.”

  He grabs my upper arm and pulls me closer to him, lowering his mouth to my ear so only I hear him. “Either I’ll take you home or the police can take you home. Decide,” he growls.

  “God, you’re an asshole. You haven’t changed a bit, Bentley Leighton.”

  “Say goodnight to your friend. We’re leaving.”

  The alcohol pulses through me and part of me is thankful he’s here. I tell Simon I’m leaving with Bentley, and he gives me a wink before I walk away.

  “Well, let’s go,” I mock, walking past him with my hoodie in hand.

  He casually follows behind me, not hurrying along as I walk in front of him.

  I make my way to his Range Rover that brings back memories of our time together and how every time I saw one afterward, my heart immediately squeezed at the memory of us.

  “Oh, the good times we had in this thing,” I say, an octave higher than necessary. “Do you remember?” I smile playfully as I lean up against the passenger door.

  “I remember,” he replies roughly. He stands in front of me, his chest rising and falling heavily as we stare intently at each other. He leans in, our eyes not breaking, until he grabs the door handle behind me, and motions for me to move. I swallow, wishing I was sober enough to keep myself from acting like a damn fool. “Get in.”

  The ride is awkward, but I’m too drunk to care at the moment. He keeps a firm grip on the steering wheel with his eyes focused on the road as rain begins to pour down all around us.

  “I’m glad you decided to go back into modeling,” I say, breaking the silence. “I mean, I’m glad you went back to something you loved.”

  His body relaxes a bit before responding. “It was inevitable, eventually, that I wouldn’t stay working for my dad. It just took a couple fuck ups to make that clear to him.”

  I swallow deeply, feeling guilty. “I’m sorry. I’m sure that was my fault.”

  “It didn’t help my case, but no it wasn’t all your fault. I knew better,” he says harshly. I knew it. He regrets being with me. He knew better. He knew better than to hook up with an intern. To be with someone that he worked with.

  “Even so.”

  “We don’t have to do this, Ceci. I know you’re sorry. I’ve moved on from it.”

  “Good. Me, too.”

  “I know.”

  I snap my head in his direction. “You know?”

  He ignores my question and says, “We’re here.”

  He gets out and comes to my door. He opens it and puts his hand out for me. I don’t take it as I stumble out of the car myself.

  “I’m fine,” I snap. “Thanks for the ride.”

  I clench my hoodie and begin walking toward my house. I can walk my damn self to the door.

  “Ceci, wait!” he calls out. I hear his shoes hitting the wet cement as he comes up behind me. “I don’t want you to fall,” he says genuinely, placing a hand on my lower back.

  “Don’t touch me.”

  “I’m just guiding you. It’s wet and you’re drunk.”

  I laugh at his words. It’s wet.

  “You don’t get to talk about being wet, Mister.” God, I’m a fucking lush. I wish I could freaking talk normal to him, but now my body is ready for a fight.

  “What are you talking about?” He spins me around, making me face him. My hair is getting soaked, but I don’t care. His golden locks are molding to his face as he looks down at me. “I’m trying to be nice, Ceci.” He grips both of his hands on my upper arms, stabilizing me.

  “Well, stop it. Stop being nice to me. You don’t get to be nice to me!” I scream, breaking the hold his hands have on me.

  “You think I want to be nice to you? You think I like caring about you after all this time?”

  “Well…I’m sorry to be such a damn burden! I’ll stop ruining your life and stay as far away from you as I can. Happy?”

  “No, I’m not happy,” he says softer. “I’ve been fucking miserable for two goddamn years, Ceci. Why do you think I’ve worked relentlessly after I got back into modeling? I needed to be away from here. Everything reminded me of you. I needed to keep my mind busy just so I wouldn’t think of you!”

  “I’m sure all your hot model friends helped you plenty with forgetting me. Don’t even pretend you haven’t moved on. Stop being a hypocrite,” I fight back. />
  “I never moved on,” he says softly. “Don’t believe everything you read.”

  “Then why couldn’t you forgive me? Why didn’t you come back for me?” I scream over the rain, tears flowing down my cheeks. His words have completely sobered me up now that we’re finally having the fight we needed to have all this time.

  He firmly grabs my arms again, pulling me closer to him. “I did! I came back for you last summer. You’d already moved on. I wasn’t going to interfere with your happiness.”

  “What?” I gasp. “I wasn’t with anyone last year. You think I could move on from you that easy, Bentley?”

  “I saw you,” he admits, releasing his hands. “You ran to him when he pulled up. You wrapped your hands around him and he kissed you. That’s when I knew…” he stalls, pushing his wet locks off his face. “That’s when I knew it was too late. I was too late.”

  I push him back forcefully with all the anger and regret building up inside me. “You were here?” I scream and push against his chest again, although he barely flinches. “You were here and never said anything?” I continue screaming, angrily.

  He grabs my fists and holds them to his chest, stopping me. “And say what?” he asks softly. “I wasn’t going to interrupt your reunion with your boyfriend. I knew I hadn’t earned that.”

  “You weren’t too late,” I sob. I lift my head up and meet his dark eyes. “You weren’t too late!” I repeat louder. “That wasn’t my boyfriend. He never was. Simon’s my best friend, and he had just returned from London,” I explain.

  “Shit,” he curses, dropping his eyes. “I don’t know why I drove here that day. I shouldn’t have.”

  “Why didn’t you call?” I ask. His hands are still wrapped around my fists. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you, Bentley. I know I fucked up. I know that. But if you were thinking of me, why didn’t you call?”

  “Because I didn’t know what to feel, Ceci. You royally fucked me over, yet I wanted you. I wanted every fucking piece of you! You know how messed up that made me feel?”

  “I have an idea,” I breathe out. “I became a tortured soul that didn’t let anyone in because I was so damn regretful for what I did. I was angry and broken, and I didn’t even want to live a life without you, yet I had to learn how because it was my only option.”