by Rachael Wade
“Well, I better get going,” I stood, in need of some cool air. He recoiled his hand and cleared his throat. “Need to grab some lunch before my afternoon classes.” Peering into his sexy hazel eyes and imagining what his stubble felt like was not going to advance my education in any way. Besides, he would eventually say something dick-like to deter me, reminding me why he irritated me so much. I was saving both of us time. I reached for my book bag.
“Ry, ready for lunch?” A tall redhead wandered through the door and Ryan quickly shot up from his seat, tugging at his tie.
“Ah, sure, babe. One second.”
Of course the hot professor has an equally hot girlfriend. Don’t look so surprised, you fool. I smiled politely at the redhead and waved to Ryan before making a beeline for the door. She eyed me suspiciously as I passed.
“Thanks again,” I said, glancing over my shoulder as I left. I caught a glimpse of their embrace, Ryan grabbing her ass as he swung his jacket over his shoulder, mouth to her neck. Ugh. I sped up and breathed a sigh of relief when I made it into the hallway, thankful that while I revealed a little too much of myself in my writing, I’d managed to keep my unwelcome, wanton thoughts to myself.
4. COMFORT ZONE
The cool water felt glorious rushing over my skin as I glided down the lap lane, taking careful, deliberate strokes, and steady, fluid breaths from side to side. Doing laps was relaxing and I looked forward to it every Monday since my days were so long. It gave me time to burn off some stress, and also helped clear my head. I somehow emerged from the pool every Monday night with more focus, having been able to process whatever was going on in my day-to-day life.
I thought long and hard about my professor’s original assessment of me, that something about me told him I was an overachiever. It was such an impulsive, instinctual comment to make. Suddenly I didn’t find it as insulting as I did the day he’d made it, but was instead mulling it over.
Maybe I did work too hard or too much. I reached the end of the lane and stopped myself, holding on to the pool ledge to catch my breath. The reality was I didn’t have a choice, though. And after all I’d given up for my mom over the years, I felt entitled to go after my dreams—and to dream big. But that led to an intense focus on work and school, and less focus on a life outside of it all.
Shaking my head, I removed my goggles and tilted my head and arms back on the ledge, allowing my legs to float freely in front of me. No. I go out, I have friends. I bit my lip, picturing all the good times I shared with Carter and Dean. I hadn’t had a relationship in ages, but that was by choice, and I was a master at keeping my walls up, even with my friends. But that’s the result of getting burned. You don’t trust. That was normal, right?
I lifted my head and rolled my eyes, tired. Maybe I was just making excuses. Either way I sliced it, I liked my comfort zone and I had no intention of letting anyone in or changing my ways any time soon.
Turning around to rest my elbows on the ledge, my breath caught when I saw Ryan strolling toward me—shirtless, in swim trunks that fit him just right—with a cautious expression. He looked around, over his shoulders, and over the pool before stopping in front of me to hunch down to my level. Crap. Should I call him Ryan here? Or Mr. Campbell? Technically it was outside of class but still on campus...
“Um, hi...” I muttered, distracted by the view.
“Ryan.”
“Yeah, I wasn’t sure...”
“What are you doing here so late? I’m always the last one here.”
“This is my routine,” I said, gripping my goggles tighter in my hand, trying like hell not to stare at his bare skin. Holy shit—tattoos. I spotted them immediately. The man has tattoos under all of that scholarly attire. Crap. Now it would be even more impossible to focus when I was in his class. I had a serious weakness for tattoos, especially on the arms, and well...he had two works of art with heady aphrodisiac quality sprawled across them: one on his forearm and the other on his bicep close to his shoulder.
“But I’m usually gone by now,” I managed to say. “I stayed a little longer tonight. Needed some time to think.” I peered up at him and he broke eye contact, looking over at my chair for something. “So...you swim often?”
“Yes, it’s my routine, too,” he said, still distracted. “Especially on Mondays and Wednesdays. After my afternoon classes I get to go home for a few hours, but then I have to be back for one night class. Then I come here afterward.”
“We must miss each other by less than an hour, then.”
“Looks like it,” he moved and sat down next to me, slipping his legs over the ledge, sinking his body into the water. “You come with anyone?” He looked over at my chair anxiously again, dunking his head under water after I shook my head “no.” I glanced around, realizing we were the only two there, with the exception of the lifeguard chatting on his cell phone. I immediately felt awkward, yet I didn’t want to leave.
He emerged from the water and shook his head, ran his fingers through his hair to slick it back. I eyed the towel on my chair, knowing now would be the perfect time to exit before things turned weirder.
“You have an almost perfect stroke,” his voice pulled me from my thoughts of escape. “Were you on a team or something?”
“When I was a kid, yeah. Almost perfect? What does that mean?” I chuckled, trying to lean back against the pool wall and act naturally. Why did he make me so uncomfortable? It wasn’t just because he was my professor. I worked hard to maintain eye contact with him as we spoke, very aware of the way his lean muscles flexed and rippled as he moved. Nope, isn’t just that.
“I meant exactly what I said—it’s almost perfect. I saw you finishing up when I came in. Your shoulders are too tight, you need to loosen up. I bet you’d benefit greatly if you learned to loosen up.”
Ugh. This right here. This was why he irritated me—his perfect ability to say something completely unwarranted and in such a self-assured tone.
“Hhhmm. Don’t believe I asked for your opinion, Mr. Campbell.”
“We’re back to last-name basis now, are we?” He placed his hands on his hips and shrugged, a smug grin creeping over his lips. “Okay, Ms. Parker. Just trying to call it like I see it. You’d enjoy it more and you’d get a better workout if your stroke wasn’t so tight, that’s all.” He swerved his torso from side to side, touching each hip to stretch. Damn. So comfortable and at ease with his body.
“How about we stick to talking about writing?” I folded my arms across my chest, my eyes darting toward the towel on my chair again. He was sexy, full of himself, and maddeningly right, all at the same time. I wasn’t sure whether to smile back or slap him.
“I think that’s an excellent idea. But first,” he glanced around briefly, then moved closer, positioning himself at my side, just slightly behind my left shoulder, “promise me you’ll try this. You’ll feel the difference, I swear it.”
I stood still, goose bumps springing up over my arms when his fingertips made contact with my elbow, hyperaware of his skin on mine.
“When you roll your shoulder,” his hand slid up my arm and gripped it, “just let it roll in one fluid movement when your body shifts.” He looked down at me and swallowed, his eyes lingering on my lips for a second. He stepped back a hair when his chest brushed mine, gently pushing my shoulder down and then around, pulling on my arm as he showed me how to move.
“Like this?” I repeated the motion, eyes still frozen on his fingers’ grip around my shoulder. His skin set fire to mine with each light brush.
“Yeah, exactly like that,” he licked his lips and shuffled closer again, his hot breath skimming my back. His hands slid downward over the curves of my hips and held onto them as I mimicked the technique. I glanced over my shoulder, and when I heard his quiet intake of breath and felt his fingers smooth over my skin, I couldn’t look away. His mouth was so close, his lips moist with droplets of water. He swallowed and pulled his heady gaze from mine, stumbling backward to rest against the
pool wall.
I started for the ladder, frantic. “I’ll try that next time I do my laps. Thanks, I better get going.” I couldn’t be attracted to him. I reached my chair and snatched up my towel, wrapping myself quickly and slipping on my flip-flops. His back was still to me as he looked out over the water, slowly turning when he heard me rustle through my bag for my keys. I stood there for a second, trying to think of what to say before I booked it out the door.
“Good luck with your short story, Kate,” he beat me, turning to nod goodbye. There was a knowing look in his eyes, an apologetic one with a hint of sadness. It momentarily mesmerized me but I snapped out of it before my look of intrigue turned to gawking.
“Thanks, Ryan.” I swung my bag over my shoulder and sent him a faint smile, silently forgiving him for whatever he felt sorry for. I assumed it was guilt over sharing the same attraction, but something deep in his eyes told my gut that it was more than that. “I’m sure it won’t be the last you’ll hear about it. I’ll keep you posted.” I turned for the exit, giving him a light wave before I made it past the glass doors.
Without showering, I slipped my sweatpants over my swimsuit, tossed up my hair, and slid on my sweater and hoody, then darted out of the locker room and toward the parking lot. What the hell just happened? Was I imagining things? Overreacting? No. I wasn’t imagining the tingling I felt when he touched me, and I didn’t conjure up the way he looked at me with pure, poorly kempt desire...did I?
It didn’t matter because nothing would ever come of it. He was only trying to show me how to improve my stroke, the same way he was trying to encourage my writing. He was my professor. I didn’t want a relationship. I had far too much on my plate. Period. I made my way to the Light Rail and toward Pioneer Square.
My muscles feeling like Jell-O, I sat there on the train blasting Radiohead’s “Creep” on my iPod, admiring the majestic mountainous backdrop that highlighted the cityscape out the window. I’ll never get used to that. The sight was breathtaking. As expensive as it was to live downtown in such a popular district, it was worth it. I chose the oldest, smallest, and cheapest one-bedroom flat I could get my hands on, and it really was a necessity because it was only blocks away from the literacy center where I worked. Even if I owned a car, it would be a nightmare to commute to and from the city every day, especially to this district.
My mind wandered from my financial struggles to my mom and how she was doing, and then to Carter and Dean, imagining what kind of trouble they were cooking up this week. All of these things were safe things to think about, things my mind was permitted to explore. The idea of Mr. Campbell—er, Ryan coming on to his students was not—especially when that student was me. And that redhead...was she a student, too?
I felt my cell phone vibrate and turned off my music to answer, my heart accelerating when I heard Carter’s nervous voice in the phone, Dean shouting something in the background like a crazy man.
“Carter? What’s going on?” I held my hand to my free ear so I could hear him better.
“You need to get home right now, Kate. And we need to tell you something really important. You can’t be pissed at us, okay?”
“She’s going to kill us, man. No way around it. You know you love us, Kate! We complete you! We’re the wind beneath your wings!” Dean broke out into laughter and then the music began. He was blasting something familiar and apparently getting a kick out of it, laughing like a lunatic.
“Damn it, Dean! What the hell, man?” The sound of Carter’s hand over the receiver muffled his voice, making it even harder to understand him.
“Carter...what’s going on?” I spoke up over the chaos, trying to get his attention. “What do you mean ‘don’t be pissed at you’? What did you guys do?”
“We’ll tell you as soon as you get here. We let ourselves into your place. Where have you been? You’re usually home by now.” Why, oh why did I ever give them a key?
“I know, I got held up...okay my stop is coming up. I’ll be there soon and I’ll deal with you clowns later.”
“Maria! I just met a girl named Maria...” Dean started singing in a bravado voice in the background and Carter shushed him.
“It was only funny the first time, man. Let it go. Move on with your life, already.” Carter laughed, distracted again.
“Carter. Did you hear me?”
“Oh, yeah, yeah,” he cleared his throat and broke out his phony British accent, knowing how much it made me smile. “Sorry, love. Bloody hell, Mr. Dean, do turn that racket down, I say. Okay, Kate. See you soon for a spot of tea, yeah? Woohoo the British are coming!” He hung up. I slapped my hand to my forehead and turned off my phone, staring at it for a moment, wondering what on God’s green Earth they were up to.
I rushed up the stairs to my flat and burst through the door, freezing my ass off and desperate for the warmth.
“Okay, this had better be good, because it’s a school night, boys. Some of us have to work for a living, ya know.”
“Hey, we have jobs, Miss Hoity-Toity.” Carter snapped when I walked in.
I pulled at my hoody and hurried over to the coffee pot, eyeing Dean as he sat playing imaginary drums next to the blasting stereo.
“Do you mind?” I hollered at him, pouring myself a warm cup of French Vanilla. “Now, what’s this news? Did you guys rob a bank? Share the wealth.”
“What kind of people do you think we are?” Dean turned down the music and joined Carter and me in the kitchen, the three of us huddled together like a little flock for extra warmth, sipping our coffees like they were our lifelines, our feet pressed together to form a link.
“Well, do you want the good news or the bad news first?” Carter glanced at Dean and then blew on his knuckles, rubbing his palms together.
“Bad. Let’s make this quick because I need to shower and I have to be up early.”
“Okay, Kate,” Dean warned, “the bad news is you’re going to have to find someone else. You might be Snow White’s beautiful twin and have some of the best dance moves I’ve ever seen, but truthfully, you’re just not the fairest one of all.”
“Any day now Dean.” I cocked an eyebrow, tapping my foot.
“I’m taken, honey. Sorry to break your heart, but it’s true. I finally asked Crystal out. You remember her, right?”
“Mmmm...vaguely,” I squinted, trying to recall her face. “That’s great, though. Glad to hear you’ve broadened your horizons. Now. What’s the bad news?”
“That’s just cruel and uncalled for, Kate Parker.” He huffed under his breath, looking appalled. I stared him down, then glanced to Carter, the silence rich with excitement.
“You’re officially a published writer, Kate.” Carter spat the words out, pulling a piece of mail from his back pocket and shoving it toward me.
“What?” I took the paper from his hand and unraveled the folds, my eyes dancing across the letter for an explanation.
“This is the ‘please don’t be pissed at us’ part.” He slowly backed away, Dean mirroring his movements. “We submitted another story of yours...months ago. We thought it was so good and we knew you’d never do it yourself, so...”
“Surprise.” Dean grinned like a fool and gave a little spirit finger display.
That’s the last thing I saw before I hit the floor.
5. INVITATION
The room was spinning. I was sprawled out on the couch with an ice pack plastered to my forehead, Carter at my side gripping my hand while Dean fanned me with a gaudy paper Chinese fan I found at the market for two bucks.
“Kate, you okay?” Carter felt my cheek and smiled. “Good God, woman. Never thought you’d actually pass out on us.”
“We were thinking more along the lines of you giving us black eyes,” Dean stopped fanning me.
I slowly worked my way up onto my elbows and took a deep breath, my vision less dizzy now. “You submitted my work.”
“Yes,” they answered in unison.
“Without telling me.”
/>
“Yes.”
“And it was accepted?”
“It’s been accepted for the spring 2012 issue.” Dean answered proudly, coming to sit down next to me. “You do realize that’s what writers do, right, Kate? They share their work. You were going to have to do it eventually.”
“I just...” My head began to throb. “I just had a long day, and this...”
“Is amazing,” Dean rubbed my shoulder and smiled wide, handing me water.
“It is! Oh, it is. I’m sorry, guys. It means so much to me that you thought to do this...although I’m a little pissed you went behind my back...”
“We can still go out and rob that bank if you want us to.”
“No, no. This is more than enough,” I let out a squeal, feeling my strength return and my excitement build. I grabbed the letter from the coffee table and just sat staring at it.
“So, we know you’re broke and all, but this gives us the perfect excuse to take you out and celebrate. Our treat.” Dean slipped his arm around my waist, admiring the letter with me.
“And we won’t take no for an answer.”
“But I have work early,” I glanced down at my still-wet swimsuit and sweatpants, felt my chlorine-fried hair. “And I need to shower.”
“Well, get a move on, Cinderella. Your pumpkin coach awaits.” Carter dragged me up and handed me more water before shooing me to the bathroom. “We’ll have you home before midnight, don’t worry.”
Still in shock, I complied and let them take me out for a night of shameless karaoke at our favorite pub. Before I fell asleep that night, I thought of the first person I wanted to share my good news with and began devising a mental plan of when to go about it.
***
The following Monday, I felt refreshed and inspired. I’d managed to pick up a few extra shifts over the past week to get ahead on some of my bills and pay some of my mom’s rent, and my publication acceptance had ignited a slew of ideas for my novel in progress. I waited for Ryan’s class to end and sat patiently in my seat until most of the students filtered out so I could have a few uninterrupted minutes with him.