by Mazzy King
I felt a little weird about basically admitting to my teacher—and also a woman I’m interested in—that I’m an ex-con, but it’s part of my life. Part of my history. And no matter whether or not it gets expunged from my official records, I can’t expunge it from my life.
Stella nods, a beautiful smile spreading across her face. Now that I’m closer to her, I can spot a light smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. They’re adorable.
“I can see you’re in a hurry, so why don’t you stop by during my office hours tomorrow evening?” she says.
“Oh, uh…” I glance at my watch again. Dammit! A rare opportunity to get some one-on-one time with this woman, and of course, I have to go. “Yeah. What time are they, again?”
“Five to nine.”
I nod. “I’ll be there.”
Stella gives me another smile. “Great. Um, have a great night, Aidan.”
God, I love it when she says my name.
“See you tomorrow,” I tell her, then head toward the door.
Halfway out, I glance over my shoulder and catch her still watching me. She gives me a little wave, and I return it.
It might be my imagination, but I swear her cheeks turn pink.
2
Stella Smythe
The next night, as I work at my desk in my little office, I keep glancing at the clock. Then the door. Then the clock.
When’s he coming?
It’s wrong. I know it’s wrong. But I can’t help the enormous crush I have on Aidan Kelly. My student.
Huge yikes…
I know from his records he’s older than me by a year. I also know now, according to his captivating essay, that he’s an ex-con. If he’s telling everything like it really happened, he got a super unfair shake in the legal system, being a poor kid from a blue-collar neighborhood going up against some Richie-rich with all the resources at his disposal. He was standing up for his mom, but he never stood a chance.
I don’t judge him by his past actions. Hell, if he did that more recently, I wouldn’t judge him. But from his essay, I can tell he’s a man who wants more and better from life, who wants to rise above the “ex-con” stamp on his back. His essay touched my heart, and I think it’s something the world needs to see.
Around eight, there’s a knock on my door.
“Come in,” I call, my heart suddenly beating fast, trying to keep up with the nerves fluttering in my belly.
Aidan walks through my door, and the nerves intensify, making me hate myself a little for feeling them.
He’s got almost a foot of height on me, and he’s broad-shouldered and golden-skinned, probably from his construction work. It’s hard not to picture him in a hard hat with no shirt on, and even though all I’ve seen of his body are his tattooed arms, it doesn’t take a genius to surmise he’s got washboard abs and well-developed pecs under that shirt.
God, could you stop? I scold myself.
He gives me a little smile. “Evening, Ms. Smythe.”
Why does he have to be so gorgeous?
His golden-brown hair is a little damp, like he jumped out of the shower right before coming here, and his face looks smooth and freshly shaved. He’s got plump lips that make me wonder if they’re as soft as they look.
I usually insist on my students calling me Stella, but secretly, I love it when Aidan calls me Ms. Smythe. I can’t help but wonder what my first name would sound like coming from him, in his deep, velvety voice.
Maybe you should go get laid for the first time in two years and stop lusting after your student! my mind shouts at me. It has been a long time for me, but I don’t want just anyone. I want him.
But now, I need to be his teacher.
“Hi, Aidan,” I say, gesturing to the chair across from my desk. “Have a seat. Thanks for coming in.”
“No problem. I tried to get here earlier, but…” He trails off and shrugs, glancing down.
“It’s fine,” I reply. I reach into my desk drawer and pull out the printed copy of his essay. “So, like I was saying last night, I think your essay is fantastic. I based the assignment on a contest a literary publication I follow is holding—the themes are the same. I was hoping some of my students would produce work I could enter for them. And you did.”
He blinks. “Just me?”
“Just you. That’s not to say that other essays weren’t good. They were. But yours…” I shake my head, searching for the right word. “It was stirring. It touched me.”
His gaze locks onto mine. “It did?”
His voice is a little quieter. A little deeper.
I nod. “Very much so.”
He folds his hands together and leans forward. “So what happens next?”
I’m mesmerized by those hands. They’re large and strong, a little scarred up on the back from hard manual labor. My gaze follows the veins on them, down his forearms, and up to where his tanned biceps strain against the sleeves of his T-shirt. His arms are covered in tattoos, and up close, I can see how artful they are, how beautifully drawn and shaded.
Aidan clears his throat, and with horror, I realize I’ve been checking him out.
“Um,” I say quickly, “we’ll do a few rounds of edits on it, and then I can submit it for you by the deadline next month. I’ve already done a first round of edits.” I push the document toward him with a slightly trembling hand.
At the same time he reaches to take it, and our fingers brush.
I always thought the old “he touched me, and it felt like a jolt of electricity” thing was just a saying in romance novels. But a blaze of heat snaps between us, and neither of us hurries to pull our hands away.
“If—if you can complete the first round in a few days and get it back to me, that’d be great,” I say softly.
He licks his lips slowly. “Ms. Smythe—”
A loud buzzing noise sounds from his pocket, and we both flinch a little.
He draws his hand back to retrieve his phone and frowns at the screen. Then he sighs and scratches his chin. “I, uh, have to get going. I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “I…have this new job. At night. I’m on call.”
On call? I’m curious, but I decide not to ask. “Sure, no problem. Just let me know if you need help with the edits.” I stand, and he does the same. “I guess I could get going too. You were my last appointment.”
“I’ll walk you to your car,” he says immediately. “It’s dark out. Not super safe.”
I blink in surprise. “Well—sure. That’d be really nice of you.” I reach for my laptop bag and quickly tuck my computer inside then sling it over my shoulder. Aidan opens the door and steps back.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” I say hastily, turning back to grab a folder containing my other class’s papers to grade. When I turn around, the folder flies out of my hand. “Shit.”
“I got it.”
We both bend down to gather the papers in the tiny space, and when I glance up, he’s looking at me. Our faces are only a few inches apart.
“Here you go,” he says softly, holding out a stack of papers he gathered.
“Thanks,” I murmur, taking them and tucking them into the folder.
When we stand, my chest brushes his. It feels like the temperature in the office has just catapulted up about fifteen degrees.
He walks me out, staying close to my side but not touching me. We don’t speak, but my face is still hot. I haven’t been with anybody in a couple years and don’t really date, but I know when a guy’s interested, and the look on Aidan’s face told me in no uncertain terms…he’s into me too.
“This is me,” I say, gesturing toward a dented silver sedan.
“I’ll get the door for you.” He reaches around me and opens the driver-side door. I lean forward to put my things in the passenger seat. When I turn around, Aidan’s only a few inches away again, one arm draped over the roof, one over the open door.
I gaze up into his face, wishing he wasn’t my student. Wishing this was some other scenar
io.
Wishing he would kiss me.
His eyes, dark in the dim light of the parking lot, slide down my face until they rest on my lips, lingering there for a long moment.
“Get home safe,” he says finally, taking a step back.
I draw in a breath. “You too. And have a good night at work.”
He flashes a brief smile at that, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, before he blinks it away. I turn to climb into my car.
“Good night, Aidan,” I say.
“Good night…Stella.”
I turn to look at him. He gives me another smile, this one slow and sexy, and it definitely reaches his eyes this time.
3
Aidan
“All right,” a tough-looking dude with more tattoos than me and a hard look in his eyes says, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s see what we got.”
I fold my arms, tilting my head. “You got the cream of the fucking crop, is what you got.”
He glares at me. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
The guy, who I only know as Runty—though he’s bigger than me—leans down to swipe one of the two black nylon duffel bags I brought in and set down on the concrete floor. He yanks the zipper open and peers inside at the array of goods—two Uzis, three AK-47s, half a dozen Glocks of various sizes, and a few S&W revolvers. None of them have serial numbers, after the seller—Gray, my boss—had the crew painstakingly file them off.
He checks out a few of the guns, then takes the bag into a back office of the warehouse we’re meeting in to have his boss check them out. When he comes back out, it’s with a large tan envelope I know is full of money.
In fact, it better be full of fifty thousand dollars.
Runty flicks his head at me as he walks toward me. He pushes the envelope into my hands. “Here. Boss says he’s going to be wanting another delivery soon. Next week.”
I set my jaw. “You know, my boss makes a point of speaking to the people he does business with. Not sending his lackeys out to run his messages.”
It’s a ballsy thing to say. Runty narrows his eyes and clenches his fists.
“How precious,” he sneers. “But my boss is a bit more discerning. He’ll speak to you when he wants to, if he wants to. Not a second before. You or your boss don’t like it? Shove it up your asses.” He leans into my face, jabbing a finger at my nose. “But I bet you won’t. You know why? Because you want to keep getting paid. Now fuck off.”
I glare at him, then pivot and stride out of the warehouse toward the black SUV with the fake plates that idles by the back door.
One of the guys I’m with, Eric, glances at me from behind the wheel as I climb into the back. “Any problems, college boy?”
“Other than Runty being a dick as usual, no,” I say drily.
The guy in the front passenger seat, Oliver, turns around. “Well?”
“Here.” I hand him the envelope. “Says he wants another shipment next week. I’m assuming that means he’ll be in touch with you.”
Oliver nods. He’s Gray’s second-in-command and comes on all my runs since I’m new. He opens the envelope and counts the stacks, then counts off a thousand dollars and hands it to me. “Your cut. Good work, Joe.”
I wasn’t about to work with these dudes and use my real name. I bob my head, folding the cash into a square and tucking it into my pocket. “Thanks.”
“You’re on call next week,” Oliver adds. Half his face is in shadow from the trees over the SUV is parked by. It’s weird not seeing his eyes; he’s definitely the kind of guy whose eyes you want to see. Then he pauses. “That cool with your school schedule and stuff?”
I shrug. “As long as you don’t need me before nine. That’s when my class ends.”
“That works. All right, let’s head back. Gray’s going to want the rundown.” He glances at me. “You do enough of these, prove yourself, you can probably be the one to give him the report yourself.”
“That’d be an honor,” I say in a low voice.
Oliver turns back around. “You’ve been doing a good job, Joe. Keep it up.”
“You got it.”
I lapse into silence as Oliver and Eric chat about nothing of interest to me. I keep one ear on their conversation and keep my gaze directed out the window, aware one or both might be able to see me in the backseat. They don’t quite trust me yet, though I’ve been winning them over the past three weeks. Tonight marks my ninth run, and things have gone smoothly.
I parked my car in the parking lot of a burger joint in the really seedy part of town. I don’t know where my crew actually operates out of—I have to be off “probation” before I can know that, and I have no idea how long I’ll be on probation for.
I climb out of the SUV and head to my car, lifting a hand at them. Oliver waves back, face impassive, and he and Eric drive off.
I take the long route home, just in case I’m being followed. When I get inside my apartment, I pull out my phone and send off a text.
Me: Just got back from the run.
Gunner: Anything?
Me: No. Couldn’t go eyes on again.
Gunner: All right. Let’s meet tomorrow on campus. 1900.
Me: See you then.
I set my phone down on the nightstand and draw the square of money out. A thousand bucks, just like that.
Too bad it’s evidence.
I set the money down and glance at my laptop resting on top of my dresser. I need to work on the second round of edits Stella sent me today after I submitted the first round to her a couple of days ago, but I’m beat and I can’t focus. I’m too tired, too amped, too anxious, and too worried this is all going to come crashing down on my head.
4
Aidan
Around seven o’clock the next night, Gunner Hansen finds me at a table in the student lounge, where my laptop is open and I’m typing away.
Gunner’s not much older than me, married, with a baby. He told me he actually met his wife during a bank robbery, which was a wild story. He’s pretty cool and laid back, less egotistical than some of the other RCPD higher-ups I’ve met.
“You usually hang out around campus?” I crack as he takes the seat across from me.
He smirks. “Actually, I was with a detective. We were meeting with another possible recruit to the Program. If you must know.”
“Be nice to spread some of this shit around,” I mutter. “Between a physically hard day job, night class, and being RCPD’s errand boy, shit’s getting exhausting.”
“Well, you have a night off tonight, don’t you?” Gunner asks.
“If you could call it that.”
He shrugs a shoulder. “Help us nail the weapons dealers, and you get your life back.”
“For how long?”
“Until we require your services again.” He smiles, then leans forward. “Got the money?”
“The ‘evidence,’ you mean?” I reply, reaching into my back pocket for the sealed, folded envelope I put the grand in and handing it over.
“Don’t sound so bitter,” Gunner chides. “I wish I could let you keep this money. Legalities aside, in all fairness, you did do a job, and you did earn a cut. But you’re working for us, which means, yes, this is now evidence.”
“I think you guys should start paying us.”
I was half-joking, but Gunner nods. “I agree. I’ve been pushing for that, actually. We’ll see how things go. You and Tommy have done a good job so far, but we’ve only had a couple of missions for you. If Colin accepts, and we can get a couple other recruits, we’ll see about getting you guys some dough.”
“Me and Tommy get to meet this Colin dude?”
“Maybe,” Gunner replies. “You were a referral from Tommy, so it makes sense you know each other. But the chief is on the fence about the recruits having contact with each other. You don’t want to potentially blow a case. He thinks the less you know, the better.” He waves a hand. “Enough about that. Colin hasn’t said one way or the other if he’s in. T
ell me about last night, in detail.”
I recount for him everything that happened, from the moment Oliver and Eric picked me up before the run to when they dropped me off. Gunner listens intently, his gaze fixed on the table’s marked surface.
“I don’t see that I’m getting any closer to meeting the boss,” I finish. “I’m getting frustrated, Gunner. There’s no rhyme or reason to it. It’s just, whatever and whenever he feels like it.”
“Just keep at it,” Gunner says quietly. “I know you’re getting frustrated, but until we know who’s dealing, we don’t have a lead. The buyers are good intel, but it’s not the source. We need the source of the guns.”
“What if that takes six months? A year? Longer?” I demand.
“Then it takes six months. A year. Longer.”
“When the fuck do I get my life back, man?” I exclaim.
Gunner meets my gaze evenly, but there’s understanding and empathy in it. “When the job’s done.” He stands and claps me on the shoulder. “You’re doing a great job, Aidan. Keep up the good work. Hang in there. I’ll be in touch soon.”
I sigh and flick my head in acknowledgment. As he walks away, I feel a little bad, even though I know he knows my frustration isn’t aimed at him. This work isn’t easy. But he’s right. I want to help get guns off the streets in Ridge City. I get my life back when the mission’s accomplished.
“Aidan?”
The soft voice draws me up and I whirl around, already knowing who I’ll see.
Stella’s looking as gorgeous as ever tonight, wearing jeans and a pretty top that hangs off her golden shoulders and ends where the jeans start, flashing just a little slice of equally golden belly. Her long raven hair is swept into a loose side braid, tendrils framing her face.
“Ms. Smythe,” I say quickly, standing. “Hey.”
She glances at my laptop. “Working on the edits?”
I nod. “Yeah, just finishing up, actually. I think you’ll be pretty pleased.”
Her full lips curve up. “Based on the last round, I fully expect my mind to be blown.”