I hold my head high as I stalk through the lecture hall, only making eye contact with Liam when I sink into my seat. My confidence falters for a second when I see the way he’s smirking at me, but I recover fast and leer right back. Nothing happened. And if it did, then I’ll own it.
I rifle through my bag and pretend to look for something, but really, I’m just keeping myself busy, so he can’t tell how nervous I am. I open my laptop to my notes and pretend to study them, but the reality is, I can’t concentrate on anything other than Liam. I’m almost relieved when a message pops up on my screen. I assume it’s Amy, but it’s not.
Professor Sullivan: I’m surprised you can walk.
I stiffen and stare at the message before quickly typing back
Me: Of course I can. I didn’t drink that much
Professor Sullivan: I wasn’t referring to the alcohol…
I look up and meet his eyes, my heart racing when he winks at me. I snap my head back down. What the hell? He winked at me? I shake my head, my heart thumping in my chest, because I have no idea if what he’s suggesting happened.
Did I do something?
God, did we do something?
Or maybe he’s just trying to wind me up…If that’s his game, it’s working.
I finish my test before time is up, but I sit there and stare at my sheet, not wanting to draw attention to myself. I hate feeling like this, but not knowing if something happened or not. I shake my head. I need to stop thinking about it, or it’s going to drive me crazy.
The moment he calls time, I rise from my seat and hurry over to the door, half expecting him to call out my name.
“Becca. Can I please see you for a moment?”
I freeze and then turn around, smiling at him as I approach his desk. He looks surprised, like he expected me to bolt out of there or pretend I hadn’t heard him.
“Yes, Professor Sullivan?” I ask, pouting my lips slightly.
“I…” He coughs, and I smother a giggle. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay after Saturday night.” His eyes lock on mine, daring me to look away, but I stare right back at him. Hell, I’m pretty sure I even just smized. Tyra Banks would be proud of that shit.
“I’m fine,” I say. “How could I not be, after what happened?”
I don’t really know what I’m doing at this point, other than digging a deeper hole for myself, but I’ve committed now, so I have to follow through.
“So you remember what happened, then?” He looks impressed.
“Remember?” I laugh and look down, pretending to be shy. “How could I not remember…that happening?” I push a strand of hair behind my ear and smile at him. “How do you feel about it?”
He looks surprised by my question, but then he smiles.
“It was unusual, but you seemed happy, so I’d say go for it,” he says. “It’s a pretty big commitment though, so make sure it’s something you feel ready for.”
“Oh I will,” I assure him. “And on that note, I’d better go…and think about it.”
I strut toward the door, turning back to wink at him when I reach it.
“Goodnight, Professor Sullivan…”
Chapter Seven
Liam
I shake my head, unable to wipe the smirk off my lips. She has no idea of what happened Saturday night. If she did, I don’t think that would have been her reaction. She was quite sassy for someone who, thirty-six hours earlier, had been…I let out a laugh. It doesn’t even feel right thinking it. I’m embarrassed for her.
I gather my things and stand up, preparing to leave for the morning to grade the exams I didn’t get around to marking on the weekend. Lucky for me, I have most of the day free. I close my briefcase and then walk toward the door, looking up when I hear someone clear their throat. It’s the president of the university, Daniel Michaels.
“Liam. Can I have a word with you, please?”
“I get the feeling I don’t have much choice,” I respond dryly.
“We always have choices. It’s just recognizing the importance of making the right one.”
I smile at my father—who also happens to be my boss.
Another backhanded dig at the fact that I’d gone into teaching, rather than practicing veterinary medicine. You think my own father would be pleased that I’d followed his legacy into academics, but apparently not.
“Like your choice to screw over my mother was a good one?” I say lightly.
“Really, Liam?” He frowns at me. “You know that’s a complicated situation, and one I don’t think is appropriate being discussed here—”
“You’re lecturing me on appropriate workplace behavior?” I laugh. “You take every opportunity to dig into me the fact that I went into academics rather than science, when none of that has anything to do with you as my employer. You only have an interest as my father.”
“Because I invested a fucking fortune into your tuition.”
“Again, I’m paying you back every last cent,” I mutter.
If only so you can’t hold that over my head any longer.
“I’m sorry, unless you have a question about something relating to my employment here—”
“I do, actually,” he says in a cool voice. “I’m advising you that need to meet the requirement for professional development if you wish to be considered for this role next year.” He pauses. “You also have less than six weeks to fulfill that requirement or I’ll have to reconsider your offer to teach here next year.
“Oh, really?” I repeat, with a slight smile.
That’s his cover? That I haven’t met my professional development requirements?
He would do anything to get me out of teaching here, which makes me wonder why he gave me the job in the first place. I’m smart enough to realize that I’m very young to be a professor and that my father would have played some hand in my being offered the job. So why is he suddenly so invested in taking it away from me?
I sigh, knowing it’s useless fighting him on this. He wouldn’t be suggesting it if it wasn’t written somewhere that it was a requirement—however loosely it’s been enforced until now.
“Fine. I’ll do the course. Was there anything else?”
He smiles. “Not right now.”
#
“He’s just so frustrating,” I grumble.
“Tell me again why you thought it would be a good idea to work at the same college as your father?” Marc laughs. “Come on, man. You should’ve seen this coming a mile off.”
I know he’s right, which just makes the whole situation even worse. After my chat with my father, I needed to unwind, so I called in to see my friend, Marc. I’d been meaning to catch up with him for months, and I knew he’d most likely be home, following his injury. Marc and I have been friends since primary school. He was the kid who was always trying to stir up trouble and not much changed when he got older. The difference is, when you’re a pro basketballer earing bucketloads of cash, you can get away with it.
It had been a tough year for Marc. He’d been a pro basketballer, up until he did his knee in at the end of last season. The injury had been enough to keep him sidelined for all of the season so far, which left him wondering whether to keep pushing, or retire.
“Here,” Marc says, handing me another beer.
I take it and crack it open, then take a mouthful.
“Now, back to the bachelor party. You kissed a student? Was she stripping there, or something?” he asks. “And do you have photos.”
I shake my head and laugh. “No and no.” I pause. “If I did have photo’s, you wouldn’t be seeing them.” I smile as I think back on what turned out to be a pretty crazy night. “I’m fairly confident she doesn’t remember what happened at all.”
“What makes you think that?”
“The way she was acting today after class? What she was saying just didn’t match up with what happened.” I chuckle and shake my head. “It was a crazy night. Kind of like one of those nights where things progressiv
ely get worse, like a comedy of errors.”
“And did you two…?”
“You know I don’t kiss and tell,” I grin. “But the important thing is that she thinks we did.”
Marc grins widely. “Well then, that’s the perfect excuse for you to mess with her head, isn’t it?”
What do you mean?” I ask.
He shrugs and sits back down, opening his beer.
“You know, plant some ideas in her head, make her think something happened that didn’t.” He shrugs, a glint in his eye. “See where it takes you.”
“Thanks for the advice, but anything happening with her is out of the question.” I shake my head. “Fooling around with her would be handing my father a reason to fire me.”
“Which wouldn’t be a bad thing, considering how overqualified—”
“You’re giving me career advice?” I ask pointedly.
Marc chuckles. “Fair enough. Not another word will be said.”
“Sorry, that was a low hit,” I mutter.
“Hey, it’s fine. I know your father is a sore spot to you.” He hesitates. “I also wonder how much of your insisting in staying in there is just because you know it pisses him off.”
“There might be an element or two of that,” I murmur.
My phone rings. I glance down and see Jake’s name.
“Jake. I should get going anyway,” I say to Marc.
“Sure. Say hi to Jake for me.”
I get up, pat him on the shoulder and then let myself out, answering Jake’s call on the way.
“Hey, Liam. Sorry to call you so late, but I’ve got a bit of a crisis.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, swallowing a laugh.
Everything with Jake is a crisis. I’ve been dealing with these phone calls for weeks, and the issues have ranged from Brooke freaking out and blaming Jake because the chair sashes were the wrong shade of purple, to Jake freaking out because he can’t get his vows right.
“It’s bad,” he mutters. “Like really bad.”
“Just calm down and tell me what’s going on,” I say.
“It’s Grammy. She’s refusing to get on a plane and fly over for the wedding, but you know how important she is to me. I’m not sure I can do this if she’s not there.”
“Don’t worry about it. She’ll be there. I’ll drive to Vegas myself and get her, if I have to.”
He’s right. I do know how important Grammy is to Jake, so there’s no question in my mind. I’ll get her here one way or the other.
“Really? Oh, thank God. I can’t thank you enough,” he groans.
“It’s fine, I’m in Vegas anyway this weekend, so I can drive her back with us.”
“What do you mean? Why do you have to be there? And who is us?”
“I’ve been invited to a family thing.”
“Whose family?” he asks “Who do you know in Vegas—wait, hold on. Are you talking about Becca’s parents?”
“Yeah, how did you guess?”
“Because you said Vegas and this weekend. Why are you going?” he asks.
“Because she invited me.”
“You?” He snorts. “Why would she invite you?”
“Well, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t remember inviting me,” I chuckle. “But she’ll be honoring it.”
“She doesn’t remember anything about that night?” He laughs. “Even if she did invite you, she’s not going to believe that.”
I grin. “Then it’s a good thing I have proof.”
#
“Becca, can I speak to you for a moment?”
“Yes?” she asks.
She walks over to my desk and sits down, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, like she’s trying to work out what I want.
“I was just wondering what time I should pick you up on Friday?” I smirk as confusion, annoyance and finally concern flash in her eyes, my question catching her off guard.
“Excuse me?”
“What, you don’t remember?” I frown at her, pretending to be offended. “I wonder what else you don’t remember about that night,” I muse.
“What are you talking about?” she snaps, her irritability showing through.
I smile. “You invited me to your parent’s anniversary party.”
“And why the fuck would I do that?”
“I think you were upset that nobody else could go, because you didn’t want to go alone.” I smile at her. “Something about not being able to look either of them in the eye, knowing that they were really celebrating their reconnection…sexually?”
“Oh God,” she whispers, her face going white.
“Yes, there was probably a lot of that being said during that reconnection,” I agree, my tone grave. “So, what time? I prefer to get an early start—"
“You don’t think you’re actually coming with me, do you?” she gasps.
“Well, you did invite me…”
“How can I be sure that you’re not just taking advantage of the fact that I was a tiny bit drunk?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.
“See, I thought you might say that.”
I reach for my phone and scroll through the audio files. I stop on one and press play, smiling at her as her voice floats through the speakers. Her eyes widen.
“They’ve invited fifty people to celebrate the fact that they’re sexually active again. I mean, who does that? I should’ve known the moment they called it a ‘reconnection ceremony.’ There’s no way I can go to that alone, which is why you’re coming with me.”
“Me?”
“Yes. I’ll make it worth your while. Anything you want. It’s yours…Anything…”
I stop the recording and look at her.
“So?” I prompt.
“So what?” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re still not coming with me. It’s ridiculous—”
“Okay.” I shrug. “You can tell Jake the bad news.”
“Jake?” She frowns. “What does Jake have to do with any of this?”
“A lot, actually. He’s going to be shattered.”
“About what?” she practically growls.
“His grammy not being at the wedding.”
“His grammy?” she repeats, flustered.
I nod, keeping my expression solemn.
“She conveniently lives about twenty minutes from the resort where your parents sex ceremony—”
“Please stop calling it that.”
“Sorry, reconnection ceremony is. If you go back on your invitation to me, then I can’t go and pick Grammy up, which means she won’t be at the wedding. If Jake could only have one person attend his wedding, it would be her.”
“Can’t she fly?” Becca asks.
I shake my head sadly. “She is afraid of flying and she won’t touch public transportation.”
“Why can’t you go on your own?”
“Because she suffers from mild dementia. There’s no way in hell I could handle her and Andrew on a five hour drive. I picked her up from the care home she used to live in by myself once, and during the ten minute trip to Mom’s, she tried to jump out into oncoming traffic three times, then she covered my eyes with her hands because she thought a game of peekaboo was in order.”
Becca stifles a smile. “And the cat? He has to come too?”
“Andrew goes everywhere Grammy does,” I say with a straight face. “If it came to choose between saving my life and Andrew’s, I’m not sure I’d win.”
She sighs and runs her hand through her hair.
“Fine. I’ll help you with Grammy, but I’m not letting you anywhere near my family.”
I smile and watch her stalk off.
We’ll see about that…
Chapter Eight
Becca
“Okay, so let me get this straight. You’re going on a road trip, with your professor…and his grandmother?”
Laura dissolves into a fit of hysterical laughter. I frown, resisting the urge to reach over and slap her as she wipes the tears away from he
r splotchy, red eyes. I’m glad someone is enjoying this whole, fucked up situation.
“Yep.” I nod. “Oh, don’t forget about Andrew,” I add, rolling my eyes. “Grammy can’t go anywhere without him.”
“Who’s Andrew?” Annie asks.
“Her cat,” Laura replies for me.
“Well, this doesn’t spell disaster at all.” Annie chuckles.
How did I get myself into this mess? Oh. Right. I drank too much and then made a complete fool of myself by inviting my professor to an eb private family function. Drunk or sober, it doesn’t matter. I still managed to completely fuck myself over.
Laura loses it again, only this time she stretches herself out on the couch to increase her ability to laugh. I shake my head, annoyed that the two of them are carrying on like a couple of teenagers, instead of the twenty and thirty something mother’s they really are. Annie I can understand, but Laura I expected more from. I should’ve known better than to tell her about this. I’m never going to hear the end of it, which is totally unfair, given that if she were the one in the shit, I’d be a supportive and helpful friend—
Oh, who am I kidding? I’d be even worse than she’s is. Hell, I’m still teasing her about her shit that happened years ago. Like the time she lodged a vibrator inside her vagina and made me try to get it out. There’s an experience I never want to repeat.
I glare at Laura as she struggles to sit back up. She takes my hand, and for a moment I think she’s going to apologize for being such a twat.
“Oh my God, Becs,” she gasps. “Can I please come too?”
“No,” I snap, glaring at her, yanking my hand away. “This isn’t a soap opera, Laura. This is real life.”
“Are you sure about that?” Annie pipes up. She grins wickedly at me. “Because I watched an Estonian porno film last week with pretty much this exact same storyline.” She pauses and eyes me thoughtfully. “In an unrelated matter, are there dwarfs in your family?”
I ignore Laura’s loud snort and glare at Annie.
“Not helpful and very fucking offensive,” I growl.
“When am I ever helpful?” she reasons, with a shrug. “And I’m British. Offensive is what we do.” She takes a sip of her drink and makes a face. “And if you want offensive, try the coffee.”
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