by Mary Hughes
Grin-guy wasn’t her teacher, who was all beard and eyebrows. Frowning, she touched the reply area, using one icy finger to pop letters on the keyboard. —No. Who are you?—
—I’m Rafe. I’m the tutor for Prof. Smith’s class.—
“We have a tutor?” she mused out loud. Though it was a distance-learning course, she’d met the professor and all her fellow students the first day, when they were required to attend an introductory class. She started to type, —I didn’t see you in the lecture hall— but thought better of it, and deleted letters.
A bubble popped up. —I sit in the back. You wouldn’t have seen me.—
Hair rose on her nape. She hadn’t sent the question, but he’d answered it anyway. Freaky.
Still, if the guy could demystify tax accounting, she had to give him a chance.
She typed, —How can you help me?—
And Rafe proceeded to present the material in an entirely fresh and incredibly clear way. Instead of lecturing at her about ledger columns and international treaties, he told her stories.
—So you’re working at BigStore as a produce clerk, and I’m selling corn from the back of my pickup. After a week, we both make $300, but you only take home $250 while I pocket the full amount. You say, “Hey, I get fifty dollars cut from each paycheck. You don’t. That’s not fair.” I say, “Maybe, but you have an employer to handle all the messy taxsy details. How would I know what to pay?” And the government solves the problem as it usually does, by creating paperwork. Voila, Schedule C.—
Standing in the cold for over an hour, by the time Cin put the tablet away, her body was numb. But her mind was on fire with complete understanding. Her heart beat faster, absorbing Rafe’s words. Excitement at the new knowledge—and something more.
Something delighted and personal shimmering deep in her belly.
* * *
A month later, Cinderella sneaked out of the house just after midnight. She’d been doing that more and more lately. She didn’t want to explain where she was going to the Steps but could only afford so many bags of sugar, and her conscience wouldn’t stand for out-and-out lies. So after everyone else took to their rooms for the night, she crept away. Thank goodness neither Ez nor Yl had wanted to share their big bedrooms with Cin; she had been stuffed in the attic garret. Without the privacy of her own nook of a room, this would be impossible.
Cin’s breath puffed on the cold air as she raced down the sidewalk. In the last month, meeting Rafe online had gone beyond a need for tutoring. When his —Are you getting this?— warmed into —How was your day?— feelings emerged, buoyant feelings that didn’t have a name but that made her heart beat faster, pooling warmth in her pelvis every time she had an assignation with him.
Not an assignation, she scolded herself. A tutoring session. Simple coaching.
Except things weren’t so simple anymore, at least not on her end.
She found her tree and extracted her tablet, which responded quickly to a push of the button. She swiped away the lock screen and brought up the messenger system.
Rafe’s familiar, toothy grin waited. Happiness fizzed inside her just seeing it. She held her bubbling feelings, her blooming heart, close. I’m never letting Ez and Yl destroy this.
She popped up the chat head.
—I’m here— it read. The timestamp was two minutes ago. —I’ve got a quiz for you.—
What followed was a blizzard of questions on what he’d taught her—on everything he’d taught her.
After the fifth question on a topic he’d only mentioned in passing, she exclaimed, “This is impossible!”
She’d said it, not texted it, but Rafe replied.
—Knowing one or two facts at the beginning of the chapter is easy. To really master a subject, you have to let unlimited curiosity drive you.—
He always seemed to know when she was struggling, exactly what to say when, all without her having to text a thing.
As if he knew her so well, he could read her mind.
She never asked, not wanting to spoil the illusion, the fantasy that somehow, in the short time they’d known each other, he’d developed feelings for her, too.
She typed, —You mean I have to do my research?—
—That’s good. But to be truly wise, you must care deeply. Wisdom engages, not just the mind, but the heart. Cin, for the wise heart, nothing is impossible.—
The wise heart. She sighed. That was so sweet. He was so sweet.
He was the one person besides Milly who made her feel as if he really cared.
She did as best she could finishing the quiz. When she was done, she was too wrung out to do more study. She typed, —I have a new picture.—
Ever since they’d found out they both liked the same music and movies and couldn’t stand how careless some people were with their receipts, they’d been sharing tidbits from their day. He’d post photos of his faithful old beagle, or the fast sports car he wanted to buy but probably never would. She’d pop up her kitten-progress pics—quick, stolen shots of the stray that had followed her home. The feline was fattening up nicely on her stepsisters’ table scraps, filched when her stepmother wasn’t looking.
It briefly occurred to her she had a lot of secrets now.
Rafe’s —How’s Spike doing?— called her back from her unsettling thoughts.
—Good. This is from work. A customer’s foot-long sub with everything. And I do mean everything.—
She posted the snap of the sandwich, bun halves barely closing because of all the piled meat, cheese, and veggies.
—My stomach’s growling looking at that—, Rafe typed back. —That must be Dalai Lama’s order. I heard he asked you to make him one with everything.—
She paused a moment, then got it and smiled. A sub with everything, and a Buddhist’s unity with the universe. One with everything. She typed, —Ha.—
But privately, she glowed inside. She loved that he trusted her enough to share his humor.
An odd delay made her frown before another text bubbled up from him
—I have a picture, too.—
The single line looked strangely vulnerable.
—Cool.— She wondered what he had for her. Another picture of Snoopy? An image of a sleek coupe?
Or a video?
Her heart beat harder in memory. Last week he’d shared a clip, proudly showing her he could do twenty-five push ups in one minute. She had to take his word for it; she hadn’t been counting, hadn’t even been able to count, after the video started.
The shot zoomed in on Rafe’s back from above. His muscles bunched and released under his thin tank shirt as he strained to pump out reps.
She’d replayed that clip several times in private, thinking all sorts of hot, sweaty thoughts. The ripple of strength as he bobbed up and down…her breath steamed in puffs on the air and her thighs heated just from the memory.
But after another odd lag, the image that popped up in her feed wasn’t Rafe’s back.
It was his face.
“Oh!” She nearly clapped in delight. She’d been hoping for a better picture of him. His chat head was mostly grin, his eyes scrunched to moonlike slivers, his head turned and tilted at such an angle that she’d had to imagine what he might really look like.
Now she could see.
Tousled black hair, jet brows sharp as ink slashes. Eyes a brilliant blue, so gorgeous they cut into her soul. She drank in his masculine beauty, including the tops of compelling cheekbones.
The rest of his features, though, were round, boy-next-door average.
And one other thing. His right cheek was a mass of puckers, as if his skin was a darned sock or made out of bubblewrap.
No text with it. No snarky I really am ruggedly handsome or I’m Ironman.
Just the single picture, hanging there at the bottom of the message stream, almost as if it was holding its breath.
“Is that you?” She began to type the words, but hesitated pressing send.
While sh
e wavered, a bubble popped up. —It’s me. I’m scarred. Pretty badly.—
She’d gotten used to his almost-mind-reading and erased her text then quickly typed, —Can you tell me what happened? Does it hurt?— She pressed send.
Regretted it immediately. What if she’d said the wrong thing?
The screen froze, and for a moment, her breath froze with it. Was this something that pained him to talk about? If she’d hurt him by asking, she’d feel terrible.
A reply finally popped up. —Doesn’t hurt any more. Stupid accident involving too much testosterone. But thanks for asking.—
Her breath unfroze, her body warming. Maybe he didn’t often talk about it, but he had with her. —Thank you for sharing this with me.—
He responded with a sticker, a purring cat with a heart over it.
He’d posted a heart. Longing, sweet and thrilling, threaded her body like candy syrup. She shuddered with it.
Dial it down, Cin. You’re overreacting. It was simply a cute little sticker. Didn’t mean he loved her.
Still, it was nice, and she liked it. She was about to search for a sticker to reply with when a line of alert appeared below.
Rafe is typing.
She waited, breathless for what he’d share next.
The message bubble, when it popped up, contained a single line.
—Can we meet?—
Chapter Two
“No, not those. Green, not black, and peppers, not olives. Honestly, you’re the worst sandwich girl ever.” The customer’s mouth thinned in disapproval, her red lipstick making the expression even more severe.
Cinderella, plastic-gloved hand dipped in the black olives, bit back a retort. Sandwich girl? She was twenty-two. She’d outgrown braids, skinned knees, and “girl” a long time ago.
But the customer had a point. Her head certainly wasn’t in the sub game.
Can we meet?
She wasn’t sure what exactly about that phrase scared her so much. She only knew that last night, she’d made some excuse about being too cold to text any more and shut her tablet down, shutting Rafe down, to run home to her bed, where she got barely a wink of sleep.
The wink she did get was plagued by erotic dreams.
Can we meet?
Getting up today, she was not only tired and cranky, she was hot and bothered.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” she told the customer. “Let me give you this one free, and I’ll start over.” Pulling down another twelve inches of wheat bun, she scolded herself that she was reading too much into the situation. Most likely, Rafe simply found the more esoteric aspects of tax law easier to explain in person.
She sliced the bun in half then turned the bread to cut it open. If they met, they’d probably say hello. Shake hands. Nothing personal. At most, they’d slap each other on the back. Maybe she’d impersonally brush a stray black curl from his forehead. Although his hair did look silky soft. Maybe she’d thread her fingers through it, just to see. Slide her hand into his tousled locks, finding his hair warm and smooth. Her breath would quicken as she twined her fingers in his hair, pulling his head down to her, their lips touching with shocking heat, and she’d kiss the stuffing out of him—
Kiss?
She nearly sliced her fingers.
Acid dumped into her stomach, her mind clearing instantly. Damn it. She wouldn’t be able to thread her fingers through Rafe’s anything if she didn’t keep her mind on work.
Cin wasn’t a virgin, but because of the Steps, her encounters of the XY kind were few and hurried. She’d taken it in her stride, sure everything would fall into place once she was out of the house and found the right man to love. But now…damn it, it was too soon. She wasn’t ready.
And what if he doesn’t return my feelings?
Breathing deep, she managed to arrange neat layers of meat and veggies to the customer’s liking, although her hands trembled. She wrapped both the good sub and the original mess, concentrating on rolling and tucking the paper just right.
At least that answered what about the phrase “can we meet” scared her so much. For her, it didn’t bring thoughts of explanations and tax laws, but dreams of the weight of his arms curling around her, the sensation of his burning lips meeting hers for the first time…
“Are you going to take my card or are both subs free now?”
She lifted her gaze to see the customer standing there, credit card extended.
“Yes. I mean no. I mean, that’ll be seven fifty.” Flushing hot, she managed to ring up the order, controlling her hand so it only shook a little when she dropped the receipt into the bag.
As the customer huffed out, Cin retreated to under the “Order Here” arrow and tried to get hold of herself. That had been a near-disaster on several levels.
Rafe’s invitation confused her.
She wanted to meet him, with a desire so strong it frightened her—because she knew her desire was based partly on a lie.
He was comfortably surreal as a disembodied chat head. Oh, she knew there was a real man behind the chat, but there were so many gaps. And she’d blithely puttied them in with what she’d wanted to believe—including that he cared deeply for her, maybe even loved her.
Now she looked at the truth. He’d been kind to her, but, emotionally vulnerable, she’d blown it up into more. She’d known it and let herself get carried away anyway.
Shame threaded hot in her veins, clashing with cold fear. His love was a lie she told herself, but she’d started falling in love with him in return. And that was real.
She had feelings for a man she’d constructed from a chat head, text bubbles, and a hot vid.
What if they met? It was almost certain he didn’t have the same feelings. What if he treated her like just another student, or worse, saw her attraction and rebuffed her? She’d be crushed.
But what if he does feel the same way?
She swallowed hard, clasping her forehead in one hand. In a way, that would be worse. Run ragged between a full-time job, classwork, study, and all her chores at home, where would she find time to nurture a relationship?
If Rafe didn’t really care for her, that would hurt. But losing him because she had no time for him? She squeezed her eyes shut. That would make her absolutely sick. Yet there was one thing worse.
What if Rafe sees me as the Steps do—a worthless nothing?
That would kill her.
“Hey. A little service here.”
Dropping her hand, she opened her eyes on a new customer, who, by his crossed arms and glower, had been waiting for her to notice him for a while.
“Sorry.”
This was impossible. She managed to slap together the customer’s order, ring him up, and make change. Without waiting for him to even leave the store, she stripped off her plastic gloves and fled the counter for the solitude of the ladies’ restroom.
Cin grabbed the edges of the sink, dropped her head, and tried to steady her breathing. She burned to meet Rafe because he had a nice smile and nicer muscles; because she wanted to touch him so badly she shook with it.
She wanted to dodge the meeting because she was scared.
Her mother’s voice sounded in her head. Be strong and brave and honest.
Cin looked up, into the mirror. Her reflection seemed to mock her.
Where’s my good character now?
And really, that answered that, didn’t it? She’d have to say no to meeting, at least until she got her head on straight.
Good. Done deal. She washed her face and returned to work.
But her relief was short-lived. On her break, when she took out her tablet to catch up on homework, she saw an email alert from Prince Industries.
Cold stabbed her. Had her job offer been withdrawn?
The head of HR had written.
—Just wanted to alert you. We’ve had an opening for an entry level accountant. Permanent full time. All accounting interns can apply, and we’ll wave the probationary period for the successful applicant.—
Cin’s heart rat-a-tatted. No waiting period? A full salary and benefits right away? She scanned the requirements.
—The successful candidate will demonstrate an ability to represent a client’s interests in an audit or administrative hearing by displaying superior self-presentation and communication skills in a mock hearing, to be scheduled no later than the first week in April.—
Cin’s blood iced. Book learning and knowing the material well enough to take tests was one thing. But for a mock hearing, she’d need to know the subject so well, she could rattle off answers in real time without breaking a sweat. She was nowhere near that good.
Rafe is.
Her stomach dropped. She wasn’t sure if it was in excitement or utter terror. Because, yes, Rafe was that good. But not even he could teach her poise and presentation via chat, or even Skype. No way anyone could do that electronically.
He’d have to do it in person.
Electricity drilled her so hard she gasped. Pain or pleasure or both, she breathed through it. Mostly fear.
But…do I want this job? Yes. With everything she was, yes. Then, whatever fantasies I’ve made up about him, Rafe has proven he’s a brilliant tutor. He can teach me what I need to know—if I meet with him.
Ready or not.
Trembling, she texted him a request to rendezvous her next day off from work, at a coffee shop near her grocery store. She’d cover up the meeting with the weekly shopping run, if Mrs. Wikkid had left enough money in the debit account.
Her tablet dinged. Rafe had texted back.
—I’ll be there!—
Another bolt skewered her. I’m in so far over my head.
Well, if Rafe burned her, shopping was also good for a broken heart.
* * *
On the appointed day, Cin walked briskly along the sidewalk, hoping the exertion would calm her roiling stomach. But the closer she got, the worse the buzz of nerves, and the more her feet slowed. She told herself it was because she was early, but arriving at the shop she glanced in the front window and was hit with a jag of surprise.
Rafe was already there.
He was in profile, exposing the left, perfect side of his face, smooth skin tented by a stark cheekbone. Her gaze was drawn to him like a moth to a bug zapper.