Teaching Roman (Good Girls Don't Book 2)

by Geneva Lee

  “We would have figured it out.” Despite everything that had happened, I knew that much. It wouldn’t have been easy, but it wouldn’t have been apocalyptic. Somehow the prospect of having a baby was less frightening than expulsion. I didn’t know what to make of the realization.

  “We, huh? And this Roman would have stuck around?”

  “Yes.”

  “I'm glad you're so sure of this. I've seen plenty of marriages end after an unplanned pregnancy, not to mention relationships.” She eyed me over the rim of her pint glass. Part of her job was to sense when someone was lying.

  “There's something you should know,” I said, gathering up my courage. I sat up straighter in my chair and met my sister's eyes. “I really care about him. Things are screwed up right now. We'll probably never fix things between us, but this wasn't just some crazy fling.”

  “I figured,” she said.

  I stared at her, unsure how to respond.

  “You've got a good head on your shoulders, kid. Other than needing a serious lesson in birth control, I trust your decisions. You aren't the type to jump into bed with a random guy.”

  “It was more of a fall into bed with him,” I said weakly.

  “And I bet you had a damn good reason for doing it.”

  I thought about Roman rescuing Cassie from the angry bodega owner and how he chased down the man at the airport. Those memories made him a hero, but other moments flashed through my head. Roman agreeing to let Jillian take a final last fall when she didn't deserve a second chance, and when he taught me how to swim. I thought of jalapeños and Aba's dinner table. I wasn't entirely sure when I'd fallen for Roman, because love colored the memory of every moment I had spent with him. But I knew then I wouldn’t have changed a moment of it. Not to protect myself.

  “I take it that you aren’t together right now,” she said delicately.

  My mouth went dry like I’d shoved cotton balls in it. I could only shake my head. She didn’t push me to talk about it. Instead she ordered us another round and we sat in silence until the ache in my heart faded into the background.

  “I need to get back to Seattle. Early court appearance.” She dug through her purse to retrieve her wallet. “But I will be here next Wednesday.”

  “I can’t believe they scheduled it for finals week.” I would be mostly done with them by then. It would be too cruel if I was expelled after I’d taken all my tests.

  “You aren’t going to be expelled,” she said as if she could read my mind.

  At the door, I realized I had one more question for her. “How did you know Jills sent the message?”

  “There were two emojis,” she said, without skipping a beat. “No Stone has time for an emoji in a text message.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Cassie dressed me in blue for my hearing because she’d read that it made people feel sympathetic. I wondered if she’d discovered this wise nugget from the source that assured Jillian that if you studied drunk, you could ace a test—drunk. It sounded like about the same caliber of logic, and I told Cassie that.

  “It was a psychological study,” she said, sticking her tongue out at me as she fussed over my hair.

  Jillian poked her head in the bathroom and I jumped. She’d been flitting about the apartment like a ghost for the last week, trying to avoid me after calling my sister for help. In the mirror, I saw her face fall before she disappeared. My anger toward her had nearly vanished, but I couldn’t bring myself to call her back.

  “You can’t give her the silent treatment forever,” Cassie whispered as she held out a pair of earrings for me to wear.

  “I’m not ignoring her.”

  “You aren’t talking to her either,” Cassie said. Every once in a while she managed to mimic my sister’s don’t-BS-me tone. This was one of those times.

  “She could say she was sorry.”

  “Did you apologize to her for calling Tara when she went into the hospital?”

  I sifted through my memories, but couldn’t recall. Regardless, I knew one thing. “I’m not sorry for that. She was in the hospital. This is a totally different situation. Jillian’s medical well-being was at stake. It was her second episode in a short amount of time, and she needed to have more tests run.”

  “Look you can justify it to yourself with lists, but consider how we feel.” Cassie placed a hand over her heart. I nearly laughed at the dramatic gesture but one look at her face shut me up. “You could be expelled, and you are by far the most responsible of the three of us. We need you here.”

  I couldn’t quite stifle a snort at this. “Most responsible? I’ll be lucky to skate by with a B+ in two of my classes, I’m studying less than ever, and I’m going in front of the Ethics Committee.”

  “Seriously stop with the fucking lists already!” Cassie snapped.

  “It’s how my mind works.” My words were a combination of apology and annoyance. Sometimes it felt like even Cassie and Jillian didn’t understand that. Only one person had ever really understood why I processed information the way I did. My stomach flipped over and I forced myself to smile to lighten the mood. If I wasn’t careful I’d be in tears, which would certainly ruin the mascara Cassie had carefully applied.

  “How does my make-up look?” I asked, eager to change the subject.

  “You don’t look sickly and you don’t look like a prostitute. I would call that a win.”

  I raised an eyebrow at her. Trust Cassie to use such colorful polar opposites. She shoved me out the bathroom door then took each shoulder firmly in one hand and marched me in the direction of the living room. Jillian jumped off the couch, looking for an escape route, but Cassie blocked her exit.

  “Nope,” she said. “You two will talk.” Cassie planted her hands on her hips, taking up as much space in the doorway as she could. Her size would never land her a job as a bouncer, but her attitude might.

  “Look, Jill—”

  “I’m sorry,” she interrupted in a rush. “I know it was a bitch move to call your sister, but I couldn’t let you get kicked out of school. I need you next year more than ever.”

  There was true regret in her eyes, but it mixed with fear, the effect of which made the tears I’d been holding back pool in my eyes.

  “You are my rock,” she continued as she began to cry.

  I knew then that Liam’s extension visa hadn’t been approved. I’d been so caught up with my own shit for the last week that I had forgotten to ask, and even now Jillian was trying hard not to bring it up. Closing the space between us, I wrapped my arms around her and we both cried until our throats hurt. When I looked up, Cassie was watching us, doing her best to look unmoved as she said, “Look at that mascara. Now you look like a prostitute.”

  Once my raccoon eyes were cleaned up, we started toward the student union, arms linked. I’d tried to talk them out of coming with me. After all, this could get ugly fast, especially if Brett showed up, but they wouldn’t leave my side. Secretly it made me feel better to know the three of us were still a packaged deal.

  The student union, a mid-century brick and glass building, had never seemed imposing. It was far from the most ornate building on campus and despite its size, it wasn't the biggest either. But today it loomed in front of me like an evil castle in a fairytale. Students darted in and out of the front entrance, many lounged on the steps, and everyone seemed oblivious to the girl walking the green mile of grass to her doom.

  Liam met us at the door, opening it wide so we could stroll through.

  “You didn't have to come,” I said as he reached out and gave me an awkward hug. Awkward since neither Cassie or Jillian let go of me for it.

  “Like hell,” he said. “Family, right?”

  His eyes darted to Jillian, who nodded, but I spotted the tiny twitch along her jawline. She was going to lose it again, and I couldn't blame her. She had managed to find one of the good ones, and the state department was taking him away.

  “Shall we go tell these jerks where to
stick it?” Cassie jumped in, breaking the tension surrounding us.

  Taking a deep breath, I let them lead me downstairs to the bowels of the union where the Student Ethics Committee convened. They called it their courtroom, but it was nothing more than a glorified meeting room reserved for their use. Although the university had given them a fancy engraved plaque to hang on the door.

  The committee was already there, but I had to wait outside to be called in for my hearing. As far as I could tell from the nearly empty chairs in the waiting area, they had a fairly light docket for the day.

  “Miss Stone?” a chipper young girl squeaked from the door.

  I stood up, doing my best not to glare at her. It was almost the end of the academic year, so the SEC would be training the new batch of students selected to sit on the board next year. She didn’t look worn down, so she must be one of the newly elected. Hearing about assaults, theft, and basically all the screwed up things my fellow students did to one another really brought you down. By the time I was finished with my term, I was grateful for the résumé spot and little else. I'd only applied for the position because I had briefly considered law school over medical school. It took less than a month of being on the board before I realized I wasn't meant for a real courtroom. I couldn’t help but wonder how she’d feel in a year’s time.

  Jillian and Cassie stood to come in with me, but the new girl shook her head. “Due to the delicate nature of this situation, only the parties and their representation are allowed inside.”

  I wanted to wring her delicate neck, but I clamped my mouth shut. Giving each of them a quick kiss on the cheek, I turned on my heel to follow the girl inside, but before I could enter, Lillian pushed past my group of supporters.

  “I'm her representation,” she announced. She gripped my elbow and steered me past the newbie, who stared at her like she was a rockstar. The SEC was full of wannabe lawyers, and while they allowed students to bring in their own representation, no one ever did. From the way the girl's eyes lit up, I could tell she was looking forward to seeing a professional in action. Hopefully, Lillian would wow the rest of the committee, too.

  The board was seated at a long table, doing their best to look judicious and upright.

  “Miss Stone,” the girl at the center of the table greeted me, and I realized with dread that it was Lauren Buckley, one of the students I had trained to replace the outgoing board last semester. Lauren had taken her training very seriously—too seriously if you asked most of us—and now she was the one presiding over my case.

  This wasn't going to end well.

  Brett stared at me from the other podium, but I did my best to ignore him, lest my head actually exploded from fury. I couldn’t believe he had actually shown up. It might work in my favor to see this was a case of sour grapes. If I had my choice, though, he wouldn’t be here.

  “All are present? Defendants?” she asked the boy to her right.

  “The defendant and her representative seem to be present,” he answered dryly. I caught the slight twitch of his lower lip. He wasn't taking this nearly as seriously as Lauren. Most people didn't at this point in the year.

  “Both parties are present?” she asked.

  “They're both here.” The boy tilted his head toward the side of the meeting room.

  Both? I really hoped they were talking about Brett, but I knew better. He wasn’t a defendant. He’d brought the complaint. But I should be the only one on trial, as it were. Unless. As hard as I tried to keep from looking, my head swiveled against my will to confirm my worst nightmare. Roman sat in the corner. His eyes were trained on me, but he made no friendly gesture. He didn't even smile. Would a little acknowledgment be an admission of guilt or did he resent being dragged into his girlfriend’s drama?

  “Why is he here?” I blurted out. Lillian's fingers dug into the fleshy back of my arm, warning me to keep a lid on it. But I had to know why he’d come. He wasn't an undergraduate, and Roman had told me himself that he'd already been censured by the communications department.

  “He has been called as a witness to corroborate the testimony we received from Mr. Brett—”

  “He's here to witness for Brett?” The question flew from my lips and my sister’s nails dug deeper. I was pretty sure she would have thrown a hand over my mouth if she thought it would get me to shut up.

  “What my client is trying to say,” she said, stepping in, “is that we were not informed that there would be a need for witnesses.”

  “Yeah, I have witnesses I could call,” I said. Lots of them. I wasn’t sure what I wanted them to say, but I didn’t like feeling outnumbered—or betrayed.

  This time Lillian stepped on my foot, which caused me to gasp out loud, raising more than a few eyebrows. Through the slight pain, I realized asking Cassie or Jillian to witness about my relationship with Roman would be a horrible idea. Jillian wouldn't know what to say and Cassie would probably get cited for an ethical violation of her own for dropping the f-bomb.

  “That probably won't be necessary,” Lauren said. “If you're prepared, we can begin.”

  We stood in front of the committee because there were no chairs or desks allotted for our use. Since most cases were determined in less than ten minutes, no one saw the need for it. But standing in front of everyone set me on edge. It made it feel like I was being sentenced for a crime rather than defending myself. I wanted to sit down where I could hide the nervous tap of my foot. It didn't help that I could feel Roman's eyes boring into my back. His presence made me look guilty. I was sure of it. I tried to remind myself of Lillian’s argument. We were both students. We hadn’t done anything wrong, but it was hard to keep that in mind with a jury of my peers glaring back at me.

  “Miss Stone, you're here because a fellow student submitted a complaint stating that you engaged with a faculty member in an inappropriate manner.” Lauren paused as if I might admit my guilt and throw myself at her mercy. I didn’t/

  “My client did not engage in a relationship with a faculty member.” It felt strange to have Lillian call me her client. Something about the term sounded criminal, and the fact that it was my sister saying it made it even worse.

  “She didn't?” Lauren asked. A few of the board members straightened in their seats at the hostility present in those two small words. This girl had a future in politics.

  “She did not,” Lillian said slowly, making her words deliciously condescending. No one was a match for her in the court room and she wasn’t going to go easy on a know-it-all twenty-something. “Mr. Markson is not a member of the faculty at present. He is a graduate student, completing his PhD. I assume that romances between two students are permissible at Olympic State. Otherwise you might have a few more students on your docket today.”

  There were more than a few nervous laughs from the committee, but Lauren's eyes narrowed. “My notes say Mr. Markson completed his doctoral program two weeks ago.”

  “I presume there are a number of seniors graduating next week in relationships with juniors and sophomores. Will you be citing them all as well? It seems like a waste of university resources. Nevertheless, Mr. Markson was a student during the time of their relationship,” Lillian said. It was such an obvious argument and yet coming from my sister's lips it sounded brave and confident—and most importantly, true.

  “But while he was a student he taught classes, one of which your client”— Lauren said the word with disdain—”was enrolled in.”

  Lillian had come prepared for this. It was the most damning evidence they had against me. I had been in Roman’s class. It was how we had met. “Miss Stone was not involved with him romantically during that time.”

  “Brett Andrews is not so certain of that.” Lauren tapped the folder in front of her.

  “That’s amusing, given that Miss Stone was in a monogamous relationship with Mr. Andrews while she was in Mr. Markson’s class.”

  “Brett only made a complaint because I broke up with him,” I said. Lillian stiffened next
to me, but she didn't inflict any physical pain on me this time.

  “Did you break up with him for Mr. Markson?” Lauren asked, sounding more like she wanted juicy gossip than justice.

  “No,” I said. “I broke up with him before anything happened between Roman, err, Mr. Markson and I.”

  “Then why is he making a complaint?” Lauren asked. The question was as vacant as I assumed her head was. Good luck getting into law school with such amazing powers of deduction, I thought.

  “Obviously,” Lillian answered for me, probably realizing I was bound to answer that question with more snark than was appropriate for a hearing, “Mr. Andrews has a vendetta against my client. I regret to inform you that this whole hearing is the result of his jealousy. There’s no basis for it, other than his wounded pride. It strikes me that a counter-allegation could be made against him for harassment.”

  Brett blanched at this, but Lauren waved it off. “You are free to pursue complaints after the hearing.”

  “I'll remember that.” Her eyes traveled from the board and landed on Brett. He knew my sister meant business and he clamped his mouth shut. If he was smart he would drop this and go into hiding before she found him and made him pay.

  “Mr. Markson do you have anything to add concerning this matter?” Lauren asked.

  Roman stepped forward, his eyes darting to mine, before he faced the committee. “My own department has been apprised of the situation and found no ethical violation to be concerned with. You're free to contact Dean Howard for his official position on the matter.”

  “We're not concerned with the inner politics of the Communications Department,” Lauren said. The term drunk with power came to mind.

  The boy next to her leaned onto the table and shook his head. “It seems to me that if the Dean of Communications decided the relationship was kosher, it probably is.”

  “This is a question of ethics, Brad,” Lauren snapped.

  “Yeah, and there might be a real moral dilemma if Mr. Markson was 65 and abusing his tenure.” Brad turned to Roman. “How old are you, man?”