Pushing Limits (Fighting Love: Book 1)
Page 10
“You sure do love your coffee.” Sally laughs blowing into the hole in the lid.
“Yeah, I do.” I giggle, happy as the caffeine hits my system. Taking another glorious sip, I say, “You should major in fashion or something. You seem to love everything about or to do with clothes. You have a real talent for it.”
“Thanks, Amber.” Her quiet smile contradicts her sad eyes.
“What?” Her reaction takes me by surprise.
“My parents wouldn’t approve. They want me to get a degree that puts me in rooms with the right people…like public relations or marketing. My dad needs me to marry someone who can either provide a merger possibility or help the family business. “
“What’s the family business?”
“My dad owns an IT Logistics company. They do a lot of work for the Department of Defense. Fashion wouldn’t mesh with the family business. And, hey, Dad wants what he wants. He would love a son-in-law who was a senator or congressman, but he would settle for someone in line to take over a similar firm.”
“Are you seriously going to get married someday…to…a man?” I ask with an incredulous smirk.
“Wealthy families have been doing it for centuries,” she says dryly. “Forcing their kids to marry and continue the bloodline. The couple agrees to be discreet and carry on separate private lives. The public sees a happy smiling couple and in private they do what they want. Everybody’s happy.”
“Right and how do you plan to get a baby in your belly when the time comes…since that’s the whole objective?”
“I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Artificial insemination? Adoption? Shoot…A quick fifteen minutes under the right conditions…problem solved. Hell, I slept with Bobby. It was fun. Didn’t want to switch teams, mind you, but it was good.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” I shrug. My phone beeps. “I guess my aunt is feeling the need to bug me.” I pull my phone out and glance at the text with Tommy’s name displayed.
I can’t stop thinking about the way your face looks when you come.
Giggling, I say, “Uh, I don’t think it’s my aunt.
“What does it say?’
I show the display to Sally, trying to stop smiling.
Her eyes return to my face. “You’re blushing!” She laughs.
I text:
School tomorrow or I would ask you for a repeat performance.
My phone beeps a reply:
Feel free to use me for sex whenever the need arises, darlin’.
I’d hate to interfere with your school.
How about dinner on Tuesday?
I text:
Sounds great! Or I could just have you for dinner. ;)
My phone pings:
That’s an idea.
But, the least I can do is feed you before I ravage your cute little body.
I have some fun ideas that involve rope and your nipples.
I’ll text you later.
I text him:
Later!
Sally reads the texts and cautions, “Girl, don’t go gettin’ your heart broke now.”
“I know, I know. I won’t. I’m just using him for sex.” I grin, glancing down at my wrists. “Hot, naughty, nasty sex.” My breath catches as I slide my finger along the welt.
Chapter 9
“I wanted you to see this place.” Tommy smiles down at me. “It’s practically a historical landmark. You can’t come to Austin and not step foot in the place Janis Joplin was discovered in. It’s an Austin institution and the food is really good.”
“Janis Joplin played here? That’s really cool.”
“Yeah, when she was starting out. She and the owner became good friends apparently.”
We hang out in the front waiting for our table to be ready, checking out all the old photographs of great musicians who’ve played at Threadgill’s in the day.
“See, look at this. That’s Mr. Threadgill in that Willie Nelson movie. He wrote some of the songs on the soundtrack. He wrote a ton of songs. I know you know, T for Texas, T for Tennessee.”
“I do.”
“I heard one year, Janis Joplin cancelled a concert and flew back to Austin just to sing at his birthday party.”
“Wow.” My eyes glide over the many pictures. I feel him watching me and I glance up. “What?”
“Oh nothin’. It’s nice to be around someone appreciates music like I do.”
His dimples appear and I feel weak-kneed all of a sudden. I feel the heat rising so I divert his attention and ask, “Who’s that?”
“Amber. You know who that is. Were you hoping I wouldn’t notice you blush or somethin’?” His arm slings around my neck, and he pulls me closer. “Let’s get a table.”
The hostess walks us to the table and hands Tommy our menus with a smile. He thanks her, not appearing to notice. I give her a heated up and down for kicks, and now she’s the one walking away blushing. I make sure she notices that I turn my head to watch her walk away with a hungry look. I open my menu and giggle.
“Do you think you could keep from ogling the staff while you’re with me?” He smirks with a soft chuckle and fakes studying his menu.
“Jealous?” I ask.
“I know I’m the one taking you home tonight.” He shrugs.
“Pretty sure of yourself, huh?” I smirk. The waitress arrives and takes our orders. Disappearing with a bright smile and a flip of her hair after focusing her attention on my date and completely ignoring my existence. When she walks away, I say, “Tell me about yourself.”
“Well, you know what I do. You know I grew up here, that I left and now I’m back. I guess I could start with family. I have a sister and a brother. How about you?”
“Only child.” I play with my napkin. “Are you the oldest, youngest?”
“I’m the baby.” He smirks. “My brother is thirty-five and I have a sister who’s thirty-two.” He winks. “I was a surprise.”
“Are you close to your siblings? I mean they’re so much older…”
“Not really. Well, I’m close to my sister but my brother not so much.” His eyes darken and his face clouds over.
What’s that about?
The waitress brings out our food and the aroma of chicken fried steak fills my nostrils. I build my perfect bite and place the fork in my mouth. The flavors explode on my tongue, and I close my eyes as I chew, content that I have just tried the best chicken fried steak known to man.
“Lord knows, I love watchin’ you eat.” He chuckles cutting into his steak. “So, what’s it like being an only child?”
I cringe inwardly wondering how I’m going to bypass the landmines that are my childhood. “It’s different, I guess. I never really thought about it. I always had my friends at boarding school…”
“You went to boarding school?”
“Yeah, all my life. I went to Prescott Academy for first through fifth grade. St. Paul’s for middle school and Deerfield and Phillips Academy for high school.”
“How often did you come home?”
“During Christmas and summer break. It was just like college.”
“Did your family go on vacation during breaks since you were away most of the year or stick around the house?”
“A little.” Wow, this is getting really uncomfortable. Poor little rich girl. Not exactly great dinner conversation. Would he really want to know that I barely saw my parents and most breaks were spent hanging out with Elise and Arthur? Doubt it. Diversion always works.
“Did you go to high school around here? I bet you played sports. Were you into football or soccer?”
“Darlin’, football is a religion in Texas. Everybody lives for Friday nights.”
“What position did you play?”
“Tight end.”
“Yes, it sure is.” I give him my best wicked grin.
“Did you play any sports in high school?”
“Tennis.” I smile. “Do you play?”
“I’ve played. I can’t say I’m any go
od, but enjoy driving it down the middle.”
“Really? My favorite part is when the balls come deep and hard. I love a good rally.”
The waitress comes over to ask Tommy if he would like another beer. My empty bottle is poised on the edge of the table. I just give him a look that says ‘Really?’ and he orders us another round.
“So are you closer to your mother or your father?” Tommy asks.
“Oh, I don’t know. Who are you closer to?”
“I guess my mom. How about you?”
“Wow, look at that couple. They look like they are about to go at it right on the table. Wanna see if we can out do them?” I pull him in for a kiss for what I hope is a subtle diversion. My hands stroke his beard and it’s so soft. My hands start to wander as my heart races. Man, this guy does it for me. Damn. Such a good kisser.
Tommy pulls away and whispers, “Let me get the check.” Tommy motions for the waitress, and she brings the check over.
***
I unlock the dorm room door, and I’m greeted by the sight of Sally in pajamas, her hair tied high in a ponytail, holding a bowl of chicken soup. She mutters, “I’m sick. I feel like crap.” She sinks onto her bed and gives Tommy and me the most pitiful look I have ever seen.
“It’s no surprise. You’ve been burning the candle at both ends.” I shake my head and say, “Get under the covers. Did you take any Tylenol?”
She sniffs. “No.”
Tommy puts his hand to her head. “No temperature, coz.”
“Coz?” I look back and forth between them.
“We’re cousins, Amber.” Sally sniffs, looking up at me with saucer eyes. “I know I told you that….maybe it was that first night. I thought I told you, maybe I didn’t, I don’t remember. I’m dying here…” She looks up at me, rubbing a tissue under her nose.
I shake my head. “Maybe you did.”
I turn to Tommy, saying, “I’m sorry. I better say goodnight. Can I walk you out?”
He gives me a crooked grin and says, “Sure, darlin’.”
I give him my best goodnight kiss, trying desperately to send him home with a hard-on that will last until he makes it back to the ranch. I walk back inside with a dirty little grin and a wave goodbye.
***
After an entire year without sex, another week without it should’ve been no big deal. Instead, it felt like an eternity. I would have thought I could go a damn week without thinking about it. I tried, I really did. But I saw sex everywhere, in class, on TV, in the movies. Everyone was doing it except for me, damn it. I’m obsessing. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Sally was right. I needed to get laid. Again and again. I chuckle.
He said we were going out this weekend, but I haven’t heard from him since Tuesday. A call asking how my week is going? A sexy, flirty text? Something? I feel like some thirteen-year-old girl waiting anxiously for a boy to call. Waiting, wishing, wanting…but it’s nada. Crickets. No call, not a single text.
As the week dragged on, I told myself it was “just a fuck.” Nothing more. I try to tell myself I don’t care. Casual sex is just that. It’s sex, no strings. I’m a big girl, I don’t need to sit around and wait for anyone to call.
But something inside my head whispers, “He likes you,” and “he wants round two.” There’s a part of me that believes it was more. That he felt it, too. The connection.
Hell, I’m probably one of many. A guy that hot probably screws someone new every night. I guess he didn’t think the sex was that great or he would be texting and calling, trying to hit it again. And one night with me? Why would that bring anyone to his knees? Least of all him. Said it once, I’ll say it again, that guy is too good-looking for me. The mind-blowing sex was probably nothing new to him, an every night occurrence for your average neighborhood Greek god. It’s been almost a year for me. Shit, did I suck in bed?
Other than that embarrassing make-out session with Logan, there hasn’t been anyone since Angela. When I think about the whole Logan thing it makes me cringe. I liked him, but he was a friend. When we started fooling around, the hormones took over. There wasn’t really anything more and then my mom walks in. It was humiliating.
With Tommy, I felt something. Hell, I felt it in the restaurant. The attraction, the connection. It wasn’t just about sex, for me at least. I liked him. After Angela, I don’t think I could put myself out there again. My heart still aches when I think about her. I miss her so much.
People always leave.
What difference does it make anyway? I needed to get back in the saddle again. I did that. Moving on. I force myself to muster up even a bit of dignity. Screw him. I shut down my mind and push out all these dumbass feelings. Maybe I should ask someone out. That guy in my government class is pretty cute…or that girl in English Lit, she’s pretty. I always see her checking out my ass.
***
As I stand outside my academic advisor’s office, waiting to meet him for the first time, I take another look at the notification slip. It reads that I have been assigned to ‘Sir Alec Stewart.’ Yeah, it says ‘Sir.’ I guess he’s noble or something.
Great. Another academic with a stick up his ass.
The door to his office opens and as a student exits, I stand in the doorway and say, “Professor Stewart, I’m Amber Turner. Ms. Chadwick assigned me to your advisory group.”
A tall, bald man with kind blue eyes and full lips regards me. His white smile is nestled inside a salt and pepper beard. “Right. Yes, of course. Please come in.” He motions for me to enter the office and to sit down in the oversized beige chair opposite his desk. His office is larger than I expect for a professor. The furniture is heavy and ornate. The picture lining the walls are of him and his friends hiking up a mountain, on top of a snow peak, astride a horse swinging a polo mallet. He gracefully walks the few steps to a single cabinet in the corner, gesturing to a hot plate and cups in a makeshift tiny tea station with a thin elegant hand. “Would you like some tea? I have a nice Earl Grey.”
“Tea?”
“My dear, an Englishman without tea, is like an American without coffee. I think the American writer Ralph Waldo Emerson said it best when he said, ‘The Englishman who visits Mount Etna will carry his tea-kettle to the top.’ Now would you like a cup?”
“No, thank you.”
“Right. Now what can I do for you?” He asks taking a seat at his expansive ornate desk. His keen eyes stare, considering me.
“You’re my academic advisor,” I say.
“Right. Right. You mentioned that,” he says, leafing through various bulky stacks of paper cluttering his desk. “I have your file here.” He switches piles. “It was sent over yesterday.” Switching to the papers on the back of the credenza, he rifles through those as well.
“Is it in that stack?” I ask, pointing to a stack of blue binders with student names labeled on the front.
“What stack?” He looks at me, as if he’s not sure why I have spoken. His teal blue eyes muddle with a flash of confusion.
“Behind you. On the credenza.” I motion to the stack on the corner of the credenza behind him.
“Right. Right.” Pulling my file, he reviews its content, muttering out loud. “I see, hmm, excellent grades in secondary school. High college entrance scores. Good, good….Oh my, three schools in a year, one expulsion. Abysmal grades. How on earth did you ever get admitted here? We do have standards to adhere to after all.” He sniffs, murmuring to himself, “I see.” His ardent eyes settle on me again saying, “Why are you here, my dear?”
“You’re my advisor. Ms. Chadwick sent me.”
“Yes. But why are you here at Texas College? Are you interested in making a go of it?” He asks leaning in, intensely interested in my response.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Why are you in school if you don’t give a damn about giving it even a bit of effort?” His eyes narrow with a quizzical look.
“I don’t know what to say to that.” I sneer.
I study his puzzled expression as he reads, waiting.
“Right. Ms. Turner, it is clear to me that you are more than capable of making excellent marks. Stop fannying around and get on with it.” He swishes his hand toward the door. “Cheers, off you go.” He turns back to his paper shuffling process again.
I stand and walk out, completely confused. What was that? Where’s the ass chewing? The berating? Is that it?
As I walk down the steps of the English building, Karen waits on the steps so we can walk back to the dorm together. “What did he say?” she asks.
“He said, ‘I should stop fannying around and get on with it.’ What the hell does that mean?”
“It means you need to stop fooling around and start studying.”
“Oh.” I smile. “That’s it?”
“Yeah,” she says, straightening her back, “They don’t do a lot of hand holding at this point. You either do the work, or they flunk you. What did you think of him?”
“Kind of hot…he has a whole Sean Connery-thing going. Nice smile. He’s a bit off, though, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, He’s a tad disorganized. Did you get a load of his office?” She giggles covering her mouth to hide her grin. “I took his British Literature class last year. I tell you what…I could listen to him all day. I love a British accent.” She sighs. Pushing her glasses up her nose, she says, “That aside, he’s a good advisor, helpful, kind, straight-forward. He’s one of those teachers that doesn’t sugar coat it. I have Ms. Prendergast this year.” She rolls her eyes. “Ugh. Sugary sweet. I think she’s trying to encourage but she doesn’t offer any real help.”