by Lea Coll
Copyright © 2019 by Lea Meyer
All Rights Reserved.
This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
ALSO BY LEA COLL
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
EPILOGUE
EXCERPT FROM STAY WITH ME
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALSO BY LEA COLL
Choose Me
Be with Me
Burn for Me
Trust in Me
Stay with Me
Take a Chance on Me (coming May 2020)
Easy Moves
To discover other titles by Lea Coll, please visit her website.
This is the only part of my books my children are allowed to read and they do, so I wanted to thank them for being patient while I write one more word, one more sentence, one more paragraph, one more page—whatever I can get away with before they ask me for a snack or to play a game.
MEN DON’T CHEAT IN GOOD relationships. My therapist’s words echoed in my head as I jogged down the steps from her office onto the brick-lined sidewalk of the main street in my hometown. If Dr. Hirsch was right, I wasn’t even a blip on Jason’s radar when he stuck his dick in his student, his intern—the younger woman. And it’s not that I’m old—she’s that young.
The sun warmed my face as I walked toward Washington College’s historic campus. Dr. Hirsch had also insisted the cheating wasn’t my fault. Maybe. My first boyfriend in college was a T.A. who cheated with his student, then Jason—the man I was supposed to marry—couldn’t keep his hands off—or his dick out of—his barely-old-enough-to-drink intern. Along with a few other inconsequential relationships along the way where the man always wandered to someone else, no matter how Dr. Hirsch wanted to frame it, that made the common denominator me.
As I entered Washington College’s campus, I was running late as usual. Despite my love for my job, I wasn’t happy my boss handed me his role as advisor for the student’s paper, The Elm. With everything that goes into managing a small-town paper—declining readership numbers, loss of advertisers, and the cost of delivering the paper—I didn’t have time for one more thing. I was a jack of all trades, and investigating and writing a story was only one small part the wheel that kept everything going. At least that was an area of my life where I could still trust my judgment, unlike dating where my gut had always been so clearly wrong.
I took a deep breath and shoved the failed-relationship memories back where they belonged as I stopped to admire the cherry blossom trees in full bloom. They would make great images for the website. I took a few photos with my phone until I noticed a large crowd of students on the quad and heard the sound of a bat striking a ball. Walking closer, the infielder threw the ball at the runner, striking him. A man in a black T-shirt yelled, “Out!”
Catching the attention of one of the students, I said, “I thought you had to tag someone to get them out in baseball.”
“This isn’t baseball. It’s an old game, called Town Ball. It’s similar, but there’s an extra base and there are no foul balls. Everything is in play. The professors and students play each other every Friday afternoon for fun.”
This would be a cute write-up for the student paper. “Is this a new tradition? I don’t remember this when I graduated six years ago.”
“Yeah, one of the newer history professors started it.” She pointed over to Sawyer Hudson, Luke’s younger brother. Luke Hudson was the new sheriff and also my friend Emma’s fiancé. My eyes slid over his team shirt, which stretched tight over his chest and broad shoulders, and I swallowed. I rarely saw Sawyer outside of his chinos and white button-downs. Who knew the quiet professor had a body?
“Hot, right?” The student laughed at my wide eyes. She wore short tight white shorts showcasing her long toned, tanned legs, topped with a black Zeta sorority shirt tied in a knot at her belly button, and a necklace which dangled teasingly over her ample breasts. “He’s been voted unofficially the hottest professor three years running.”
“Well, that was until Dr. Mason starting working here,” her friend added.
I hadn’t seen this Dr. Mason but he’d have to be pretty hot to beat out Sawyer in a hotness contest.
“Oh, yeah,” she said.
I tore my eyes from the sight of Sawyer on the field, squatting in the fielding position ready to catch any balls thrown at him. “Hottest professor, huh?” I asked. Who knew? I’d always written Sawyer off as too quiet. He’d graduated the same year as I did from Chestertown High, but his intelligence kept him solidly out of my circle. Being learning challenged, I wasn’t in his classes. I closed my eyes at the memory of the embarrassment and shame which followed me through school when I had trouble reading out loud or focusing.
“For sure,” she said.
I heard her words, but couldn’t process them. A teacher in a relationship with a student ran through my head on endless repeat. My ex-fiancé, Jason, had cheated on me with one of his younger interns shortly after proposing. It happened two years ago, but the memory of his betrayal caused a pit to form in my stomach. Was Sawyer the same? Was he flattered by the students’ attention? This girl was young, beautiful, and confident. Why wouldn’t he be interested? But the important question was why did I care?
I watched him high-five a fellow player, chuckling, as he lifted his white T-shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, revealing a set of chiseled abs, which made my mouth drop open.
“Rawr! Check out that six pack.” The student elbowed her friend. “Did you see that?”
“Uh huh. Man candy every Friday in the quad. Can’t miss.”
Check
ing my watch to see it was almost four, the time I needed to be at my meeting, I backed away from the spectacle, trying to circle the crowd to make it to the Gibson Center for the Arts building, not wanting to be late for the first meeting. The crowd around me began to dissipate as the game ended, making my trek across the quad more difficult.
“I’m putting a reminder on my phone to come to the quad every Friday afternoon,” one student said, her fingers flying over her phone as she walked in front of me.
With all of the stops and starts, I’d barely even reached the field when someone in the crowd jostled me and I slammed into a very defined back. The person spun around, placing his large hands on my shoulders to steady me. My eyes traveled up from the sweat-soaked T-shirt to amused brown eyes partially hidden behind glasses.
“Sawyer?” I asked, breathlessly. Since when am I breathless around Sawyer?
“Stella? What are you doing on campus?” His low voice sent a shiver through my body.
I breathed in his scent, a combination of sweat, leather, and something musty from working in the historic buildings. I cleared my throat, taking a large step back, causing his hands to drop from my shoulders.
We were total opposites—he was quiet and intelligent—I was loud and said whatever was on my mind. He was analytical and I was flighty.
At Sawyer’s raised brows, I knew I’d been quiet for too long. “Oh, I’m the newest advisor for the student paper. My boss didn’t want to do it anymore, so one more thing on my plate.” I smiled wide to cover my thoughts. I was always expected to be the happy, carefree person. I knew my role and played it well.
Sawyer’s eyes widened. “Wow, Stella, that’s great.”
“Is it so surprising?” I couldn’t help asking in a small voice. Of course, someone as smart and accomplished as Sawyer wasn’t impressed by me—I was voted the class clown my senior year.
“Not exactly.” He coughed into his hand and shifted on his feet.
I took a step to pass him, but his hand closed around my arm, drawing me up short. My breath caught at the contact, and my gaze paused on the long tan fingers circling my arm. “I’m sorry, Stella. I guess it surprised me a little.”
I nodded, my lips drawn tight at his honesty.
“I’m sorry. That came out all wrong.” He sighed, clearly frustrated with himself causing my heart to clench.
This man was upset that he’d hurt my feelings? When was the last time that had happened?
Then quieter, he said, “I think it’s great you’re working with the kids on the paper. Being younger, I’m sure they’ll relate better to you.”
I smiled. “Yeah, that’s true.” The fact that he’d referred to his students as kids stuck out to me. My mind flashed back to the young co-eds on the quad wearing baby doll-size shirts and tiny shorts.
He smiled, drawing his lip between his teeth, like he was uncomfortable letting loose. “I guess we’ll be seeing more of each other now—since you’re working on campus.”
“Oh yeah, for sure.” For sure? I was talking like the students now. Sawyer had reduced me to a simpering sorority girl. “Anyway!” My voice rose an octave as I tried to continue speaking in my best reporter voice, “I need to get to my meeting so I’m not late. It was great seeing you, Sawyer.” I glanced pointedly where his hand still gripped my arm firmly.
His face flushed, he dropped my arm. “Right. Sorry about that.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to say I wasn’t. That he could touch me anytime he wanted to, but I remembered what he said when our group of friends gathered at Logan and Ashley’s home for their housewarming party:t “No man, she’s too much for me. She’s impulsive and loud. I need a nice, quiet—” I have no idea what else he’d said because I’d fled the party before he saw me.
He’d been clear that night. He saw me as this flighty airhead who didn’t take anything seriously. Not that I’d ever seen him for more than what he was, the brother of a friend in my tight circle of friends. I couldn’t blame him. He didn’t know me. No one did. But I couldn’t get his softly spoken words out of my head. It cut to the core of my insecurities—wishing I could be more like other women—not someone so easily dismissed and discarded.
I managed to walk away without tripping, but I swore I felt his gaze on my back as I continued across the quad, dodging Frisbees. A lightness filled me as I replayed the interaction with him—the first time I’d noticed Sawyer as a man and not an acquaintance—his defined chest and chiseled abs. Who knew sweat looked so good on a man? I’d told him before he was Clark Kent sexy with his glasses before and it was so true.
I trudged up the concrete steps to the historic brick building lined with white columns, sighing as I remembered the sorority girls’ words voted hottest professor three years running. My ex hadn’t turned down his younger student’s advance and I’d do well to remember that. Not only had Jason cheated on me with an intern, but my college boyfriend, who was a TA, cheated on me with his student.
Hot nerdy professor types were so not my thing. I liked confident athletic men who knew how to talk to a woman, not blushing and stumbling over words. I couldn’t compete against women who were younger, prettier, and petite. I’d proven that time and time again—I was a good time—but I was disposable, replaceable. No one chose me in the end.
I entered the newly remodeled modern meeting room where students sat at long tables facing the front of the room. Glancing at the analog clock hanging on the wall, I realized I was my usual ten minutes late. Sucking in a breath, I vowed to try harder to be on time. Ever since I had been granted probationary admission out of high school to attend Washington College based on my interview and not my test scores I’d worked overtime to prove myself. And I needed this job. I needed to be indispensable in whatever role my boss needed me to fill. I would do it all. Whatever it took.
“I’m sorry I’m late, guys. I was distracted by that ball game in the quad. Town Ball?” At several nods and smiles I continued, “I think it would be a nice write-up featuring the history department. There’s a story in every moment if you just observe and listen, which is why I’m always late.” I smiled at Professor Weigand who laughed and shook his head. He’d known me since I was a student and had been the advising professor for the paper.
“Being on the paper is the best way to meet people.” I winked at the girls when they rolled their eyes at me. “It’s the best way to meet men,” glancing toward the few men in the room, “women.” I waited for the chuckles to die down before I continued. “When I attended Washington College, I joined the paper freshman year with the goal of meeting every single person on this campus before I graduated, and I did. Everyone knew who I was, people called my name everywhere I went.” Respect filled their faces now.
“They still do, Stella,” Professor Weigand said as he leaned against his desk, feet crossed in front of him.
I smiled. “Push yourself to come up with intriguing stories, interview interesting people. Not the most valuable players, not the most published professors. Do the unexpected. Always take it a step further. Push the boundaries. Defy the rules. Never stop until you have your best story.”
Seeing a few students attention diverted to the door, I turned my head to see Sawyer listening, his hand braced on the doorway. He smiled and nodded before continuing on his way. I stood a little straighter as I turned my attention back to the students. I couldn’t help but think I’d impressed him. I may not be a professor, but I’d held the student’s attention.
I worked on the student paper when I attended Washington. I work in the field and I’m more in tune with online journalism than my boss. I had something to offer these students.
“The incoming editor-in-chief is given the opportunity to intern at the Kent County News during the summer. I did this when I was a senior. It was invaluable experience. I was offered a job after I finished my master’s at St. Mary’s College.” I left out the part where I’d quit my job at the Frederick Post and moved back here after my fiancé
cheated on me.
“This is a great networking opportunity for those of you concerned about jobs after graduation. I’m here for you as a resource and a guide. I’m so excited to be your professional advisor. Let’s get to work.”
AFTER MY NEWSPAPER MEETING WRAPPED up, I headed to Annie’s Wine Bar to meet Ashley, Samantha, and Emma for our regular girls’ night. Even though it was still a little cool for spring, we opted for the open air and shade of the bright yellow umbrellas on the patio.
“You’re online dating again?” Ashley asked, clapping her hands together. “This will be so much fun!”
“I am, but this time will be different,” I said. I’d taken a break from dating the last two years but it was time to get back in the game.
“You mean, you’ll show up for the dates?” Ashley laughed, referring to the fact that I tended to forget appointments, dates, what I was just talking about, pretty much everything. I now had a good working system of writing to-do lists to stick on my computer and my notebook. The less forgetful I was, the more seriously people took me, and the more confident I felt.
“Yes. I’m taking it seriously.” All of my friends had found significant others in the last year and I was inching toward thirty with no prospects. I’d imposed a hiatus on dating after my last ex cheated on me, but it was time to end it. “Do you know how many dating sites there are now? It’s not just Match.com anymore.”
“I have no idea. The only one I ever tried was one in college, which catered to students.” Emma nabbed a cheese cube from the charcuterie board in the center of the table next to the pitcher of Sangria.
“There are sites specific to height, hair color, interests, income, and career. Match.com and eharmony are a few of the only paid services. Maybe those are for people seriously looking for a relationship?” I continued reading through a review of dating sites. The options were overwhelming and I wasn’t sure which one was the right choice. “On Bumble, the girl has to message first and the guys have twenty-four hours to respond. It says it weeds out the weak guys and has more confident men on the site.”