by Piper Lawson
“We weren’t doing anything. You were being a massive prick.”
“The next time we play like that,” he repeats, “you’ll be on board.”
More chips are needed.
“You a chips or pretzels guy?” I ask as I toss another bag in the basket so I don’t combust from looking at him. Hell, one more.
“Chips. Pretzels don’t have enough flavor per square inch.”
“You would say that. No matter that pretzels are uniquely shaped and interesting.”
“How are they interesting? They’re all the same.”
I laugh as I reach for Band-Aids.
“For?” he asks.
“I pulled out my pointe shoes the other day. Haven’t had a chance to use the studio after classes are over, but soon, I’ll find time.”
“I’d like to see you dance. Watching you tonight turned me on like crazy.”
A shiver runs through me at the thought of him across the room, unable to move or touch, aroused by the simple sight of me.
The idea of seducing him on purpose is insanely sexy. I’ve never seduced a man before. Sure, I’ve gotten dressed with a mind to how I’ll look, but that’s different than putting all of myself into making him think about, long for, beg for me.
He makes me feel things I’ve never felt, makes me brave and bold, reckless and free. The pleasure he brings me is more than I ever expected to experience—and we’ve only been together once.
I can barely imagine what else he could show me the next time—
“Professor Redmond.”
It’s a student, and I duck away to the cash register while he talks.
I sneak a look back over my shoulder as I pay.
But the way he hurt me comes back.
Think you can move on from him when he finishes this class and leaves?
I’ve dated Adam. Stuck with him long after I wanted to and had to get out.
This is different.
I’m different.
He walks me back to the parking lot outside the dance studio. Every step, I’m aware of him. I feel alive.
When we stop beside my car, he clears his throat. “I need to ask you something. It’s awkward.”
I laugh. “You talked about spanking me and bought me condoms. What could be more awkward?”
“The fish. The black one seems to be shedding. Something’s wrong.” A frown. “I’ve been feeding it, all of them, and I did some research…”
I barely hear what he says next because there’s so much pressure in my chest.
Sawyer, who didn’t give a shit about the fish, is worried about them. And he’s embarrassed and frustrated he needs to ask for help.
“That one is sensitive. Could be fungus. They can contract it in the wild, but it’s more common with pets.” My chest tightens in compassion. The poor animal did nothing wrong, but he’s suffering.
I pull up a page on my phone. “Check all the water levels. Twice. Then get this antibacterial stuff and use it as directed.”
“If it doesn’t help?”
It’s dusk and the sun leaves streaks of orange on the horizon, but it’s nearly dark.
“If it doesn’t…you know where to find me.” I smile but he only sighs.
“Olivia. I like what we had. I want it back,” he says.
The determination on his face is beyond sexy.
I want that too.
Both because of how alive he makes me feel, and because he’s glorious. A dark god who casually brings mortals to their knees, benevolent enough to make sure they delight in their submission.
And I’m past judging myself for that.
But I think of how much it hurt to learn I wasn’t the first younger woman he pursued. If I hadn’t gotten so caught up in who he was as a person, it wouldn’t have mattered nearly as much.
“Fine.” I can indulge in the hedonism that is Sawyer Redmond, and protect my heart. “But it’s only physical.”
He frowns. “I’m not going to stop looking out for you. I care what you’re doing, and with whom.”
I think of the necklace, and the way he showed up in lab.
“We’re not going on dates. Or playing games. Or hanging out. And that’s not up for negotiation.”
Which is exactly what this is when he steps closer and pops the collar on my jacket, his thumb grazing my neck. “We’re exclusive. No other man touches you.”
My heart skips under his touch. “And you don’t touch any other women.”
“Obviously.” Sawyer stares at me like I’m insane, except it’s not obvious to me, and hearing him say that has a knot loosening in my chest.
“Deal. But we’re not texting.”
He holds open my car door with a look of incredulity.
“You deleted our messages,” I remind him. “If we’re going to do this, we need to trust each other.”
He grimaces. “You think that’s why I deleted the messages.”
“Why else?”
He holds out his phone and shows me the messages on his phone—perfectly intact.
I scroll through them, trying not to get emotional.
He owns a piece of our history I don’t have anymore.
Does he read them? The thought makes my pulse skip.
“Delete them,” I say.
His eyes narrow to slits. “What?”
“If I don’t have our texts, you don’t either.”
He turns it over, long enough for a group of teenagers to wander past the parking long and cackle over some joke. Longer than I’ve ever seen him think on anything.
Finally, he says, “I’ll send them to you.”
“Fine.” I say it as if I don’t care, when it feels like I’ve suddenly been granted another chance at life.
He holds out a hand for his phone. “Need yours too.”
I pass it over.
He hits a few keystrokes on mine, then returns it before typing into his. “There. Don’t let some asshole take them from you this time.”
I shove my phone in my pocket and set the bags in the passenger seat before I shift into the car.
I turn and look up at him. “If we do this, I have two more conditions.”
He looks pained. “You want me to hand you my balls, too? I promise this will be far less satisfying if I do.”
My lips twitch. “First…” I take a steadying breath. “I’m taking the money he left me. All fifty thousand.”
If my dad truly is broke, I’ll need it for tuition next semester.
He nods. “It’s yours. And the other condition?”
“You have to give your dad a chance.”
“He’s dead.”
“That’s why it matters even more. You’re carrying around the memory of him, but what if he changed? You don’t want to entertain the possibility of that?”
His eyes bore into mine. “You don’t know what happened the night I left.”
“Then tell me.”
What was the thing that pushed Sawyer over the edge, had him running from the only home he knew, even if it was imperfect at best?
He leans in and his breath is on my lips, warm, sweet.
“Tell me,” I repeat, whispering against his mouth.
“No feelings, right?” he counters.
Damn him.
My fingers tangle in his hair as he pushes me against the back of the seat and drives into my mouth.
His hands hold my hips in place, sliding down until his fingers touch the top of my thighs, and I break the kiss.
He bites my lip and releases it, looking at me with raw desire.
He’s not gone five minutes before my phone buzzes.
The name on the contact makes me laugh.
Repentant Asshole: Text me tonight.
10
Olivia
Liv: You can get the fish medication at the PopTart.
Repentant Asshole: The what?
Liv: I mean PetSmart. Whoops. I’ve had three beers.
Repentant Asshole: Tipsy Cherry.
Liv: That’s not a thing.
Repentant Asshole: It is and I like it :)
Liv: I’m having drinks with my roommates.
Repentant Asshole: Glad you’ve been thinking about me.
Liv: Barely.
Repentant Asshole: If I was there, I’d lift you up on the table and make you show me how wet you are.
Liv: Sawyer there’s a room full of people.
Repentant Asshole: Then I’d put that slickness to good use and teach you what it’s for.
Liv: You wouldn’t.
Repentant Asshole: Maybe, maybe not. But now you’re gonna be thinking about it all night.
Repentant Asshole: See you in class, Cherry.
11
Olivia
The email asking for me to stop by the dean’s office comes the next afternoon.
“What’s it about?” I ask Betty when I head upstairs.
“No idea,” she says, frowning.
I have no desire to see him, but I can’t very well ignore the summons.
The dean calls me in. “Olivia, good to see you.”
He motions for me to take a seat in one of the leather chairs opposite him.
I sink into the chair but my attention is drawn to the walls boasting photos of graduating classes.
“Where’s Professor Redmond’s class? It’s not up there.”
“Must be a mistake.”
“Wait, here it is.” I find it out of order, at the far end of the others. Sawyer’s in the picture, gorgeous but also somber, his dark eyes haunted.
“I don’t think you should get attached to Professor Redmond. He won’t be here long.”
I shift in my seat. “Because he’s covering Lancaster’s class only until you can replace him and he can go back to New York?”
“He’ll be going somewhere, but it won’t be New York.” As if remembering himself, his composure returns. “The department is questioning its investment in the Stars competition.”
My gaze snaps to his, the photos forgotten. “But we just qualified through regionals.”
“I appreciate that. But it was one of Lancaster’s particular interests. He had a long history with the department and was allowed certain indulgences. Now that he’s passed, we need to re-prioritize.”
I remember reading that the department’s budget has been cut relative to the business school and the law school. I guess even at a well-funded school, some areas get relatively less attention.
“Have you talked with Professor Redmond about this?”
“It’s not his decision. It’s mine.”
No.
The team is finally getting along. We have a real chance. I won’t let this end.
It means everything to Royce and Madison and me. Just as much as for us, I want this for Sawyer. This matters to him.
My mind spins. I’m not good at playing games, but now, I need to be.
“But before regionals, you said there were companies interested in our work?”
“Interest is a long way from dollars.”
I take in the photos on the other side of the room. They’re still formal, but contain only a handful of people and feature ribbon cutting ceremonies, awards, and men in suits with big checks.
That’s what speaks to the dean.
I think of the voicemail sitting on my phone from the attorney about the money Lancaster left me. He would want this to succeed—for me, and my classmates, and for Sawyer.
What about tuition? There’s a real chance my family won’t help.
If the project gets shut down, Royce is screwed. Everything we work for flies out the window.
Now, not a few months from now.
“My father has been difficult for you to get hold of. But he’s excited about this project. And has been meaning to support it.”
The dean shifts forward, steepling his hands. “Is that so?”
“Would fifty thousand be enough to signal his commitment and keep the project on track?”
The dean blinks, gesturing with a hand. “Of course, that would be a welcome contribution.”
I stand, my heart racing.
“Good. Then I suspect you’ll be getting a check soon.”
“Shit, shit, shit,” I mutter as I drop into a seat in the corner of the library foyer and open my laptop.
Preparatory call: Northeast Stars competition teams.
When I open my web browser, the banner announcing the call takes up most of the screen.
I’m regretting telling Royce and Madison I had it under control. It’s midterms and everyone’s busy. Which is why I’m late—after a beaker exploded in my chem lab, I ran late cleaning it up and going through hazardous material protocols. I bolted to the first location I could find to take this call.
I pull up my Notes app on the side of my screen before entering the passcode into the browser window.
No luck.
The clock says the meeting started three minutes ago. Maybe they’re running even later?
I try another code and it sends me through.
Finally.
But only one other face pops up on the video screen.
“What are you doing here?” a woman with dark braids pulled back in a headband demands.
“I’m here for the Stars competition call.”
“Me too. But we’re in the wrong room. Aliya,” she volunteers.
“Liv.”
She screws up her face and I hear the clack of keyboard keys. From her smooth skin, she can’t be more than a few years older than me.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to hack into the feed.”
That kind of computing is way beyond me. Royce could probably do it, but he’s not here.
I catch sight of something over her shoulder, suspended from the ceiling in what I’m guessing is her room. “What is that?”
“A hang glider I made…”
“Wow.”
“…in eighth grade.”
Damn. She’s super smart.
“Aerodynamics is my first love,” she says breezily. “When I was vice president of the engineering society at our school, we brought in an entirely new course on it.”
“So you’ve graduated.”
“Yup. I’m involved in the Stars program peripherally—as an alum advisor for people who need help.”
“You competed when you were in school? How did it go?”
“We won. I got funding for my company.”
I’m a little awestruck. “What’s that like?”
“Intense. It’s not like school, where everything comes down to what’s technically possible. It’s a big world and so much more matters. But you can also be a bigger piece of the puzzle—work on longer term projects, if you have the funding.”
I click back into the calendar invitation and send off a message to the organizer saying we can’t get in.
No response.
“Do you know what the new requirements are?” I ask, tapping my pencil against the paper.
“Hmm?”
“I mean, that’s the point of being on the call.” I surf around websites to see who won last year. “It looks like they had press releases about a new lead sponsor this year. Which could mean the companies don’t have money to sponsor or it’s less appealing.”
She laughs. “Nice observation. When I did the competition, there wasn’t even a phase where you submitted a statement of purpose. You could stick one throwaway line in your presentation about the applications of your work and be done with it.”
“Bingo.” I notice the same thing online. “That’s what they’re trying to do. They want projects that are exciting. But”—I chew my lip—“we have less than a semester to make it perfect.”
“It doesn’t need to be wrapped up in a neat little bow. In fact, better if it’s not. Gives you time to build something awesome after.”
I think about the applications we’ve discussed as a team.
“Know what would be cool? Helping to preserve the w
orld we have.” I repeat some research about underwater ecosystems that I found while looking up caring for Lancaster’s fish as Aliya keeps typing away.
My email dings and there’s an apology from the organizer with a PDF document summarizing the changes.
“What’s your email address?” I ask Aliya.
She tells me.
“Incoming.” I forward the document.
“Thanks. Hey, I’m running an online roundtable for prospective engineering students in high school in a few weeks. We had a speaker back out. You should join.”
“Me? But I’m not even an engineer yet.”
She cocks her head, sending dozens of tiny braids cascading over one shoulder. “You think about how to save the world, I’d say you’re a pretty good one.”
12
Olivia
Liv: How’re the fish?
Repentant Asshole: Look for yourself. Here’s a picture.
Liv: Much better.
Repentant Asshole: It’s hot that you know how to heal living things.
Liv: Are you trying to get in my pants, Professor?
Repentant Asshole: Mm-hmm. Holding fish hostage is the number one way to lure a woman into bed.
We’re back on.
The long looks.
The hot texts.
The simmering awareness under my skin that makes me feel like I’m living a life beneath a life.
School and friends can’t possibly compare with the reality that is Sawyer Redmond’s attention.
The difference is I’m smarter this time. We’re doing it on my terms.