by Linda Kage
~ASPEN~
My head felt like it was going to explode.
Rolling toward the heat source that had kept me cozy all night, I curled my legs up, expecting to find something solid and tangible radiating warmth and shelter. But all my fingers found were cold, empty sheets. Wrinkling my forehead, I winced when little axes in my head hacked at the interior of my temples. With a groan, I buried my face further into my pillow to block out the light flooding my room.
Inhaling a new smell, something spicy and masculine, I breathed in deeply, wondering where such a lovely scent had originated and what it was doing on my pillow. Until I remembered...
Noel Gamble. In my car. Driving me home. Then Noel Gamble. On my bed. Kissing me. With tongue. His hand between my legs.
Dear God, I’d kissed Noel Gamble and led him straight to my bedroom. I’d arched under him and begged him to— Oh, God. This was bad.
Already fearing the worst, I jerked upright, opening my eyes and checking out the other side of my bed, knowing I’d find him there. But when I found nothing but more sheets and a smashed pillow, I felt disappointed and disheartened.
My head pounded, and I swayed dizzily.
That’s when I noticed the glass full of water on the nightstand next to a bottle of aspirin with a folded sheet of white paper propped against them.
Groaning as my headache roared back to life, I swiped up the note
“There ain’t no sin and there ain’t no virtue. There’s just stuff people do.” - John Steinbeck (From The Grapes of Wrath).
Hey. I just wanted you to know you did nothing wrong last night, and there is no reason to regret anything that happened...like I know you are. But don’t sweat it. We could have done so much more. I know the right thing to do now is probably apologize for not stopping you immediately when you drunk kissed me. Except I’m not sorry at all. It was...amazing. Really, don’t sweat it. Everything will be okay. Just take care of yourself. Drink the whole glass of water and don’t take more than three pills. If you need anything, call.
N. G.
I soaked in his phone number he’d scribbled in at the bottom of the page, memorizing it even as I commanded my eyes to look away.
But, oh wow, he’d left me a sweet, considerate letter. And his words actually worked. The panic I’d been experiencing a split second after waking up unwillingly drained from my system.
We hadn’t done anything that bad after all. Or had we and he just wanted to sugarcoat it? Shit, I couldn’t remember much of what had happened, but Noel seemed to think we were still in the clear, so I refused to get worried.
Except all day long, little puzzle pieces of my memory kept returning, reminding me of some of the things I’d said to him. I seriously couldn’t believe I’d squeezed his arm at the bar and asked if women liked to clutch his muscles while he had sex with them. No, I must’ve dreamed that one up. I don’t care how wasted I’d been, I would never say—
Oh, God. I had, hadn’t I? This was so horrifying. How was I supposed to show my face in class again? How could I even step foot on campus?
As Sunday progressed, I kept biting my fingernails and glancing at the phone, just knowing some university administrator was going to call and fire me.
Then another memory would plague me, like the one where Noel Gamble had picked me up, and I’d wound my legs around his waist while he’d kissed me senseless against a wall. Or when he’d rubbed me through my panties. My stomach heated and thighs turned rubbery. Even as vague and blurry as the memories were, they had the power to stir me until I was a hot, wanton mess.
I knew I should be utterly embarrassed and scandalized. I’d just thrown my code of ethics and morals out the window, and I’d chosen one of the biggest playboys on campus to do it with. I was appalled at myself. Kind of. All the flattery kept choking out my honorable thoughts, though, because I was utterly thrilled that Noel Gamble, the guy who turned me on like no one else, the man who’d charmed me with his literature essay and entrusted me with his biggest secrets had actually wanted me. He could have any girl on campus—prettier, younger, and more fashionable with a personality much more lively than mine.
Wait. Noel Gamble could have any girl he wanted. So why had he chosen me? I wasn’t all that and a bag of potato chips.
With a dreaded gulp, I pressed my hand to my chest and tried to combat the sinking feeling dropping heavily into my gut. This didn’t have anything to do with that essay he’d written, did it? Because he now had insurance that I would never spill his secret to university administration. I’d be fired for sure if anyone found out I’d fooled around with a student. There wasn’t any such regulation for students. Just for faculty. If I even thought about telling anyone about his false high school GPA, he could wave this in my face; it would get me kicked out of Ellamore just as surely as if I’d had sex with him.
And smart Gamble, he hadn’t even had to lower himself to go all the way with me.
God, was that messed-up thinking or what? Was I honestly insulted because he hadn’t taken complete advantage of me in my inebriation? What was wrong with me?
Probably that note. He hadn’t sounded like some conniving bastard who only wanted to cover his bases. He had sounded like he cared. That note had been sweet and concerned, trying to help me through my guilt. He knew exactly how I felt, and I loved that.
But crap, wouldn’t any guy who wanted to play into my good graces, say something sweet and seemingly concerned like that?
Okay, I had to stop thinking about this. It was driving me crazy. And all it was, was speculation. There were no good, hard facts to prove any part of last night had been genuine. Or false.
But thinking about them just being an act was depressing because the parts I remembered had been so amazing. I’d gone to that bar hoping to connect with someone, have a decent conversation, and if my stars aligned right, maybe have a decent make-out session. And I had. I’d gotten all of that.
It’d just been with the wrong guy.
Speaking of which, Philip didn’t call all day Sunday. The jerk. But that didn’t even faze me. In fact, it was a relief. I was a little too freaked out about my worrying whether I’d still have a job the next day to bum out over the fact I’d been stood up last night.
The universe must’ve thought I hadn’t had enough to worry about, though, because I did receive a call before the day was over. My parents’ housekeeper, Rita, rang me. She knew my mother was currently giving me the silent treatment; she’d had to field calls the few times I’d tried to contact either of my parents. So it made perfect sense when she said, “I’d probably get fired for calling you if anyone found out, but I thought you should know. Your father’s developed a nasty case of pneumonia. His doctor admitted him to the hospital this morning.”
I’d always had an iron stomach, but all the alcohol I drank the night before suddenly tried to make a reappearance. Nausea rising, I slapped my hand over my mouth before lowering it to demand, “How bad is it? What hospital? I think I can make it there by nightfall. Are they letting in visitors?”
“No, no. Please don’t come. If you show up, they’ll know I called you.”
I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth. My instincts were screaming at me to hop into my car and see how my father was. But I didn’t want Rita to lose her job. She’d always been the mother I’d wished I had. She’d been kind, or at least as kind as she could be without risking her own neck in the process. She had slipped me food when they’d locked me in my room for too long, but that was as far as she’d go. She’d been widowed with three children of her own to take care of. She couldn’t put too much effort into caring for me. And I understood that.
“I’ll let you know if anything changes.” Rita’s hushed voice filled my ear before the line clicked, going dead.
I nodded but didn’t lower my phone as I stood there. What if my father died before I ever saw him again? What if he died before telling me he loved me?
What if he didn’t love me?
; Though I knew it was a fruitless effort, I called the hospital. They could tell me nothing, except that Richard Kavanagh was indeed checked in as a patient. I debated calling my mother, but she’d probably catch on that I knew, and Rita would get into trouble, so I slept badly, checking my call history every hour to make sure I hadn’t missed any incoming messages in between stressing about how long it’d be before I was fired from my job.
I felt worse when the alarm woke me Monday morning than I’d felt from my hangover the morning before that. My father’s heath, my employment uncertainty, and Noel Gamble were going to give me an ulcer; I just knew it.
But not a single wrinkle marred my work outfit. My suit jacket was loose enough to hide my girlish frame, and my skirt was long enough to be staid and professional. I looked the same as I had every morning I left before work. My mirror could detect nothing out of the ordinary. I’d even amazed myself by successfully covering the bags under my eyes with makeup. But I still had an uneasy sense as I walked from my car to the English building that I was making the walk of shame.
Everyone who looked at me would know exactly where I’d had my mouth only two nights ago. They’d glance into my eyes and see me slipping my hands over Noel’s biceps and into his hair. I’d open my mouth and my voice would reflect all my guilt and shame. I had kissed a student and taken him to my room, into my bed. Just thinking that in my head felt so bizarre and unreal. I was not that person. I would never do that.
Yet I had.
I fully understood all the paranoia was just that, junk in my brain I couldn’t shove out. But when Dr. Frenetti popped his head into my office first thing before I’d even taught my first class, I squeaked out my alarm and nearly peed my pants as I leapt to my feet.
“I just checked Gamble’s current grade online. Looks like he’s doing better already.”
Hearing Noel’s name right out of the gate like that didn’t help my anxiety. Heartbeat whooshing loudly through my ears, I could barely hear myself answer after I cleared my throat. “Y-yes, he...he did very well on the make-up paper I let him turn in.”
The dean lifted an eyebrow. “And he actually earned it?”
I blinked. What the hell kind of question was that? “Of course.”
Smile a little gloating, Frenetti gave a knowing nod. “That’s what I thought. He just needed a little time to warm up to the curriculum. I glanced over your syllabus, and it did look pretty strenuous.”
I turned my attention to my computer to keep from rolling my eyes. “Yes, well...it took a pretty intensive one-on-one session to finally get through to him.”
My face heated as soon as the words left my mouth. God, did that sound like a sexual innuendo or what? All I could think about was the intensive one-on-one session we’d had Saturday night. In my bedroom. But my supervisor didn’t seem to notice any naughty meaning behind my words. He nodded, pleased. “Good to hear it.” Then he disappeared before I had to bumble my way through any more mortifying dialogue.
Beyond grateful it wasn’t a Tuesday, so I wouldn’t be teaching his class, I skimmed over my lesson plans for the day until I was almost late to class. Yet still, I felt utterly exposed when I stepped in front of the room. Eyes turned to me, and I knew—just knew—they’d see everything. Know everything. Each time a pair of students leaned toward each other to whisper conspiringly, I knew they were talking about what I’d done. Every unexpected abrupt noise had me leaping out of my skin. And every dark-haired guy I saw had my insides jarring with an instant adrenaline rush.
I hated it. This was too much drama, and I was not a drama seeker. My muscles were so tense by the time I finished teaching for the day, I took a handful of painkillers as soon as I retreated to my haven. Leaving my office door open, I collapsed into the chair behind my desk and closed my eyes, relieved it was over. I’d survived one day, and no one seemed to know a thing.
“I would so not make it as a spy,” I muttered to myself.
Covering truths and pretending everything was fine and dandy wore the snot out of me. Like a ragged, limp doll, I just sat there, trying to recover my scattered senses.
And then someone tapped on my doorframe, giving me heart failure.
I yelped out an embarrassing girl-scream and jumped to my feet.
“Sorry.” Raising both hands in apology, Philip stepped into my office. His eyes begged forgiveness as he cringed. “It’s just me.”
I sank back into my chair, setting my hand over my heart. Wow, did I need to relax or what?
Seating himself across my desk from me, Philip drew in a deep breath before asking, “So, how much trouble am I in, and what can I do to get you to forgive me?”
Huh? Forgive him? “For what?” I asked dumbly before it hit me. Oh, Lord. I’d lost it. The date, of course.
“For Saturday?” he asked, looking uneasy. Then he gave a nervous laugh and shifted in his chair. “You don’t have to pretend it wasn’t a big deal. I know I was unforgivably rude for not even phoning you, but something came up and I was called out of town, and...” He looked to be all out of excuses. The helpless expression remained as he finished, “What can I do to make this up to you?”
I was already shaking my head and waving my hand before I began talking. “Really, it’s okay.” I mean, I had my own guilty burden at the moment. Who was I to be holding anything against anyone else? “I’m sure your...uh, situation was unavoidable.”
Plus I kind of felt bad about already forgetting our date that never happened.
He blinked and straightened his back. “So...you forgive me? Just like that?” He arched an eyebrow and sent me an untrusting glance. “Really?”
His perplexity was adorable. I laughed. “If it makes you feel better, I could give you twenty lashes, but whips and chains aren’t really my thing.”
When his gaze turned heated with interest, I suddenly realized just how bad a double meaning those words had sounded. God, why did I keep blurting out tawdry things today? Head heavy from all the horrified blood rushing to my cheeks, I slapped my hand over my mouth before muffling out the exclamation, “Oh, my God. I just said that out loud, didn’t I?”
Chuckling in delight, Philip inspected me from a pair of brown eyes glittering with approval. “I didn’t hear anything if you didn’t want me to.”
Clearing my throat and grasping for the last shred of my dignity, I dropped my hand and discreetly murmured, “Thank you.”
He nodded. “Does this mean we can try for another date again...soon?”
I opened my mouth, startled by the question. “Uh...I...Well, I’m not sure. You did stand me up and neglected to contact me again for two days.”
My naughty whip slip-up must’ve given him some confidence, though, because he merely winked. “I’ll give you some time to think about it, then. So...call me whenever you change your mind.”
I didn’t answer. He waved and turned away, sauntering from my office. I stared at the empty spot in my doorway where he’d vanished, chewing on my lip, unsure if I should give him a second chance or not. The man was pleasant enough with a good sense of humor and easy to talk to.
I’d never been good at the dating scene, so he would be an ideal choice of guy to go out with. But he had stood me up. He’d abandoned me in a place where I’d felt completely uncomfortable, and I’d ended up making the worst mistake of my life because of it. I should be totally pissed at him. I never would’ve drunk so much to ease my nerves if he’d asked to meet at a nice restaurant or a boring cocktail bar. And I wouldn’t have let Noel Gamble drive me home if I’d been sober. And I certainly wouldn’t have stuck my tongue down his throat and made out with him on my bed if he hadn’t driven me home.
Holy shit, I could blame this whole thing on Philip, couldn’t I? Perfect. Except no, no, I couldn’t. I was too much one of those masochistic people who got off on taking all the blame for everything that happened in my life. I’d gotten myself in this mess. And I couldn’t pin it on Philip Chaplain, no matter how nice that might tempora
rily feel. The lucky jerk.
But seriously, the idea of going on another date with him just didn’t...thrill me. I’d only been mildly interested the first time around. And now, with all that worry about my father and worry about my job, and worry about Noel Gamble, no way would I be able to concentrate on Philip if we spent any more time together.
“Please don’t tell me that’s the douchebag who stood you up Saturday night? Dr. Chaplain? Really?”
I blinked, realizing I was staring right though a blurry figure standing in my doorway.
His voice hit me first. I knew exactly who’d come to my office before my gaze cleared enough to bring him into sharp, amazing focus.
Seeing him standing in the threshold of my office sent my nerves haywire. Lurching to my feet, I glanced wildly behind him, expecting to see Frenetti charging forward to fire me.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I hissed in way too guilty of a tone.
He stepped inside and shut the door, sending my heart crashing against my ribs in a panic, like a frightened bird desperate to escape its cage. I made a sound of denial in the back of my throat, but that was all I could manage.
“I came to talk about what happened...”
I gasped and crushed my hand to my heaving chest. He wouldn’t dare. Not here. Not about that.
“Between us,” he continued, “on Saturday night.”
Okay, so he dared.
But the worst part was how he looked as he dared. I felt ragged and raw, unsettled to my very core. And he looked utterly amazing. His dark hair remained fashionably messy as if he’d finger-combed it before leaving the house. His blue eyes with that precious hint of lavender were bright and alert, full of vivacity. And his body. Sweet mercy, I was freshly reminded how it had felt against mine, caging me to my bed as his mouth absolutely leveled me.
Rattled by the physical aspect of my attraction and unhinged over the fact he wanted to discuss the worst thing I’d ever done out in the open, in my office, I stared at him through eyes that refused to blink. But my vision went gray around the edges. God, I hoped I didn’t pass out.