Page 150 of Give In

Yes, I’d miss teaching.

No, I didn’t know who was getting my parking spot or office.

No, I had no interest in going out for drinks with your group or alone.

Forcing a smile, I lifted my glass to my lips and nodded at the older man who was vaguely familiar, though he wasn’t in my department.

His eyes were glossy as he drained his own glass before lifting it in a toast. “Good for you for getting out while you can. They’re too busy on the Snaps and the Tinder to care about learning. Who can blame them? What they’d look like as a dog is more interesting than the building blocks of our entire humanity.” He tried to take another drink, only to find it empty. Looking down at it morosely, he muttered, “They’ll suck you dry.”

There’s only one student who does that, and I love it.

“Only if you’re lucky,” I murmured.

“Whaaaa?”

“Nothing. I think some people are heading to the bar across the way when the meeting wraps.” I pointed out Ceaders. “He’s got the details. Enjoy the night.”

Without another word, I turned and walked to the bar.

It’d killed to not message Eden throughout the day. Getting in my car and going to the stupid faculty dinner had been worse. I was losing my damn mind being away from her, but I’d pushed her enough.

Maybe too much.

The bartender had just handed me a new beer when my phone vibrated.

Mine:Come home.

It vibrated a few more times, all in quick succession.

Mine:Or don’t.

Mine:You’re busy, I’m sorry.

Mine:Ignore me.

I put my phone back in my pocket, set the untouched drink down, and headed home to Eden.

Parking behind her car, I got out, not bothering to grab my stuff or the mail. All that mattered was getting to her. Walking in, I expected to see her on the couch with a book she’d grabbed to hide the fact she’d been pacing.

The living room was empty.

The lights upstairs were out, too.

I was about to go check if she was asleep when I saw the light from the kitchen.

Approaching quietly, I lost my breath.

My heart.

My fucking soul.

I loved lifting Eden onto the kitchen island, having her close to kiss or eat or touch whenever I felt like. Mostly, I loved the little mischievous smile she always had when she sat there, like she was breaking a rule.

She didn’t look like that right then.

Lying on the regular counter, her knees were bent and one of my tees rode up her thighs. Her halo of hair was wild around her, a wine glass in her hand.

My angel looked broken.