Page 7 of Beautiful Trauma
Yes! Oh my God! Ezra! Ezra!
The man had chanted my name like it was his salvation, and I wanted to save him and cast him away at the same time. Pushing him away had been the only option available to me at the time. Yet, when our first round of fucking had ended, I pulled him closer instead of putting him in a cab. I had wanted to challenge Henry and open his mind to the sexual principles I’d learned over the years, and he was the most willing pupil I’d ever taught anywhere—classroom or bedroom. Neither of us could get enough.
I’d hurt Henry’s feelings in my classroom, and although it didn’t sit well, there was nothing I could do about it. I couldn’t jeopardize my career because Henry made me horny. God, I hated how callous and cynical I sounded. I’d once had Henry’s wide-eyed wonder as I explored the world, but I’d learned most beautiful things wound barbs around your heart like wicked vines. They would either squeeze the life out of your heart or slash it with the barbs until you bled out. I didn’t want that for Henry; I wouldn’t be a source of pain to him. So, no matter how much Henry tugged at my heartstrings, I couldn’t allow anything further to happen between us.
I turned off the light and exited my office, checking my phone for important emails and texts as I walked toward the staff parking lot in the rear. I deleted the sales ads in my inbox and dialed my best friend, Ryder, after reading his text message that said:Call me!
“Thank God!” Ryder said dramatically when he answered. “I thought you’d never call me.”
“What’s wrong? Did something happen to Lucien or your family?”
“What? Heavens no. The urgency in my text was from hunger, not because someone’s life is in peril. I swear to God, Ezra, I can feel my stomach eating itself.”
“Jesus. You’re so theatrical.” My best friend had switched careers from art conservator to romance novelist—a damned good one, I might add. I’d recently finished reading his latest book and suspected he was partly to blame for my overly romanticized thoughts. “Why the hell are you starving yourself, and why aren’t you asking your sexy man to feed you in bed?”
“He’s out of town again, and I’m on a deadline with this book. If I stop writing long enough to cook something, then I’ll lose my train of thought and wreck my mojo. Do you know how many words I’ve written today?”
“I’m guessing a lot.”
“Almost ten thousand. That’s a first for me. I. Can’t. Stop.”
“Okay, I understand you want to stay focused, but do you realize how late it is?”
“It’s not that late; I could—Oh! Did I wake you up?”
“It’s nine forty-five, not three o’clock in the morning. Haven’t you ever heard of Door Dash or GrubHub?”
“Yes, but what I really want isn’t available on those apps, and the pizzeria stopped delivering at nine. Besides, the owner would spit on my pizza if I ordered it myself.”
“Spit on your pizza?” I asked incredulously. “Save the drama for your books, Ryder.”
“I’m serious, Ez. I dated her son in college, and although our breakup was amicable, I acted like a complete dickhead when I returned to Cincinnati last year. I was lonely and wanted Archie to pick up where we left off like six years hadn’t passed. When I found out he was seeing someone else, I might’ve tried to cause a tad bit of trouble.”
“A tad bit? Now you sound like my grandma.”
“Fuck you, Ezra. Do you want the rest of the story or not?”
By this time, I’d reached my car and climbed behind the steering wheel. “Hang on. Let me start my car so I can transfer the call to Bluetooth.”
“Better yet,” Ryder said. “I’ll order the pizza online and put it under your name, and you can pick it up and bring it over.”
“Will I get to eat any of the pizza, or do I just get to sit there and watch you take bites in between weaving your wild story?”
“Of course, I’m sharing it with you.”
“Dinner and a story,” I said dryly. “How can I pass that up? Text me the address of the pizza joint and what time it will be ready?”
“You won’t regret this, Ez.”
Famous last words.“See you soon, Ry.”
Ryder’s text came a minute later. The pizza would be ready just after ten, and according to my GPS, it would only take me ten minutes to get to Mamma Maria’s. Rather than stay parked in an isolated lot, I put my car in drive and drove around the side of the building. The faculty and student parking lots were separated by the brick building, but there was only one entrance and exit for everyone to use. When I drove around the building, I expected to see the student lot empty, but there was a single car there. It was hard to tell what color the car was supposed to be because it was a patchwork quilt of faded or chipped paint and rust, which had corroded the metal around the wheel wells and the front and back bumpers. The trunk stood open, and a person was bent over peering inside it. I could only see long, lean legs encased in dark jeans. The Chucks the stranded person wore could belong to anyone since the shoes were gender neutral.
Instead of continuing to the exit, I turned my car toward the stranded student. There was no way in hell I was leaving without making sure this kid had a ride home. As soon as headlights turned toward the stranded car, the kid straightened up and looked in my direction.
The cone of light shining down from the post above looked more like a spotlight, and who was standing in the center? Henry fucking Sullivan.
“Fuck me,” I said tersely. Learning the stranded student’s identity only tripled my protective instincts. I didn’t have to give him a ride, but I needed to make sure he had one. I parked beside him then killed my engine. “What’s the problem?” I asked when I got out.