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chapter twenty

Graham

T he next morning, the news went on without Jill.

Barely.

I managed to convince a very reluctant Chase to fill in as the morning news anchor. It was a far cry from his usual rogue field-reporting gig, where he worked alone, set up his own camera, and delivered the news wearing jeans.

Olivia spent the previous afternoon gathering up all of Jill’s resources and material, working closely with Marco and Chase to put together a rundown of the show.

Bernard was the real MVP, stretching his weather segment like he was filibustering before Congress.

He even broke into a personal commentary about the National Weather Service’s decision to classify the Woodvale tornado an EF2.

It was like a mini science lesson, making me wonder why we didn’t let him do this kind of thing more often.

And we were saved by Simone, our part-time sports anchor who usually gave us a wrap-up of the weekend’s games on Monday mornings. She regularly handled the evening sports reports in a neighboring town, which meant she was available for an extra appearance for WWTV.

Somehow, by the grace of God, we pulled it off.

Sure, it was all a little disjointed. Transitions were clumsy. Chase missed some of his cues and stumbled over the words on the teleprompter a few times, making me hold my breath every time he hesitated.

“Wait, no, I’m sorry,” he said at one point, glancing from his notes to the teleprompter. “Hold on.”

Olivia squeezed my elbow and whispered, “We are so cooked.”

“It’s fine,” I said, nodding like I believed myself. I knew I’d never watch this playback. Ever. “He’s doing great.”

Jill made this look so easy.

At the end of the hour, when the cameras shut off and lights went dim, the studio breathed a collective sigh of relief. Chase ripped off his blazer like it offended him and ran his fingers through his sweaty hair.

“God, I hope she’s back tomorrow,” he moaned. He picked up his blazer and walked out of the studio, likely heading upstairs so he could recount to Meghan how he barely survived this whole ordeal.

Marco rubbed his eyes as he strolled past, letting out a slow exhale. “Haven’t smoked in seven years, but I need a damn cigarette.” He muttered under his breath, disappearing through the studio doors.

“I hope Jill’s better tomorrow,” Olivia said beside me.

I nodded in agreement, though I knew that probably wasn’t the case. Of course, our excuse on-air that morning was that Jill was sick, but we made it seem like she’d just come down with the flu or a common cold. What she had going on was much heavier than that.

Whatever it was, she wasn’t going to recover in just twenty-four hours.

Later that morning, I excused myself to head up to my office and called Jill from my work phone. She picked up after the first ring, letting out a sigh before answering, “Hello?”

“Hey, Jillian.” My knee shook beneath my desk.

“Graham? I thought this would be Marco!”

“Marco’s currently outside questioning his life choices, and if I had to guess, he’s either lighting a cigarette or contemplating walking into traffic.”

She laughed. “I can guess why.”

“Did you see?”

“I watched every awkward second of it.”

I smiled, picking up a pen to doodle on the edge of my desk calendar. “How bad was it?”

“You know what? It wasn’t completely terrible,” Jill said, giggling into the phone. “Meghan called last night to tell me you roped Chase into doing this, and I was bracing myself for the absolute worst.”

“You sound surprisingly upbeat. How are you feeling?”

“Rested. And I caved and took one of the pain pills my doctor prescribed. It isn’t a miracle cure, but it’s helping.”

“You ‘caved’? Why not take them if they’re prescribed to you?”

“Because it’s just short-term relief, and they make me really loopy,” she said with a sigh. “I can’t be half-conscious when I’m trying to deliver the news.”

“Chase was fully conscious, and he still read from the teleprompter like it was written in Greek. It’d be a step up from that, at least.”

“Poor Chase,” she laughed out.

I bit my bottom lip, absentmindedly drawing a spiral with my pen. “It’s good to hear you laugh. Even if it’s only because you’re hopped up on painkillers.”

“Are you going to let me return tomorrow?”

“I think everyone else would stage a walkout if I didn’t,” I answered. “But having said that, if you need another day to rest, just say the word.”

“No, Graham, I’m okay. Just one day off is all I need. Actually… there’s one other thing.”

“What is it?”

“I think I need Cocoa Pebbles,” she said, pausing for a beat. “Like, medically. They might be the only thing that can cure me completely.”

I grinned, spinning my pen between my fingers. “I might be able to hand deliver some Cocoa Pebbles. Unfortunately, it’ll have to be tonight, because I’ve got a class to teach this evening.”

“Okay, Professor Harlowe,” she said, her voice dropping to a playful tone. “I’ll be waiting.”

Oh, fuck. After we hung up, I leaned back in my desk chair and covered my face with my hands like that might somehow protect me from the fact I was completely screwed.

We couldn’t do this again. I couldn’t let a bowl of cereal turn into her moaning my name beneath me. This time, I’d give her the cereal, make sure she was okay, and keep my hands to myself the entire time.

Probably.

**

Fifteen minutes might have been the record for my shortest lecture so far.

No one complained. Some of my students cheered, actually. Nia asked me if I had a hot date I was trying to get to. My smile when I said no made all the young women in the class go, “Oooh!” Poor Reese had to be told we’d discuss his latest conundrum another time, and he said he’d e-mail me about it.

Great.

As I ushered all the students out so I could lock the classroom door behind them, I heard Michael say, “Mr. H is about to get some pussy.”

“Or dick,” Nia replied. “You don’t know his life.” They were too far down the hall for me to interject, but it didn’t matter. Because I wouldn’t be getting either, actually.

But then I was standing on Jill’s front porch, cereal box in hand. She pulled the door open wearing a silk, floral bathrobe that skimmed her upper thighs, and the memory of Michael’s words made me grin.

Jesus Christ.

“I apologize about my appearance,” she said, taking the box from my hands as I stepped inside. “I just took the longest bubble bath on record.”

My eyes trailed from her hair, half pulled back with a clip, down to her bare legs. “I will somehow muster the strength to look at you, but thanks for apologizing, anyway.”

“I commend your bravery.”

She led me to her kitchen, where she set the box on the counter. It looked—and smelled—like she might have just cleaned in here. Aside from the Cocoa Pebbles, the countertops were bare, and a lit candle flickered on one corner on the butcher block surface.

I adjusted my tie, eyeing the printed photo of her with another blonde-haired woman on a porch swing. The woman looked just like her, just a couple decades older. It was attached to her fridge with a tiny avocado magnet. “That your mom?”

“Yup,” she said, backing against the cabinet to lean on her hands. “Carla Taylor, the crockpot queen of Tennessee.”

I smiled, slipping my hands in my pockets. “She seems sweet.”

“She is.” Jill folded her arms against her chest. “Just don’t cross her when she’s had too much sangria, because she’ll put you in your place.”

“Does that run in the family?”

Jill’s mouth dropped open. “Graham!” She laughed, bending her knee to press her bare foot firm against the white cabinet door behind her.

Her bathrobe gaped open a little, coming dangerously close to exposing what was underneath.

I grinned at her before glancing around for something I could focus on to distract myself.

“So,” I said, gazing at the floor. “How are you feeling now?”

She let out a long, satisfied sigh. “Honestly? This is the best I’ve felt all week. Not sure if it’s due to the rest or the lingering effects of the pain pill or the scalding hot bath, but I’m finally starting to feel human again.”

“That’s good,” I said, hoping her relief would be more than just temporary. My hands sank lower into my pockets as I tried not to picture her naked body in a bathtub. “I’m glad.”

Jill grinned at me, and I watched her eyes travel up and down my body. “You haven’t taken your hands out of your pockets since you walked in here.”

“Because I’m afraid of what I might try to touch if I don’t keep them there.” I swallowed.

Her smile widened, and her knee shifted just enough for me to almost get a glimpse between her legs. I no longer felt the need to pretend like I wasn’t looking, because this felt like an invitation. “Don’t be afraid, Graham,” she teased.

My eyes flicked up to hers. “I am showing so much restraint right now.”

“I’d rather you be holding restraints,” she said, drawing out the “s” sound at the end of that word.

Fuck me.

My hands lifted from my pockets, and I held my breath, feeling my pants tighten at the front. “You should know better than to tease me like that.”

“You don’t think I’m serious?”

Her blue eyes studied mine, daring me to make a move. I took a slow, subtle step closer, imagining her body restrained. Without even looking, I could think of two things within reach I could tie this woman down with. Maybe three.

The thought alone was making me so fucking hard.

I moved even closer, bracing my hands on either side of the countertop behind her. Close, but not touching. Just enough to cage her in. She held her breath like she was anticipating what I might do next.

“You wouldn't know what to do if I restrained you,” I warned, my voice low and rough.

Her chest rose with a deep inhale. Jill licked her lips, and then she whispered, “I’d be completely at your mercy, wouldn’t I?”

I lowered my mouth until it hovered just over her parted lips. My right hand found the top of her inner thigh, just as soft as the silk fabric brushing against it. “Would you like that, Jillian?”

She didn’t answer. Her shaky inhale and the wetness on her thigh said enough. And when my fingers grazed her soft folds, discovering she wasn’t wearing any panties, I knew she wanted what came next.

I pulled away. Keeping my eyes locked on hers, I began loosening my tie. “You didn’t answer me,” I said, giving her another opportunity to protest. “Do you want me to restrain you?”

Jillian gazed up at me with wide, submissive eyes, like she knew she was mine. “Yes, sir.”

I nodded, yanking my tie off with a sharp thwip. “Good,” I said, trying not to smile. I didn’t want to detract from the authority in my voice. “Now turn around.”