Page 25

A fter Sunday, I was mentally overloaded and needed about ten business days to recover from my Cash-induced body aches. But somehow, after three days, I found myself texting him to meet up in the quad so I could give him a little something.

I spot him with Mav and Hudson across the courtyard and, for once, I allow myself to truly take him in.

Most of the time, it hurts too much.

He’s even better looking than he was the first summer I moved in with them.

Basically, a hot cowboy with hair long enough that it curls around his ears, facial hair that has me weak in the knees, muscles and broad shoulders that make him a force on the hockey ice, and a smile he doesn’t give out easily, but when he does, it could move mountains.

I watch him say his goodbyes and head in my direction, looking for the big dogwood I told him I’d be sitting under.

Since when did he start drinking Starbucks? I wonder when I realize that he’s got a cup in his hand.

Needing a distraction from staring at his long, powerful legs as they make their way to me, I twist my body, reaching into my backpack and pulling out the two fresh journals.

When he’s a few yards from me, I give him a small wave, and that’s when I notice he’s wearing one of his practice jerseys. The number on the front makes my stomach flip, a number I thought he’d most certainly opt out of wearing in college. But year after year, he continues to wear it.

44.

My heart aches at the memory of his excitement that day, and the turmoil that came after.

“Starbucks, huh? Did I rub off on you finally?” I ask, trying to make light of the tension that’s always in the air when we’re this close.

He smirks, setting the iced coffee down beside me on the picnic table. “Nah, Bobcat, it’s for you.”

Gosh, he hasn’t called me that in so long. I miss playful Cash. Lately, he’s been showing me little by little when we ride, but he keeps his walls up, and I understand why. He doesn’t let them down for just anyone, but once upon a time, I was at the center of his fortress.

“Unless you’ve already had your second one of the day?” he asks, raising an eyebrow and reaching for the cup again.

I grab it quickly. “Nope, perfect timing.”

Sweet things like this confuse me. I remind myself that over the past few months we’ve been working our way back into a comfortable friendship, but each day, I understand more and more why he didn’t want to be friends in the first place.

The lines were blurred so long ago, and sometimes it's hard to remind my heart which side we stand on.

“Well, I wanted to meet you because I have something for you too,” I say, passing him the notebooks. “I’m not sure if Mav uses his as much, but I didn’t want to leave him out.”

Cash holds the journals in his hands, observing them, much like he did the first time.

When he doesn’t say anything, I fill the silence. “I know you mentioned yours was almost full. So, I figured you needed a new one. Ya never know what may come to mind, even if it's not a full memory, just something that reminds you of her.”

Objects and places can also be used to heal and cope with grief; I learned a lot about this last year in one of my psych seminars.

“I like that idea, thank you.” He smiles, and I see some of that vulnerability in his eyes that he showed me that first summer when he meets my gaze.

I want to be vulnerable too. I miss being like that.

It’s strange that I have these amazing friends here in MRU, but I have the hardest time opening up to them about the tough parts of my past. There’s comfort I’ve only ever known with Cash, which has me telling him a secret I’ve been keeping to myself.

“I actually wrote a letter to my dad.”

He takes a seat beside me. “Really?”

I nod, swallowing roughly. “Yeah, it was a technique I learned about sophomore year, and this past summer, I finally got the courage to try it.”

He gives me that gentle smile of his, one that used to make me feel like everything would always be okay. “Did you send it?”

“Finally sent it about two weeks ago. Not sure how that works with prison, as far as when he’ll get it.”

Fear flashes over his face. “What address did you put on the return label?”

I smile inwardly at his concern, knowing my Cash is still in there. “Gigi helped me get a P.O. box.”

“Good,” he says, relief washing over his face. He stares at me for a few moments, his eyes saying things I wish his mouth would. Tension surrounds us.

Needing a break from his intense gaze, I glance at the time on my phone, knowing I need to get to Professor Douglas before his next lecture.

“Well, I better get to it. Thanks again for the coffee.” I tip my cup in his direction and give him a little nod.

Before I get to my feet, he grabs my good wrist. My body easily complies, letting him turn me to face him.

So close.

He takes a deep breath and exhales. “Sandalwood and sweet vanilla,” he whispers, and I can feel his words and the appreciation in them skate across my skin. My body tingles, wishing they were his fingertips instead.

The thought has me quickly taking a step back.

“Sorry, I just wanted to say thank you again for the notebook, Bella.”

Unable to handle another second of this tension, I throw him a wave over my shoulder and head toward the psychology building as fast as I can.

“See you Saturday,” Cash calls out, and I close my eyes for the briefest of seconds. I'm going to have to mentally prepare myself for our road trip to Georgia.

Thank goodness Mav is going to be in that hotel room with us.

My phone vibrates in my hand, excitement thrumming through me at the thought of it being Cash, even though I just walked away from him.

Hud

Thanks, Bell… not only is he threatening my pitcher, but I think he’s planning my murder as well.

I let out a laugh, biting my lip and liking Cash’s jealousy more than I should.

My mood from earlier shifts, dread washing over me as I approach the psychology building.

It’s typically my favorite place on campus, but within the first week of school, Professor Douglas has changed that.

He’s a total misogynistic prick who attempts to leverage his power against his female students.

According to several of my senior psychology friends, you should never go into his office and close the door.

Gag me. And not in the sexy-professor-daddy gag me way, more like the I’d-rather-choke-on-my-own-vomit kind of way.

The problem with this asshole is that he holds the keys to my passing grade. We’ve only had two lectures so far, but after seeing last night’s C- on the Blackboard app, I requested a meeting during his office hours.

So here I am, promptly five minutes early, because I’m convinced my tardiness is what started his vendetta. On the first day of lecture, when I was two minutes late and didn’t kiss his ass about it like half the other girls in my class.

With a smile painted on my face, I knock on his closed office door. I’ll give him fake perfection all day long, but I won’t give him any of his other rumored desires.

I knock a second time after waiting an appropriate minute without a response, and this time, he calls out, “Just a sec.”

Rustling on the other side of the door immediately has me scrunching my nose.

Does he seriously have someone else in there?

Rumors are sounding more like truths by the second.

If he isn’t alone when he opens this door, then no one can convince me otherwise.

I mean, why else would he take so long to answer?

Sketch much.

Finally, the door opens, and I’m not met by Dr. Douglas. No, I’m met with another familiar face.

One I’ve envisioned doing things I shouldn’t admit to.

Punching.

Slapping.

Clawing.

To name a few.

“Uh, what are you doing here?” she asks, subtly trying to fix her black skirt.

Instantly, I feel sick to my stomach. Is Tori fucking Professor Douglas? Is she cheating on Cash?

I mean, I’ve heard talks about this in the past, but I’ve also known them to break up and get back together, so I never really thought much about it.

She regards me with the same disgusted look I’m giving her.

“Miss Clark, come on in,” Professor Douglas says, ignoring Tori’s presence.

My eyes fall past her to his disheveled desk, and I know in my gut something just went down between them.

What the actual fuck?

“Miss Bateman, hopefully, that PowerPoint will help guide you. Thank you for being proactive and coming to see me about that.” He nods in the direction of the hall, silently telling her to leave, and like the good little pet she is, she listens.

Interesting, I didn’t even think she took psychology classes.

Was everything he just said bullshit for my benefit?

I walk farther into the office, but leave the door open. If he asks me to close it… I’ll refuse.

“So, Miss Clark, you have an issue with the grade from your first assignment?”

“I just want to understand it better. I feel like I followed the assignment, so I’m just trying to determine where I missed the mark on your grading scale.”

He scans over my paper in his hand. At least he was prepared prior to his little office sesh with Tori.

“Your responses were all very generic and didn’t seem to have much depth to them.”

Bullshit.

But I choose to suck it up. “I’m sorry you felt that way. I’ll be more mindful of that for the next assignment.”

He nods. “Very well…” There’s a brief pause before he continues, “But I do have an option for you regarding this. As long as you keep it between us, of course.” I hate the suggestive way he says the last part. It has my stomach churning.

His eyes trace over my face curiously until I respond. “Sure.” The word comes out more confidently than I feel because my guard is on full alert. I’m ready to run out of this room just from his creepy-ass tone.

“If you add a small paragraph with more depth to each response, I will reconsider your grade.”

I force a smile, thankful that his request is something I’m willing to agree to. Then I stand quickly, ready to get out of here and away from this whole scenario.

“I’ll get that to you ASAP.”

“No problem, Bellamy,” Professor Douglas says, walking toward the doorway I’m standing in.

“Just get it to me by next Wednesday. I’d prefer you bring it during office hours, so other students don’t know I made an exception for you.”

He’s making it out like he’s doing me such a huge favor...

Manipulative son of a bitch.

“Thanks, will do,” I say, and then my feet can’t move fast enough as I rush down the hall.

My mind spins, thinking back to the guilty look on Tori’s face when she first saw me. I’m reeling with what to think of the whole interaction. Should I tell Cash? Or will I just look like the jealous ex?

It’s no secret that I hate Tori, but I wouldn’t want to hurt Cash without having proof.

Dammit. As if mine and Cash’s relationship needed to get any more complicated.