Break Me Slowly(3)

“I’m teaching a full load this term. Everything from entry-level sociology to upper division. I’ll need you to hold regular office hours, and, if you think you’re up for it, I would like you to step in and lecture my Soc one-oh-one classes from time to time.”

“I’d be happy to, Professor.”

“I’ve seen your transcripts—very impressive.” He winked. “I think that you will do really well here.”

“Thank you.”

“Here’s my schedule.” He handed me a piece of paper with the times and days he taught the various classes. “And these—” He circled the Tuesday and Thursday evening sociology classes. “—will be the lectures you take over.”

“Great! When would you like me to start?”

“Might as well start at the beginning.”

“Tomorrow?”

“That work for you?”

Excitement bubbled. “Yes, of course.” I was going to teach. A real college class. Granted, the first day was always short and generally you went over the syllabus and expectations, but it was still something!

The morning might have started out a bit rough, but things were looking up. Somewhere between a near-death experience, a sexy stranger with intense blue eyes, and Soc one-oh-one, I was feeling like my life just might be finding an even keel.

~

Professor Martin had left right after giving me a spare key to the office and telling me to make myself comfortable. It took only an hour to select my office hours, cross-reference Professor Martin’s schedule with mine, and successfully color-code and organized every weekday in my personal planner. Right as I opened my laptop to tackle my thesis paper, a man entered the office.

“Can I help you?”

“Delivery for a Katelyn Gunn.”

“That’s me.”

The man handed me a rectangular box wrapped in shiny white paper, with no card or any identifying writing on it. Odd.

Even though I had lived with my aunt and uncle for the last part of my high-school career, we weren’t necessarily close. They had never once sent me anything. The only time I spoke with my mother was when she needed something, and I’d just seen Megan this morning. That girl couldn’t keep a secret to save her life, so if she had gotten me something, I would have known then.

The messenger left and I unwrapped the mystery box. It was thin and light. When I pulled the last of the paper away, I saw the top of the box and frowned.

Saks Fifth Avenue.

I popped the lid off. Inside was a white silk blouse in my size. The card on top said:



Keep your eyes forward.

~A



What the hell?

How had he found me? Being borderline worried about the logistics of that should have been my first thought. Instead, I felt a little giddy and flattered.

A small smile tugged at my lips. Had he picked this out himself? Probably not. He looked like one of those important people who had others do things for him. He had a personal driver, for God’s sake.

The color of his eyes alone was seared into my memory. That intense stare could likely burn right through a person. A man like that had power. Not just in general, but power over women. That much was obvious. It was also clear that he was very aware of his effect on others.

Before I could let the embarrassment of this morning engulf me, I switched my thoughts to something else. Like the line of his strong jaw. Judging by his dark features and careful grooming, he probably had to shave every morning and by every evening he’d have a five o’clock shadow. He had to be in his thirties, but he was fit and obviously took care of himself. So much strength and poise seeped from every pore that he could easily pull off late twenties if not for those eyes. There was darkness in them. A kind of wild knowledge that no twenty-something could pretend to have without actual experience.

My skin broke out in goose bumps and I had to shift in my seat to alleviate the sudden throbbing between my legs. What was happening to me? My experience with men was minimal. It was hard to date when I didn’t like people coming within striking distance, let alone touching me intimately. My sex life consisted of myself, a few imaginary fantasies, and that was about it. But this mystery man? Just thinking of him had my whole body pulsing to life and all five of my senses begging for him.

Leaning back in the chair, I looked at the ceiling and groaned. Emotions of any kind were not fun to deal with. Which was why I tried not to. I had been on the receiving end of my mother’s rage and love for years. That was the tricky part of dealing with someone who was bipolar. I never knew which version of her I’d get. She could go from such hate to such joy in a matter of hours and it wasn’t until I felt her nails slice across my face that I knew which state she was in.