Teaching Roman (2 page)

Although I couldn’t very well remind Cassie that she was better off without him right now, there was no way we’d be having that conversation tonight. Instead, we sat there, letting Cassie cry until she was so tired that she didn’t fight it when we dragged her to my bed. She climbed in with mascara-streaked eyes, still shaking, and let me pull the covers over her. By the time, I fell asleep with my arms wrapped around her, December sun was peeking through my blinds.

O
ne of the primary dangers of any post-break-up mindset is rash decisions. As though getting a new haircut or a tattoo, or even taking home some random guy will change a girl’s outlook on life. It was dangerous, and Cassie was in full-on, post-break-up thinking.

“It’ll be epic,” she promised me. She’d stopped crying long enough to hatch a completely ridiculous plan to make herself feel better. Unfortunately, said plan involved me and my passport.

“Absolutely not,” I repeated as I filled a glass with water for Cassie. There was nothing worse than a crying hangover.

She held the water without drinking it, her fingernails tapping on the glass. She’d borrowed a pair of pajama pants and a tank top to sleep in. I hadn’t seen her this dressed down all semester. But even though it was almost ten a.m., her eyes were circled and puffy with dried tears. She hadn’t cried yet this morning, but it was only a matter of time.

“You have something better going on for Christmas break?” she asked. "Think of it. We'll have a Merry Christmas in the sand."

She had me there. Most of my plans for this break involved the television and a few books. I wasn’t even going to bother heading home to Oregon. My sister would be in Seattle, too busy working to take off the holidays, and my mom had a new boyfriend. It was clear from our conversations that they were still in the honeymoon phase of the relationship, which meant it would be absolutely sickening to be around them. Besides, Brett was going home to Indiana, and right now I needed space to think things through. I’d even promised Jillian she could drive my car down to California to ensure a quiet apartment over break.

I was staying in Olympic Falls for the next four weeks and nothing Cassie could say was going to convince me otherwise.

“You have to come. I need to get the fuck out of here,” Cassie said, her words pitching up an octave to a full blown whine.

“What about Texas?” I asked her. “Don’t you want to see your family?”

“My parents are taking my sisters to Nashville for Christmas this year.” Cassie planted her hands on her hips and shook her head. “Texas I can handle, but Christmas at the Grand Ole Opry might kill me in my current condition. You do know that every single country song is about breaking up with someone or falling in love. It would be torture. Plus, they already booked their trip.”

Cassie wasn’t as badass as she let on. She spent most holiday breaks at home with her family, and I suspected her hesitance to return to Texas this year didn’t actually hinge on Dolly Parton covers. But I kept this thought to myself. “I’m just not sure why you think going there is a good idea.”

“Where are you going?” Jillian asked, dropping a duffle bag on the living room floor. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail and she was rocking a soft, draping sweater. She looked too pulled together for the little bit of sleep we’d gotten last night.

“You look hot,” I told her. “Have you discovered some type of magic potion that reduces your need for sleep?”

“Hours and hours of amazing sex,” she said with a wink, but the smile immediately slid from her face. “Omigod, Cassie. I’m sorry. That...”

“Don’t apologize for nailing a non-asshole,” Cassie said, waving off Jillian’s faux pas.

“It was still a shitty thing to brag about.” Jillian wrapped an arm around Cassie’s waist. “Forgive me for being a jerk?”

“Absolutely.” Cassie’s head fell against Jillian’s but a second later she turned her attention back to me. “Jess and I are going to get out of Olympic Falls.”

“That’s an excellent idea! You can come to California.” Jillian did an amazing job of making this sound like a tempting offer, but both Cassie and I knew that she was dreading returning home for the holidays, even with her Scottish hottie at her side.

“I don’t think I could put up with Tara’s bullshit right now,” Cassie said.

“Fair enough. Then where are you going?” Jillian asked as she plopped onto the barstool next to me.

“Mexico.”

“Nowhere.”

We both answered at the same time.

“We aren’t going to Mexico!” I didn’t want to burst Cassie’s bubble, but there was no way that I could afford Mexico nor did I really feel like traveling. All I wanted was to stay here in an empty apartment and have some time to myself.

“I’m leaving,” Jillian said. “You could stay in my room.”

I made a mental note to tell Jillian to discuss it with me before she volunteered our apartment as a hotel. But even I knew deep down that I would have offered Cassie the same thing.

“And listen to Brett and Jess make sweet love all break? I don’t think so.”

“Brett’s going home for break,” I reminded them.

Jillian’s eyes narrowed as she studied my face. “You don’t sound all that broken up about it.”

I wasn’t, but I didn’t want to admit that right now. The last thing I needed to do was rub Brett's proposal in Cassie's face. “He’s seeing his family. That’s a healthy thing for him.”

“And he’s not taking you?” Cassie asked. “Trevor never introduced me to his family. I should have known that was something was—”

“I don’t want to go to Indiana with him,” I cut her off. “This semester was difficult, and I’m not caught up on any of my shows.”

“Your shows?” Jillian repeated with laughing eyes. “Are you a sixty year-old woman? Gonna do some Sudoku and start adopting cats?”

I swatted her with my free hand. “Don’t be a bitch.”

“Don’t be a sixty year-old woman!” Jillian laughed and bounded back into her room to finish packing.

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I took it out in time to see a text message from Brett flash across the screen.

BRETT:
Change of plans. I’m staying with you over break. I can’t go home until we’ve talked.

I shoved my phone back in my pocket and tried to look normal.

“Are you okay?” Cassie asked, eying me with suspicion.

“I’m fine,” I said, trying to sound like I was telling the truth. The fact was that I was far from okay. “I just decided to go to Mexico with you.”

M
y sister accompanied me to the security check point at SeaTac, rattling off a list of items I needed to be sure I had with me. My passport, the number to the US embassy, photocopies of all identification, sunscreen—I had my passport and sunscreen.

“I’m fine,” I assured her, pausing near the entry to the queue.

“Don’t drink the water. Don’t talk to strange men.” Lillian grabbed my shoulders and looked fiercely into my eyes. “And don’t get pregnant.”

She followed it up with a hug, which was pretty awkward given that she’s half a foot taller than me—and because I was caught somewhere between hysterical laughter and total shock. Lillian didn’t talk about sex. She was a twenty-eight year-old attorney who slept, ate, and drank at the office. As far as I knew, she’d never had sex before. She didn’t have the time. Not that I was much better. Our mom had conditioned us to be married to our work. It was the price of being raised by a single parent who prized independence over relationships. At least, when we were little. I’d asked Lillian to bring me to the airport because I’d bailed on our tentative Christmas plans to go to Mexico and because Jillian and Liam were driving my car to California. I should have known that I’d be in for a lecture at the terminal.

“‘Kay, Lil,” I promised with a straight face, but I was pretty sure the only reason I wound up in the little back room for a pat-down twenty minutes later was because I was shaking with barely controlled laughter.

TSA agents don’t have much of a sense of humor.

Lillian didn’t have to worry though. The gentle butt-cupping of the security agent was likely to be the most action I'd see for the next seven days. I was not going to Puerta Vallarta to get laid. I wasn’t exactly the college party girl type. I had MCATS to study for, but Cassie promised that studying for “boring, med tests” on the beach would be more productive because of the sunlight and vitamin D.

I didn’t bother reminding her that I was studying to be a doctor and that there was no biological proof to back that up. People were always trying to use pseudo-scientific claims to talk me into things. Once Jillian had tried to convince me that if you studied drunk and then took the test drunk, you would remember all the right answers and get to be drunk. Ask me how that worked out for her.

Despite Cassie’s dubious claims about sunshine’s ability to help me retain information on chemical compounds or homozygous dominant genotypes, escaping to Mexico would put some much needed distance between Brett and I, especially after he'd demanded an answer before I left.

I gave him one he didn't like.

Plus Olympic Falls was covered in the gray, wet blanket of winter.

So now I was here, avoiding reason number two for running off to Mexico, aka Brett, and searching the departure gate for a broken-hearted Cassie. A sweep of the waiting area turned up nothing, so I started scouting the nearby restaurants. I found her two-margaritas-down at the Mile High Club.

“You should slow down,” I warned her, parking my carry-on within eye-sight. I sank down on the wobbly barstool next to her and braced myself against the slick bar.

“It’s a four-hour flight,” she said, her southern drawl oozing tequila. Booze always brought out the Texan in her. “I’ll sleep like a baby.”

“A drunk baby,” I said with a snort.

“Imagine how peaceful that would be,” she argued.

The bartender appeared and dropped a napkin in front of me. “Can I get you something?”

“Two waters and the check,” I said. Beside me, Cassie pouted. Her pout was a work of art, but I’d grown immune to it after three years at Olympic State. As soon as she realized it wasn’t going to work, she switched tactics.

“Jess, this is no way to start your vacation.”

“I just thought we could save the alcohol poisoning for the beach.”

“Come on,” she pleaded. “I just deleted his phone number.”

I had to admit that was major, especially for Cassie who treated her iPhone like a modern Rolodex. “Good for you.”

"You doing okay?" she asked. "How did it go?"

Suddenly a drink seemed like a good idea. My decision to go to Mexico had not gone over well with Brett. He'd forced me to give him an answer, and it wasn't the one he was expecting. "We broke up."

Cassie's mouth fell open, but she recovered immediately and threw her arms around me.

I accepted it awkwardly. I couldn't tell Cassie why I'd broken up with him. She was too raw to hear about his marriage proposal.

“Fuck them.” Cassie balled up her fist and held it out for me to knock with my own. Our own gesture of girl power. I had to hand it to her. She was holding together pretty well. Of course, that could also be the tequila. “I need a new screensaver,” she announced.

She pulled out her iPhone and held it out in front of us as I leaned in for the obligatory selfie. A few seconds later she flashed the screen at me. Beside her olive skin and raven hair, I looked more pale and blonde than ever.

“We’re going to get you some goddamn sun,” she said with a sigh.

I wasn't the type that tanned, and Cassie knew it. “Good, I’ll look like a lobster.”

“I’ll look like caramel,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“I’m not sure how I feel about us both being edible.”

Two waters appeared before us without a word from the bartender and I threw down my AmEx on the counter as Cassie lifted her glass and clinked it against mine. “To sand, tequila, and bad decisions in the making.”

Against my better judgment, I raised my glass. Cassie propped her chin on my shoulder.

“Is that Markson?” she whispered in my ear.

Her timing was impeccable, because I was taking a sip of water, which wound up spluttered across my chin and chest. She was right. Roman Markson, communications prof and undeniable hottie, was here. At the airport. In the Mile High Club. Right now. I couldn't quite ignore the burst of excitement that jolted through me and landed in my treasure chest.

“If he didn’t see you before,” she continued with a giggle, “he has now.”

Fantastic. Of all the people to run into on vacation—a professor—and, of course, it happened while it looked like I was having a one girl wet t-shirt contest. I wiped at the drops on my top and tried to look anywhere but at him.

That proved impossible though, because Roman was clearly on vacation as well and looking more like a Hollister ad than a communications instructor, right down to the tribal tattoo twisting around his bicep. His five o'clock shadow was more pronounced than normal and he wasn't trying to tame his silky, black hair.

“Jessica!” Roman said in surprise as he approached us.

“Ro—Professor Markson,” I corrected myself immediately while a litany of curse words bounced around in my head. He’d caught me staring at him. “I didn’t recognize you.”

“I’m not dressed for class.”

That was a perfectly rational excuse and I nodded emphatically as though it was the reason I was pretending I didn't recognize him.

It so was not.

I’d only seen Roman outside of class on a handful of occasions. Not that I was meeting up with him or anything. We just bumped into each other every once in a while. I didn’t mind those chance encounters. But in those instances, he’d been in his professor uniform: button down, blazer or sweater vest, laced up oxfords. Standing over me now in a thin, fitted t-shirt and jeans that displayed his impressively muscular frame, the line between teacher and former student was feeling a bit hazier than usual.

“Vacationing?” Cassie asked, coming to my rescue.

“Off for the holidays. And you girls? Getting into trouble?” He winked at me, and my stomach flipped over.