The Student (2 page)
He raked a hand throu
gh his hair and the layers fell effortless
ly back into place. “It’s really good to see you, Cas
s
.”
I crossed my arms, biting back the memory of how he loved it when I ran my fingers th
rough his hair, grabbing t
uffs of it while we were...indisposed. “
You’re
teaching British Lit?”
He stood a little taller. “That’s right.” His voice took on an authoritative, grating edge. “
And
you’re
late.”
“Since when do you teach at Thomas?” I
said acidly, ignoring the jab about me being late
.
“When this position became available, I knew it was an opportunity and I’d be a fool to pass
it
up.”
A student hustled past and h
e lowered his voice. “I knew it was an opportunity to
see you. To
explain and-”
“Save it,” I snapped, holding up a hand.
I’d
be a fool if I stood
t
here and listened to a word he said
about that day
.
A bigger fool than I had been to fall for him in the first place.
“
I didn’t care to hear yo
ur half assed explanation then
and I have even less interest in hearing it now.”
“Cassandra-”
“You know what?” I gripped my backpack tight, finding strength in myself that I hadn’t felt in months. “I
don’t need British Lit anyway.”
He let out a low laugh and
moved to block me from passing. “You’re unbelievable. You’re going to drop the class just because I’m teaching it?”
“Yep.”
“Even though it’s highly unlikely you’ll find an elective to take its place?”
“That’s right.”
His jaw tightened. “I see you’re just as ridiculous as I remember.”
I balled
my hands into
fists at my side, entertaining the idea of
physically removing him from my path
. “And I see you’re just as
self-involved
.”
“
Self-involved?” h
e repeated with a snort.
“Yes,
self-involved
.” I flung an arm in the direction of
the
class
room
. “You just waltzed out of there, running after me-”
“I told them to read the syllabus,” he cut in matter-of-factly.
“
Whatever,” I said bitingly. “Y
ou think that you can just come out here and I’m just going to finally give you what you want?”
It all came rushing back--
images and feelings, raw and suffocating. I’d said yes back then, yes when I thought I was
losing him and it still didn’t stop him from breaking my heart into a million pieces
. I promised myself I’d never give him another
chance;
never speak another word to him.
“What I want?
” He closed his eyes and let out a grunt of frustration. “It’s been three years, Cassandra. I’m not going to make reparations for all eternity.” His voice deepened. “I apologi
zed. You didn’t accept
it
.”
“Yes, but-”
“
Look,
I know how much this class means to you.” His eyes we
nt dark and I knew he was using
things I’d told him.
About me.
About Dad.
“And after losing your fath
er
-”
“You don’t know anything about me,” I said bitingly. “Not anymore.” I pushed past him, storming in the direction of the exi
t.
I didn’t know what hurt wors
e--that he didn’t come after me…
or that I
wanted him to.
****
"So how was school?"
I took a sip of the blood red
juice
in my cup
.
"Fine."
Sounds filtered in from the open window, kids playing in the backyard, whispers of music
and curls of aroma from someone barbecuing
. The world outside was alive and vibrant but as I stared at my mother, stabbing at her overdone steak, I felt like I was in a coffin. Dad always cooked the
steak. I could almost taste the c
reamy, b
uttery meat, melting
in my
mouth.
It was always Dad who
made jokes and connected conversations like strands of DNA. Now there was nothing but silence.
Well a few minutes of silence punctuated by forced, uncomfortable
questions.
"Anything interesting happen in class?"
Mom probed.
My mind instantly shot t
o locking eyes with
Chance
at the front of the
classroom.
Being close enough to him to know that he still wore that smoky, sandalwood cologne.
Close enough that parts of me shot back to memories of his quiet
smirk
s
, down past the muscular lines of his
chest
, pausing at the crotch of his jeans and the ample lines off him pressed against the stonewash material.
I cleared my throat
, banishing him from my mind
.
"Not really."
She gave me a look like she knew I was holding back something and I held my breath, gearing up for her to pick at the scab until the truth broke free. I could already hear the sp
iel—she and Dad
made up their mind about Chance before I even brought him home and when t
hings ended, she spared me the ‘told you so’ bit
. Dad didn’t though. He always gave it to me straight.
I scooped a forkful off green beans in my mouth and tried to let the overly crunchy snap drown out the
memory of my father’s voice
.
“He’s too old for you
Cassie. He’ll break your heart…
then I’ll have to break his legs.”
"Talk about anything interesting in class?"
My fork froze over my plate
as I glared at my mother
. "I'm not going to do this, Mom."
Her face went quiet except for the slight tremble of her chin. "What do you mean?"
"I'm not gonna sit here and eat these raw green beans and dry steak and play normal for you."
She snapped the napkin from her lap and dabbed at her mouth. It didn't wipe away the disappointmen
t knitted around her lips. "Well
I'm not gonna sit here and let you talk to me this
way.” Her voice wavered and she opened her mouth and closed it twice before she finally got it out. “I miss your Dad too, Cass. But at least I’m trying. At least I’m not
walking around here taking
my sorrow
out
on you.
"
I gestured at the empty wine bottle on the counter. "Maybe if I polished off a bottle of Merlot with every meal I could walk around in a permanent state of
tipsiness
instead."
Hurt spread across her face
like wildfire
. I knew I’d gone too far; punched a button that couldn’t be
unpunched
. G
uilt wrappe
d its fingers around my heart,
squeezing tight.
She s
hook her head, dropping her eyes to the tablecloth
. "You alwa
ys know just what to say to..
." She left the rest unsaid, but the words screamed in the silence.
I pushed back from the table with a screech, tossing my napkin over my barely eaten dinner. "I'm going out."
I heard her calling after me, come back
,
maybe even an apology
. That was the worse.
I
was the one that was sorry because I knew she was right.
I
was
being a bitch—and she was at least putting forth an effort by inviting me over for dinner
.
I
slid behind the wheel of
my Bug and turned the key in the ignition, shooting out of
the driveway and down the road, knowing I was about to be a hypocrite
.
My mother used the warmth of alcohol to fill the
holes
in her heart and I was about to do the same
. Plug the c
racks in the dam—e
ven if it was just until
morning.
I drove past my father's favorite watering hole, opting for a dive in a part of town where no one would know me. Where no one would express their condolences or
pass silent
judgment.
The Roadhouse Grill had the exact atmosphere I would av
oid under normal circumstances. It reeked of cigarette smoke and was in dire need of some TLC.
Bon Jovi
screeched
from the speakers and the place was littered with bleary eyed men watching sports, nursing
beer
mugs, and playing darts.
I slid onto a stool near the end of the bar. The bartender gave me an amused smile before sauntering over. His eyes lingered on my chest.
"How are you doing tonight
, sweetheart
?"
"Vodka cranberry," I said brusquely.
I
pulled out my ID and credit card before he even asked and thanked god that he got the 'not interested' vibe I was putting out and went
off
to fix my drink.
When he brought it over, I downed it in two gulps and ordered tequila.
Two
shots later and the buzz
took over everyt
hing else. I swallowed the amber
liquid, wincing as it slid down my throat. Four and everything was
a beautiful blur. The sultry whi
ne of
“
Wanted
Dead or Alive”
was never sweeter, never so poignantly told the story of my life. I swayed back and forth and when the guitar solo kicked in, I slid off t
he stool, rocking my hips to and fro
to the music.
I began peeling off layers
of clothing
, the room stuffy
.
Sweltering.
My leather bomber jacket was a black heap to the right.
Just as I began to unbutton my cardigan so it could join my coat on the floor, a familiar voice cut through the haze.
"Cassandra?"
I did a twirl and the smile on my face crinkled
to a scowl of confusion.
I couldn't escape him at school and now I couldn't even get drunk and belli
gerent without running into him?
"
Dr.
Crawford
." I staggered back toward my
stool, suddenly no longer in a dancing mood. "What are you doing here?
"
"What are
you
doing here?" he rebuffed
.
I wished I could say I was so trashed that I didn’t notice that he’d traded the black button down shirt for a charcoal gray V-neck sweater that fit him like sin, but I’d be lying. His hair was a glossy brown in the dim light and his hazel eyes were even more intense. Dive bar looked good on him.
When t
he bartender slid another
shot I’d ordered to the edge of the bar, I moved to claim my prize but Chance blocked me. “I think you’ve had enough, Cassandra.”
He repeated his question. “What are you doing here?”
I wanted to t
ell him where he could
stuff it but my
ine
briated mind dropped h
is question in the ‘hil
arious as hell' box and I laughed instead.
He gripped
me
by the
elbow and steered me
away from my waiting shot.
I let him
hold me tight
for a couple of strides before I shook him off. "What do you think y
ou're doing? You're not the boss of me
."
His dark
eye
brows drew toget
her in distaste. "Did you come here with someone?”
I shook my head.
He frowned. “Do you h
ave anyone to pick you up and take you home?"
I tried to lurch away from him, but he slammed an arm onto the wall beside me, blocking me in. I blinked as I drunk in the sight of those powerful midnight strokes seared into his flesh.
I could still remember how the dark lines rushed up his bicep and spilt
onto his back. I tore my gaze from the tattoo and looked him dead on. It wasn't fair that he
was being all commanding, looking
like something straight out of some guns bla
zing action flick.
Ferocious
eyes.
Razor jaw line.
Lethal lips.
Heat rushed all over
me and
I ached for
hi
m
.
