There’s an empty tightening in my gut, imagining myself pursuing such a woman. They are all the same—they are all I’ve ever known—and they bore me.
But Emily is a risk.
I do not respond to Emily’s text. I know it’s better this way.
Emily doesn’t need someone like me—selfish and arrogant, just like my brothers said. She needs someone good and giving, someone more like her. How could we possibly work together as a couple, especially long term? She’s already more to me than the things we did last night—the good in her goes so deep, and I’d only ruin that in her.
Yes, this is for the best. I just have to keep telling myself that, and hope someday I actually start believing it.
Emily
“And don’t forget, the paper is due a week from today so if you need any help or have questions about it, make an appointment during my office hours,” Brent, the TA for my class says as he wraps up. “Professor Stanwick is a real stickler for anything late, or any excuses so make sure you’re on it and if not, well, that’s what I’m here for. Okay, that’s it for today.”
It’s been another long day that began with work at CEF, transitioned into classes at school, and will end with me working on this paper. Brent Fuller is a good and fair teaching assistant and his knowledge of School Law is ridiculously intense, especially for someone who is only in his late twenties. More than once I’ve holed in his office as he helped me understand the tricky legal aspects of school policy.
“Emily,” Brent calls before I head out the door. He nods me over to him. “How are you holding up?” he asks once I’ve made my way through the exiting students.
“Fine,” I say, curious. “Why?”
He shrugs. “You just seem a little distracted, that’s all. Or maybe my lecture was just boring you?”
“No, it’s not that,” I say quickly.
He grins. “I’m kidding. I mean, I hope the lecture wasn’t too boring…”
“No, really,” I say. “It’s not you, it’s me.” I stop and shake my head at the odd, cliché statement. “I just mean, yeah, I was a little zoned out today but it had nothing to do with your lecture. I’m just tired. That’s all.”
Lie, lie, lie. I am not tired. In fact, lately I can’t even sleep. Jackson Croft floats in my mind every night, every day, every freaking waking moment since that night at the restaurant—and especially since I haven’t heard a peep from him since.
“Okay,” Brent says, grinning. “I’d hate to think you weren’t utterly fascinated by recent developments in school law.”
I smile because he’s being nice. That’s what Brent is, a nice guy. A nice smart guy. A nice smart guy who tucks his T-shirts into his pants. He’s totally inoffensive, void of controversy. Plus, he’s a good T.A. Professor Stanwick is a bit dry and clinical in his lectures but at least Brent brings some enthusiasm—as much as you can bring to a class like this.
“I’ll have my head back in the game by next class. I promise.”
“And what a pretty head it is,” he says, and I’m a little shocked. He quickly realizes the flattering statement because he turns red and say, “Geez, I’m so sorry. It just came out. I didn’t mean for it to.”
“It’s okay,” I say. Poor guy is really squirming. “And, well, thank you.”
Brent takes a deep breath and says, “Anyway, if you need any help just come see me in my office. Doesn’t have to be during regular hours. I’m locked in there most of the time anyway, working on my thesis or grading work for Professor Stanwick. You have my number right? Because you can call me any time.”
“Yeah, I have it. It was on the syllabus.”
“Here, let me give you my cell number too, just in case.” Before I can object—it’s really not necessary—he scribbles his number down and tears off the paper, handing me the scrap. “There you go. I look forward to seeing you—and your head—back in class next week.”
I laugh. “Thanks, Brent.”
He’s not wrong. My head has not been in the game. Ever since that dinner. I’m either totally focused and throwing myself into my work, or spacing out at odd moments, like during Brent’s lecture today which, on a normal day, I would have found interesting.
Last week I was in a meeting at CEF, my mind drifting back to the dinner as it too often does, and Jules asked me a question. My response? “Prime & Tender.”
“Um, what?” Jules had said. “I think that’s a little out of our price range.”
“Wait. What?” I’d asked, confused and embarrassed.
“I asked if you knew what menu Beatrice chose for the upcoming luncheon? I think the hotel caters it, right?”
“Yeah, sorry,” I’d said, then fumbled through my notes to fill Jules and the rest of the development staff in on what Beatrice, who was home with her sick daughter, had chosen for the menu.
Damn that Jackson Croft. I mean, really. When I first met him, I had him pegged. Arrogant prick, those were the only words that came to my mind and God, I was right. First impressions are usually the right impressions. But then I let him pull me in with a fancy dinner and some serious tongue action to get me…
Oh, God. I think of that tongue and I lose all other thought. I think of that tongue and what it did to me, and I just want to melt again. He was so beyond the realm of sexy, something completely foreign to my universe, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s a complete jerk for dropping me like he did. He made a big deal about taking me out to dinner, that fancy, flashy, unnecessary dinner, and more, and then he drives me home and that’s it forever.
Transaction complete.
Which should be fine with me. I don’t want him, definitely don’t need him. I just feel like an idiot for sending him that text the next day. It was a brief moment of weakness. Not that I’ll ever see him again to tell him. I wrestled with the idea of sending it to him for a good twenty minutes.
If I’d talked it over with someone, like my little sister Sabrina, I would have had some sense talked into me. Sabrina may only be twenty-one but she’s had more guy experience than I have. Although, to be fair, most high school freshman have more dating experience than I do…
Which is all beside the point. The point is, I wish Jackson Croft would exit my brain immediately and never come back. Eviction notice posted.
Finally it’s the weekend and I’m in my studio apartment working on the paper for Professor Stanwick. Trying to work. It’s due on Monday and I have a good ways to go. I’ll be here all weekend working—not that I have other plans to worry about.
My parents have a standing Sunday brunch invitation for me, Sabrina, and our brother Dax but I won’t make it out to Lexington this weekend. Must stay chained to desk.
As I shuffle through my notes on my desk, a scrap of paper flutters to the floor. I pick it up and see that it’s Brent’s cell number. Next to his name, which is written in airy cursive, is a little smiley face. I can’t imagine a moment in which Jackson Croft would ever draw a smiley face, for any reason at all. He’d rather be—