Once upon a time, she’d loved his body. Had loved him.
At the table, Alisha was sipping coffee. The petite, slender redhead was in her thirties, a good fifteen years younger than Valerie. She wore shorts, a blue sleeveless shirt, and a thin leather collar.
Because Barry wanted his slaves to be collared.
Valerie had refused to wear a collar. Or to be called a slave.
“Oh, look what the cat dragged in.” Kahlua picked up her own plate from the counter. Her shorts barely covered her ass cheeks; her tank top was skintight, and her collar bright red. She smirked at Valerie. “Sorry, I didn’t make you any. But pancakes would make your ass an even bigger mass.”
“Morning, babe.” Barry stuffed a bite of pancake in his mouth.
No one asked how she was feeling. No one wished her a happy birthday.
All right. Time to get this done. This…confrontation. She could do this, even though her childhood memories of her parents’ insults, shouting, and screaming seemed far too close these days.
“Good morning, you all.” She forced her lips into a smile. “And happy birthday to me, actually.
Barry blinked. “Oh, hey, I—”
“Sorry, Valerie,” Alisha said in her snotty voice. “We didn’t get you anything.”
“Not a problem. All I want for my present this year…is a divorce.”
Chapter One
March
Humming to herself, Valerie entered the small Vietnamese restaurant near campus and breathed in the heady aromas of lemongrass, mint, herbs, and fish sauce. Thankfully, the sound of her stomach gurgling was drowned out by the clattering of tableware and conversations in various languages.
She was so hungry. It was good her careful budget would keep her from ordering everything on the menu.
Was Queenie here yet? She swept her gaze around the crowded room.
“Excuse me, please.” The deep, raspy voice came from behind her.
Oops, she was blocking the doorway. “Sorry.” She edged sideways, bumped into a chair, and started to trip over someone’s purse.
The man caught her upper arm in a firm grip. “Steady there.”
Grace in motion, that’s me. “Thank—” She looked up, and her mind went blank.
He was six feet of lean and deadly. His clean-shaven face was darkly tanned. Short, curly, steel-gray hair and weather-beaten skin indicated he was about her age. His green eyes held a keen intelligence.
As all his attention focused on her, her breathing tried to stop. Honestly, woman, you’ve seen men before. “Thank you for the save.”
“You’re very welcome.” With an unexpectedly charming smile, he released her.
Giving him a friendly nod, she stepped out of his way. Her arm still tingled from where he’d held her. He certainly was strong.
Especially for a professor. She’d seen him at a couple of faculty receptions…and the man totally demolished the stereotype of an amiable, forgetful professor.
“Here!” The high-pitched call and raised arm pinpointed Queenie’s location near the back. The English professor was a friendly sort—and another person who loved the wonderful variety of Asian restaurants near campus.
“Happy beginning of March. Sit, sit.” Pushing her red and purple streaked hair back, Queenie motioned to a chair. “I already ordered your usual for you.”
“Perfect, thank you.” Valerie took a seat across from her. “I’m past ready for something uplifting like good food and conversation.”
Queenie’s eyebrows shot up. “What’s happened? Student problems?”
“Nothing so serious. My ex-husband called. He wants me to pick up the boxes the children left there.”
Queenie’s eyes narrowed. “He has your old house, and you mentioned once you’re in an apartment, but he’s going to make you store the boxes?”
“I might have objected, but he has”…slaves… “guests who are snoopy and destructive.” She wasn’t going to let Kahlua ruin the things her children wanted to keep.
“Ugh. No wonder you need feel-good food.” Queenie grimaced. “At least your kids are grown. Dickface and I battled constantly about custody, vacations, and child support until ours were gone.”
“Ouch. I hope my ex and I don’t come to bickering over holidays. Thankfully, at Christmas, he and my son went ocean fishing so I could spend the day with my daughter and the most adorable grandbaby in the world.”
Queenie grinned, then shook her head. “You were lucky. I predict problems for future holidays.”
A dismal thought. Because when it came to conflict, Valerie would lose. Or give in. Or run.
Change the subject.
“How are your classes going?” Valerie had mostly upper-level students in her philosophy and world religion classes. They were actually interested in the subjects.
Poor Queenie’s English composition lectures were filled with freshmen.
“I hate eighteen-year-olds.” Queenie rolled her eyes. “One of them was still drunk from the weekend, and the fumes rolling off him turned my stomach.”
Valerie grinned. “Ah, the sweet bouquet of hungover freshmen, hmm?”
Queenie laughed.
As the waiter arrived and set their food out, Valerie recognized him as one of her students. “Jamail, everything looks wonderful.”
“It is. In fact, I can personally vouch the food is excellent here.” His smile stretched across his face as he gave a small bow. “Thank you so much for helping me get this job, Dr. Winborne.”
“It was my pleasure. I’m sure they’re delighted to have you.” And they were feeding him well, she was happy to see.
As he strode away, Queenie lifted an eyebrow in inquiry. “You found him this job?”
“He kept getting skinnier, so I called him in for a talk and learned his part-time jobs didn’t pay enough for food and rent. I suggested a restaurant job where he’d get free food, then told the owners here he was a hard worker. It’s a good match.”
Queenie shook her head. “Most of us think we’re doing an excellent job if we counsel students about course material and grades. You take it a step further, don’t you?”
“It’s all part of the whole.” Valerie moved her shoulders in a half-shrug. “If starving, how can a child study?”
“There is that.” Queenie turned to her food, letting the subject drop.
Valerie gazed fondly at the redhead. The two of them would never be besties—their views on the world were too different—but Queenie was a fun colleague and lunch date.
After a few minutes of contented eating, Queenie eyed Valerie speculatively. “Hmm.”
“What? Did I forget to wear makeup or something?”
“You never wear makeup. Very funny.” Queenie nibbled on a shrimp spring roll. “Remember when a group of us were talking about the Fifty Shades stuff, and you said you and your husband tried it?”
Valerie winced. Post divorce in January, she’d had too much to drink at one of Queenie’s parties. The alcohol hadn’t helped her depression and neither had oversharing. “And?”
“You see there’s this club—”