Chapter 5
Five
Sadie
T here’s an incessant buzzing in the distance, and it’s distracting me from this peaceful, dreamless slumber. When I roll over on my bed to shut my phone up, something light and papery lands on my face.
Opening my eyes, I pick up the weathered copy of Paradise Lost.
“What the fuck?” I croak.
Then, everything hits me at once. My eyes pop open as I scramble for my phone. It’s on the floor next to my bed, hidden under a pile of clothes. When I uncover it, the blaring alarm grows louder, and I curse to myself when I see the time.
I’m late .
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I shout as I scurry out of bed and rush toward the pile of clothes on my dresser. The moment my feet hit the floor, the room starts to sway and my head becomes a balloon, weightless and woozy. Nausea blooms in my stomach.
With a hiss, I freeze and grab my head, waiting for the blood, bile, and oxygen to return to where it belongs inside my body.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was up until four in the morning doing tequila shots instead of reading a dusty old literature book.
Oh no. Don’t think about tequila.
My stomach clenches, and I swallow down the excess saliva in my mouth.
Get it together, Sadie.
After an eternity spent convincing my stomach not to revolt against me, I grab a pair of leggings and a T-shirt from the pile and quickly get dressed. By the time I make it out the door with only my book, a pen, and a notebook I had to buy to keep Dr. Goode off my ass, I know I’m going to be late.
Really late .
And I’d skip it altogether, but if I miss class, then I have to talk to him to get the lecture I missed, and I’d rather eat my own socks than have another private conversation with that pompous dickhole.
It’s been four weeks since the start of the semester, and I’ve managed to go mostly unnoticed this long. Four down. So many to go.
Although who am I kidding? If Luke sticks around to teach English 102, it’s more than likely I’ll be stuck with him again next semester. No need to stress about that now. At the moment, the only thing I need to do is get through this semester.
By the time I park my car and start my sprint across campus, my stomach does another somersault, but I choose to ignore it. My forehead breaks out in a cold, damp sweat.
My limbs turn heavy like mud.
I have myself convinced that all I need to do is get my ass in my seat and I’ll be fine. I’m just a little out of shape.
But the moment I fly through the Humanities Building and the cold air-conditioning hits my skin, it’s all over. I pull open the door to my English class and turn absolutely useless in the fight against my own stomach.
Just before I dive toward the very small trash can near the door, I lock eyes with Dr. Goode. His brows are practically in his hairline, and his mouth is hanging open in shock at my sweaty, pale appearance.
And then I’m hurling loudly into the metal can, the eyes of roughly seventy-five people boring into my clammy form as I drop to my knees and expel last night’s dinner and any shred of my dignity.
“Miss Green,” Lucas says as he stands over me. “Are you all right?”
With my face still buried in the metal vomit can, I lift my arm to give him a thumbs-up.
He lets out a sigh of exasperation. And I’d sooner wear this can as a hat before I’d turn to look into those disappointed eyes.
“Class is dismissed early,” he announces loudly. “Use this extra time to work on your essays. They’re still due next week and my email is available for rough draft analyses if you think you need it.”
I fold my arms over the trash and rest my cheeks on them, squeezing my eyes shut as the entire class stampedes past me. I feel like one of those village idiots they put in the stockades so people can throw tomatoes at them as they go by.
Hear ye, hear ye. Feast your eyes on the world’s biggest hot mess and royal fuckup.
I really should have stayed in bed.
When the room grows quiet, I clench my eyes tighter, squeezing out a few tears. Then, something soft touches my cheek. I lift my head and stare at the tissue Dr. Goode is handing me.
In his other hand is a bottle of water.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble as I reach for the tissue and quickly wipe my mouth. He doesn’t reply as I take the water and uncap the lid before guzzling down half the contents.
“Are you sick?” he asks.
I shake my head as I take another gulp.
“Hungover? ”
Again, I shake my head. “And before you ask, I’m not pregnant either. You’d have to have sex for that to happen.”
He lets out another sigh, but rather than disappointment, this one sounds like discomfort. Glancing up at him, I notice the way his brows are folded in, and his eyes won’t land on my face. It makes me smile a little to realize how easy it is to make Luke uncomfortable.
Noted .
“Do you need medical attention?” he asks.
“No,” I reply with a groan. “What I need is to skip cardio in the Texas heat.”
“Well, if you would manage your time better, you wouldn’t have to run.”
With a scoff, I rise from the floor. “Save it. I just barfed in a can in front of a room full of my peers. I don’t need a lecture from you.”
The doors to the classroom open and one of the janitors stands in the doorway, looking at us expectantly.
“It’s right here. In the trash,” Dr. Goode says, pointing to the scene of the crime.
“You called them?” I shriek, covering my face with my hands as the poor man picks up the can I just desecrated. I can’t even look at him, this poor elderly man who now has to deal with my mess. “I’m so sorry!” I cry through my hands.
“It’s okay,” the man replies, although it’s so not okay.
When the door shuts, I turn toward my professor. “I could have cleaned it up.”
“How?” he asks, turning his back toward me to pack up his things.
“I don’t know. I would have figured it out. I don’t like other people cleaning up my messes.”
“Then, don’t make messes,” he replies calmly.
Ugh, I hate him so much. I want to slap that stupid, high-and-mighty tone right out of his mouth.
“You’re so perfect, aren’t you?” I ask in frustration .
“No one’s perfect, Miss Green. But some of us just make smarter choices.”
“Fuck you, Lucas,” I snap. My fists are clenched at my sides. This day is already unsalvageable, so what’s the point in even trying? I’m sure there are consequences for cussing out your professor, but it certainly couldn’t be any worse than what I’ve already experienced today.
He spins and stares at me, looking appalled. I expect him to threaten me with some arbitrary punishment or lecture me some more, but after a moment, something like resignation washes over his face.
“Go home, Miss Green,” he mumbles before turning away again.
My jaw drops. “That’s it?”
“What more do you want from me? I already dismissed my class for you.”
“I don’t know,” I argue. “I just figured you’d tell me what a screwup I am. Or give me some talk about how you’re so much more mature and smarter than me. Fight with me or something!”
“You are not my responsibility, Miss Green. And if you are so sure that I’m more mature and smarter, then why do you need me to tell you? It seems to me that you want someone to tell you how to make your own life better, but that’s your job.”
“I’m sure you would love to tell me exactly what I’m doing wrong just so you could hold it over my head.”
“What exactly would I gain from that?” he snaps in return.
“Oh, you would so get off on that, and we both know it,” I reply with a sarcastic laugh.
He takes a step toward me. “You’re crossing a line, Sadie. Watch yourself.”
My features go stone cold at the sound of him saying my name. “Why?” I continue. “Because I said something true?”
Another step closer. “Because you said something inappropriate.”
“So it is true?” I ask, a smirk returning to my face .
“Miss Green…” he says in a warning.
“What’s wrong, Dr. Goode? You don’t like me pointing out that you’re a?—”
Saliva floods my mouth as my abdomen clenches. It cuts the words straight from my mouth. I feel myself pale as Luke’s eyes widen.
“There’s another trash in the corner,” he says flatly.
I spin away from him and barely make it in time, heaving what’s left in my gut into the second innocent victim of a metal can today.
Just like last time, a soft tissue touches my face. But this time, instead of handing it to me, he wipes my lips and chin.
“Don’t call the janitor again,” I mutter with my eyes closed.
“Already did.”
“I hate you,” I reply.
“Come on. I’ll drive you home,” he replies.
“I brought my car. And I refuse to accept help from you.”
“Why?” he asks as he uncaps my bottle of water and lifts it to my lips. “Because you know I’ll get off on it?” he adds.
My eyes pop open to find him fighting a smile. The corner of his mouth lifts but only briefly. In the blink of an eye, he’s scowling again.
After the janitor returns for the second time and I die of embarrassment again, Dr. Goode slings his bag over his shoulder and guides me out the door.
“I must have eaten something bad,” I say as I reach my car. “You really don’t have to drive me home. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?” he asks.
With a sigh, I nod. “I’m sure. I don’t live far.”
“Okay,” he says, relenting. “I’ll see you Wednesday, then.”
He turns and walks away toward his own car. He’s in a blue plaid button-down shirt, rolled at the sleeves, and a pair of tight, black slacks. Suddenly, I can’t stop thinking about our conversation in the classroom. I doubt that even if Luke had some controlling Dom kink, he would ever express it. He’s too uptight and too much of a prude.
Although, if I’m honest, picturing him in that role is sort of hot.
“I’m sorry again,” I call across the parking lot.
Without turning toward me, he holds up a hand as if to say, “It’s okay.”
My stomach settles down enough for me to drive home. When I get there, I’m relieved to find the house is empty. My parents are at work, and my brother is at school. Which means I can fall right back into my own bed without having to answer to anyone.
The blankets on my bed are cool and inviting, and even after my now empty stomach starts to growl, I ignore it. I refuse to reward it after the way it’s behaved today.
It’s so weird that I would just throw up out of nowhere. It’s not like I’m sick. There are no other symptoms. And if it were food poisoning, I’m sure there would be other signs.
Maybe it’s just a fluke.
Because what I said to Dr. Goode was true. Unless it’s an immaculate conception, there’s no chance I could be pregnant. The last time I had sex was…
I’m staring at the ceiling of my bedroom as a memory flashes through my mind.
No .
The last time I had sex was with Jax Kingston that night at the club, but that barely counts. It was nothing. Just a quickie. Just a…
I bolt upright as the panic starts to set in. I replay every moment of those short but intense five minutes. He put on a condom…didn’t he?
No matter how many times I try to remember the moment he paused to wrap up his dick, it’s not there. But the memory of his cum leaking down my leg is.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck .
I pull up my phone and open my period tracker. I’ve really slacked on using it lately, but four months ago, when I did track my cycle, it started on the fifth. And that was two weeks ago.
My skin starts to buzz and my blood pressure rises. As reality sets in, I toss my phone down on the mattress and throw my head back on my pillow.
With tears forming in my eyes, I scream the only thing I can think of at the moment.
“Fuck!”