CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE PAST
I thought about that a lot. About being inspired by him.
I’d already been on the receiving end of his generosity.
He’d dropped me off at my apartment building several times, and during the frequent occasions we grabbed a cup of coffee last semester, he asked questions about my life and seemed genuinely interested when I gave him my answers.
I couldn’t think of another time I’d held anyone’s attention like that.
I wanted to think we were friends, but that was probably a stretch. Friends actually spent time together. I was more of a charity case to the professor than a friend.
There was a lot about Oliver online. He had papers and popular books.
The students at the school glowed when they spoke about him, joking that he carried the university on his back.
His reputation and lectures drew students who wanted to major in philosophy from all over the world.
I explored the forums discussing him. Found a few posted lectures where the spotlight was on him as he stood behind a podium atop a stage.
There were a couple of lectures filmed inside his classroom, though they were several years old and amateurishly shot.
In one of the lectures, he leaned against the podium and said, “Philosophy isn’t about collecting answers. It’s about examining why we need certain answers to be true. Most people would rather live comfortably inside a lie than question the thing holding their world together.”
The room went completely silent. I tried to follow what he meant, but I was distracted by the way his mouth moved around the words.
The confidence in his voice. The sharp line of his jaw beneath the stage lights.
I replayed that part several times, though I couldn’t have said whether it was the philosophy or Oliver I was trying to understand.
He magnetized his classroom. The students were engaged and passionate. He cracked jokes that made everyone laugh. He had a wit about him that even I could dissect despite the fact the classes were obviously very senior and covered topics I had no clue about.
I envied those students.
I wondered what it would be like to see him a couple of times a week in a classroom setting.
To be allowed to look at him shamelessly as he lectured and cracked jokes.
I wondered how it would feel every time he glanced at me or asked me a question I would have to answer in front of everyone.
I spent a lot of time fantasizing about it.
About how our eyes would lock and linger.
Sometimes, I imagined what it would be like to have him look at me that way in bed.
To have his body over mine while his eyes stayed locked on my face, as though he needed to watch every feeling he pulled from me.
I imagined his hands being slow and careful, his mouth moving over my skin while he told me things that made me feel beautiful.
Wanted. Like there was nowhere else he would rather be.
In my mind, being with Oliver was never hurried or clumsy. It was intimate, and intense, and almost reverent. I pictured us tangled together beneath his sheets, whispering in the dark, my fingers tracing the hard lines of his body while he looked at me as though I were something worth examining.
My crush on Oliver Black was growing a little out of control, and it didn’t help that I hadn’t had my fix of him over the summer. I was taking more adult-bridging classes, and he wasn’t as present. I assumed he didn’t teach over the summer, though he was still around every now and then.
I was classified as a mature student and freshly approved for student loans.
I received a decent-sized sum in grant money that helped with groceries and bills at home, but I was still broke.
Things were tight with money, and work still sucked, but I passed Biology 12 with an A- and Math 12 with a low B.
I was working through anatomy next. Slowly, I was getting the prerequisites done for my nursing application.
I filled my schedule with classes, and because I had been admitted as a mature student, I was allowed to explore beyond the prerequisites. Without thinking, I did what I had been wanting to do for two semesters.
I enrolled in Oliver’s first-year philosophy class.
“I saw your name on my class list.”
My face flamed as I looked up at Oliver.
He was doing that thing again, gripping the back of the chair tightly.
He wore casual jeans and a polo shirt that hugged his biceps.
When he squeezed the chair like that, the muscles bulged.
I stared dumbly at them for a few moments before reminding myself to answer.
“I’ve heard so many good things about your class,” I said, smiling.
He looked troubled. “When I mentioned my class, I wasn’t pressuring you to enroll in it, was I? I said it out of humor.”
I shook my head quickly. “Not at all. I know you were teasing.”
His dark eyes drilled into mine, searching for some clue that I wasn’t being honest. “I know you’re interested in the sciences.”
“I think the arts are just as important,” I replied. “And I’m very interested in philosophy.”
He looked over my face. “Do you know what you’ve signed up for?”
“It’s introductory. Things like Plato, right?”
“Things like Plato, that’s right.” His lips twitched with amusement. “Come grab a cup of coffee with me.”
He didn’t need to tell me twice. I immediately slammed my anatomy textbook shut and followed him out to his black Tesla.
We drove to the coffee shop, and I pretended the silence was comfortable, but I was really nervous. Instead of going through the drive-through, he parked. When he saw the look I gave him, he smiled.
“Let’s unwind inside.”
My heart jumped. Aside from the school library, this was the first time we’d been out in public together. I didn’t want to tell myself that meant something, but a bubble of hope emerged anyway.
We found a small table at the back of the coffee shop. It was quiet. There were only a handful of people, and they were working on their laptops, their heads buried in their screens.
When I slid into the little booth, Oliver ordered our coffees. He came back minutes later, and instead of sliding into the seat across from me, he sat beside me.
I kept my eyes from bulging open, though my breath picked up. The scent of him fell over me as his shoulder bumped against mine. He was incredibly close.
Intimate sort of close.
He wrapped his large hand around his mug and stared thoughtfully at me.
“Drink up,” he ordered, his tone solemn.
I took a sip of my coffee and played with a loose thread in my jeans. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“Mm,” he hummed, unimpressed. “What did I say about your thank-yous?”
I grinned. “To hold onto them for the big stuff.”
“Precisely.”
I winced. “Sorry.”
He took a sip. “Summer’s almost done.”
I clenched my mug. “It went by fast.”
“How’s Rowe? You said he was acting out last time we spoke.”
I nodded, my heart swelling because he remembered that—and remembered his name. “He’s doing better. He’ll be starting kindergarten, and we picked out his backpack. It’s a space one. He’s really into the stars and moon lately.”
He smiled. “Sounds nice.”
“I’ve arranged it so the courses I’m taking are during his school hours.”
“Mine is an evening class.”
I nodded. “But my sister will be off work, and she’ll help put him to bed for me.”
“What about Rowe’s father?”
The question came as a shock. It had been a while since anyone had asked, mostly because I’d learned to barricade myself from others.
I looked down at my mug and spun it around. I didn’t care at that moment that it was burning hot.
My voice was small. “He’s never been in the picture.”
His eyes were heavy on me. “That’s a shame.”
“His family moved away before Rowe was even born. He told me he wanted nothing to do with ‘it.’” My smile was tight and fake. “Even claimed ‘it’ wasn’t his.”
“Sounds like he was a rotten kid himself,” Oliver returned.
I nodded, whispering, “We were sixteen.”
I squirmed a little, wondering how Oliver would take that news. He didn’t know my age, but one look at me and you knew I was young. Not young like the new kids starting school, but young anyway. Plus, he knew the age of my son.
I wondered if his opinion of me was tainted by my choices, though if it was, perhaps my own opinion of him was wrong and I’d finally have a reason to get over this stupid crush.
I’d been told relentlessly by adults when I fell pregnant that I was a kid who had made an irresponsible mistake.
I still got long looks when I went out with Rowe.
I wondered how bad they would get when I dropped him off at school.
Would there be parents around my age, or would I be another bullseye?
It didn’t matter if I was ignored or judged. I just didn’t want Rowe to be treated differently.
The heat of Oliver’s hand settled over mine.
I let go of the mug, staring wordlessly as he turned my hand over and held it gently in his. I looked up at him, my eyes slightly glossy.
He stared back, holding my gaze. “Bet that boy is the best thing that ever happened to you.”
“Yeah.”
I smiled, feeling a tear slide down my cheek. His other hand came up, and he brushed it away before I could.
My breath thinned at his touch.
“Don’t take my class,” he suddenly said, the words coming out as a sharp demand.
I blinked in surprise. “What?”
He shook his head, repeating slowly, “Don’t take my class, Daisy.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to treat you like another student. Once those boundaries are in place, I can’t overstep them. I won’t be able to get this close to you again.”
He paused as he brushed a few strands of hair away from my face, his eyelids growing heavy.
“I want to be able to touch you.”
Warmth settled in the pit of my belly, ignited by his words. “You do?”
“I do.” His eyes ran over me quickly, and his chest moved faster as he said with urgency, “Come over to my place.”
My pulse quickened. “Why?”