Chapter 10
Skye
The summer flew by in a blur of heat, late-night phone calls, and weekends spent with Gage at Club Red. We never talked about what we were, never tried to define it, and maybe that's what made it work. I could pretend it was simple when we both knew it wasn't.
We never talked much about our lives outside of Club Red. One of the things I know is that he's helping Hunter a little more now that Carter is wedding planning. Also, I know how he got started in the BDSM world, and he knows my story, and about my time with Dante.
But now school's back in session, and reality doesn't care about secrets or what happens in the dark.
Day one of my final year.
I wake with two texts waiting on my phone.
Summer: Good luck on your first day of the last year! So proud of you!
Gemma: You're almost at the finish line. Go kick ass. And then come help me find a dress.
I grin, my heart warming as I reply with a bunch of emojis. Then I hit the group call button. Their faces appear on screen, both of them still in robes with messy buns and coffee mugs.
"There she is! Our senior!" Summer cheers.
"Look at you, all grown up and going to school while I try to decide if champagne goes with eggs," Gemma says, dramatically sipping from her mug.
"Thank you, I needed this," I laugh. "I'm kind of a mess. First day nerves."
"Girl, you're gonna slay," Summer says. "You've got this. You're smart, driven, and beautiful. Your professors won't know what hit them."
Gemma winks. "And all new classes mean new people. Maybe find yourself some yummy arm candy."
"No dating until after I graduate," I say quickly, my stomach twisting with the thought of dating anyone but Gage.
"Sure, sure," Summer teases.
We talk for a few more minutes before I say goodbye and get dressed. Their words echo in my head as I head to school and walk across campus. I can do this. One more year.
Then I will have my Masters in Business degree. One more year, then I can finally start making my dream happen. I haven't told anyone what I really want to do, not even Summer or Gemma. It's not just about opening a spa.
I want a space that welcomes every kind of woman. Moms, daughters, and women who never get a break. A whole mommy-and-me section where they can unwind together. Luxurious. Safe. Empowering. But for now, I need to survive one more year of lectures, assignments, and caffeine-fueled nights.
Sliding into my seat in the back row of my Corporate Innovation class, I pull out my laptop and notebook. The syllabus is up on the screen, and students are already chattering about how easy or hard it'll be. I'm half-listening, half-making a mental to-do list when I feel the air change.
The door opens, and I look up.
No.
No. No. No. No. NO!
My heart slams against my ribs, and my stomach twists.
Gage.
He walks in like he owns the room, wearing a button-up shirt that clings to his shoulders, and jeans that should be illegal on a man over thirty. He doesn't see me at first, but I see him. Every detail. Every inch of skin I've kissed. Every command he's growled in my ear.
Then he looks up, and his eyes scan the room and land right on me.
For a split second, he falters. Just enough for me to see the panic. But then he's smooth again, moving to the front of the room and opening his laptop like it's just another Tuesday.
"Good morning. I'm Professor Owens. Welcome to Corporate Innovation."
No. Freaking. Way.
The girl next to me leans over. "Please tell me he's single. That man is hot. Like, tattooed-daddy-hot."
I choke on my water, coughing violently. She pats my back.
"You good?" she asks.
I nod, still gasping for air. "Wrong pipe."
But it's not the water that's choking me. It's the realization that the man who ties me up on weekends is now standing in front of me as my professor.
He starts going over the syllabus, his voice steady, but his eyes flicking to me more than necessary.
His usual confidence is there, but I see the cracks.
The way he skips a line. The slight shake in his hand when he clicks to the next slide.
He stumbles slightly over a phrase and clears his throat, but recovers fast. No one else notices. But I do.
He paces slowly as he talks, and I see the way his hands grip the podium just a little too tightly. The way he avoids looking at me for too long. The way his voice drops just slightly when he reads the section about participation and expectations. He's performing. He's pretending. Just like me.
Every time he glances at me, my heart lurches. Does he think I'll say something? That I'll expose everything?
I force myself to take notes. To look busy. To breathe.
When he opens the floor for questions, the girl next to me raises her hand.
"Are you married?" she asks, grinning.
Laughter bubbles across the room. Gage doesn't miss a beat.
"I'm married to academia for the semester," he replies smoothly.
More laughter. I want to crawl under the desk.
He finally dismisses class, and the room erupts in motion. I don't wait. After shoving my stuff in my bag, I dart for the back door, heart pounding in my chest. I don't look back. I run down the hallway and out the doors, gasping for air like I've just escaped a burning building.
As soon as I get home, I throw my bag on the floor, grab my phone, and call the one person I know won't judge me.
"Hi sweetheart," my mom answers, her voice light and strong again. A relief after the past few months.
"You will not believe what just happened," I blurt.
"What's going on? Did something happen at school?"
"My professor. One of my professors. It's Gage."
There's a pause, then a gasp. "The Gage? The one you've been sneaking around with and refusing to let me meet because I had a health setback?"
"Yes. That Gage."
She laughs, delighted. "Oh, honey, that's juicy. I want to meet him even more now. Bring him over this weekend."
"Mom, no. I can't. I need to figure out how to breathe first."
"Come on. I'm feeling better. And this sounds exactly like the kind of distraction I need. Don't deprive your mother."
"You're not going to drop this, are you?"
"Not a chance."
I press the phone closer to my ear and whisper, "What am I going to do, Mom?"
Her tone softens. "You're going to take a deep breath, put one foot in front of the other, and figure it out. You always do. And no matter what happens, I'm here."
I groan, say my goodbyes, and hang up, collapsing onto the couch. My phone buzzes again.
A text from Gage fills my screen. I read them and respond in my head but don't respond to him.
Gage: We need to talk.
I bet we do. Only I can't. Not yet.
Gage: Skye, please. I didn't know.
Yeah, neither did I, but that changes nothing.
Gage: Are you okay?
Not really.
Gage: Say something. Anything.
All I could think about was how well this was going. Too good, I knew something would blow it up.
Gage: Whatever you need, I'm here.
Gage: Just don't shut me out.
Then a call.
I shut it off. I need time.
Which is why I need to go dress shopping with Gemma.
I need space and time to think. And I can't do that with his voice in my ear, reminding me how good it felt to be his.
Trying to wash off the confusion, I take a long shower. It doesn't help.
I throw on a dress and head out. Gemma's wedding dress shopping appointment is today, and I can't cancel. She needs me. And I need something normal.
The boutique is beautiful. Soft music. Champagne in flutes. Rows and rows of white silk and lace that probably cost more than my entire student loan debt.
Gemma's glowing, Summer's excited, and I try to match their energy.
But as I run my fingers over the fabric of a dress that could have covered our rent for a year, I feel the weight of everything.
This life. This dream. This secret that's about to explode.
Gemma tries on a few dresses, which are gorgeous but clearly not her dress.
"Maybe we should book an appointment at the other dress shop you found," Gemma's dad says to Summer, his wife.
He's here because Gemma's mom died when she was young, and he never even dated until he and Summer met at Club Red by complete accident.
"We will see. She has a few more to try on. Let's wait and see," Summer says just as Gemma steps out in the next dress.
And whoa what a dress, there is no denying this is the dress.
"Wow, I'm going to be a bride," Gemma says.
"This is the dress." Summer says, and we all agree.
"Yes, this is the dress," Gemma says dreamily.
Her dad jumps up, hugs her, and then goes into action.
"What does she need to go with the dress? Does she need a veil? Choose a corset? I don't know, but get her whatever she needs to go with it," her dad tells the girl who is helping her get dressed, and she scampers off.
After Gemma has everything picked out and is about to go back and change, so we can grab an early dinner, I drop the bomb that I have been trying to hold in.
"I slept with my professor at Club Red," I say, covering my face.
Everyone is silent before Gemma speaks again.
"Let me get out of this dress, and then we'll talk," she says.
Thankfully, she changes quickly.
"Okay, I'm starving. Let's grab food, but I'm going to have questions," Gemma says. "Carter is going to meet us at a place just down the street."
We walk down silently, not saying a word. When we walk in, Carter is already there.
"Hello, my love. Did you find your dress?" He greets Gemma.
"I did. But my dress is not the topic of this conversation. Skye dropped a bomb on us."
We all sit down, and everyone looks over at me. Gemma, who is sitting next to me, takes my hand and asks, "What happened?"
"I met this great guy at Club Red, and we had a few scenes together over the summer, and things were going great. Then school started, and in he walks, my professor."
"Oh shit," Carter says. "It's Gage, isn't it?"
My eyes snap to him.
"How do you know that?" I ask.
"He's a good friend of mine. A great guy. And he just had a meltdown today because he found out that he had slept with one of his students. And she isn't answering any of his calls or messages."
"Great. I finally met a good guy, and of course, the universe would throw me the curveball of a lifetime.
He wouldn't dare risk his career to date a student.
He's friends with my best friend's soon-to-be husband, who owns the club, and I'm the only person whose reputation stands to be ruined if this gets out. Plus, now that I’ve lost Gemma as my roommate, I'm no longer looking forward to living alone.
Not super important, but still sucks and worth throwing in there. " I rant.
Gemma hasn't officially moved all her stuff out of the apartment, but she is never there, so she might as well have moved out.
"I don't know what happened. But he says you ran out of that classroom so fast when class ended, he hasn't had a chance to talk to you yet.
Don't kill the messenger, but I think you should talk to him.
At the very least, I think he might put your mind at ease.
As far as living alone is concerned, our new house has a guesthouse, and you're welcome to it.
That way, you're in your own space, and we're in our own space, but you won’t be alone," Carter says.
The offer of the guest house is so unexpected, it calms me down just enough to think.
"You don't have to twist my arm about the guesthouse. But that doesn't fix everything. I've screwed up this time."