Chapter 20
Jenna
“Cheers, Dr. Williams,” Ian grins, holding his cup at chin height and sloshing it so hard he nearly spills on himself. “Here’s to surviving another week of existential despair teaching young adults. It’s truly not for the weak.”
I fake a smile, tapping my cup to his. “I prefer my despair with less crowding,” I say, glancing around us. This place is something right out of a movie, part bar, part restaurant—and people everywhere.
He laughs. “That’s what happens when it’s one of the only places in town to go.”
“Noted,” I reply, and scan the room, thinking maybe by some chance my brother might show face. But honestly, I don’t see my brother being lost in some crowd like this. He’d be avoiding them.
“So,” Ian begins, grabbing my attention. “Tell me more about you.”
I feel the question like a tripwire, but I keep my face loose. “Not much to say. I’m pretty boring, actually.” I swallow a sip of my wine, and then set it down. “Sometimes I go for run.” Like running from my life.
He frowns, intrigued. “You don’t seem like the running type, but that’s cool.”
That almost makes me laugh. I pluck a fry from the basket, just as some of the other professors join us, having made their way back from the bar.
A trio of women slide up, all of them variations wearing chunky glasses, scarves, and sweaters. The leader, an older woman with a tight gray updo speaks first.
“Dr. Williams,” she extends her hand. “I haven’t had a chance to introduce myself. Dr. Elaine Frank. I teach the marketing classes. Ian says you’re from Texas?”
I nod, shaking her hand. “Born and bred.”
She doesn’t blink. “My sister lives in Dallas now. Is that the area you’re from?”
“No, more northwest.” I swirl the wine, pretending like it hasn’t been ten years since I touched alcohol. It never was my forte, and after what happened on that boat all those summers ago…
Definitely not.
Another woman jumps in. “You know what they say about Texas women. Big hair, bigger secrets!” The laugh that follows is jarring.
But I join in, because that’s the safest thing to do. But also, who the fuck thinks that about Texas women?
The conversation then skids into a ditch of campus gossip—who’s sleeping with whom, who’s sabotaging what committee, who has a meltdown in the parking lot last semester, and the lowkey gang activity everyone is pretending doesn’t exist. I listen with half an ear, nodding at the right moments, while my attention triangulates on the door.
It feels like someone important might walk through.
And sure enough, that’s when Calvin Bradford enters, accompanied by a man I don’t recognize—maybe early 40s, dark hair, and baseball hat.
A massive hound walks on the leash beside him in a service dog vest. Bradford is wearing his usual, denim, black shirt with a flannel, and black cowboy boots.
He doesn’t scan the room so much as he possesses it, every step intimidating.
And fuck.
His eyes find me in less than a second.
I freeze, my heartbeat suddenly louder than the crowd.
“Whoa,” Ian drawls, catching the line of my sight. “Calvin Bradford is making a public appearance. That never happens.”
“God, he is so hot,” one of the women mutters under her breath.
“And entirely unavailable,” another adds. “I tried to strike a conversation with him at his daughter’s orientation. Ugh, worthless. He’ll stare right through you.” She flips her perfectly curled blonde hair over her shoulder.
And for a moment, I feel more insecure than ever.
I watched him get off to my pictures, but I have nothing on the bombshell talking about getting turned down. Why the hell would he have some sort of interest in me?
Unless it’s purely based on suspicion.
“He’s got the mysterious thing going for him,” Elaine chuckles, as I tune back in. “But to me, he just seems like the type to stay away from. He screams bad news.”
“Is that so?” I say, voice neutral. But my heartbeat is still so loud that I’m sure the women next to me can hear it. Ian appears completely unamused, glaring at him.
“He was in the Marines,” says Elaine, her tone going soft.
“Came back when his grandpa was on his death bed and runs the biggest acreage in the county now. There are some rumors that he has some sort of veteran mental health nonprofit, but I’ve never seen much with that.
I do see that he rotates his seasonal help pretty steadily. ”
“Maybe people just don’t want to work for the asshole,” Ian grumbles.
I risk a glance. Calvin is sitting at the bar beside his buddy, the two of them lost in conversation with two water glasses in front of them. I glance around, noting multiple people glancing in his direction.
But no one approaches.
Ian refills his cup with the bottle at our table, and offers me a top-off, but I wave him off.
“Not a big drinker?” he says, with the faintest note of judgment.
I shrug. “Not really. My adoptive dad had a bit of a drinking problem.”
He grins, thinking it’s a joke, and starts in on a story about the time he got blackout drunk at a faculty retreat and woke up in a canoe. I tune it out, focusing instead on the way the air changes as Bradford peers my way.
My thighs clench beneath the table, thinking back to the closet.
His blue eyes take me in, and then appear to shift to the left. I glance in the direction and realize Ian’s arm is resting on the back of my seat. I look back at Bradford, but he’s leaned into his buddy, no longer noticing my existence.
And dammit, I feel the loss.
“You have Molly Bradford in your class, yes?” Elaine grabs my attention, a smile on her face. “She’s a very bright student. Hard worker.”
I nod. “Absolutely. I’m actually helping her strengthen her writing skills outside of class. She’s very driven, wanting to be a lawyer.”
Elaine sighs. “Just like her mother.”
Because of course, Calvin wouldn’t be with someone who wasn’t as intelligent as he is.
I frown, my eyes bouncing to the blonde professor and then over to Bradford. I have moment of pure jealousy that ravages my chest, of always being the unseen woman, but then push it away, my eyes dropping to the wine I don’t even like.
Really, I have horrible taste in men, anyway. If I’m attracted to a man, then it should be a red flag in and of itself.
“Jenna,” Ian reaches around and squeezes my shoulder. “You okay?”
“Yeah, sorry.” I jump at the unwanted contact and choke on my words, which everyone seems to notice, even Calvin, who apparently has gone back to monitoring me.
Calvin’s gaze is direct, but there’s a flicker of something else, something very dark. I force myself to look away.
“You seem tense,” Ian comments, tilting his head at me.
“Just a long week,” I reply, keeping my tone easy. “You know how it is.”
“Oh?” He tilts his head, giving me some sort of smirk. “I do.”
For a second, no one says anything. Ian starts to fidget, obviously uncomfortable. Elaine coughs and dives into a conversation with the other ladies. The crowd noise swells, then recedes.
I pick at the hem of my sweater, my hand no longer bandaged but still aching. Calvin noticed it last night, and I still can’t decide if he was alluding to something. Ugh.
“Holy shit,” Ian chuckles. “Calvin Bradford seems to like to stare at you. You two have some kind of beef?”
I shake my head, but honestly, I don’t even know. “Not at all.”
He narrows his eyes, then shrugs. “Hmm… Well, you want to get out of here? I have tequila back at my place? Then you can avoid the total stare down?”
“You know,” I let out a sigh, pushing my still mostly full glass of wine away. “I think I might just head home now. My stomach is feeling a little queasy.” Not a lie.
“Suit yourself,” he says, but he looks almost hurt.
“Rain check,” I pat his shoulder as I slide off the stool and tell everyone else goodbye. “This was fun. Can’t wait till next time.” Which I hope never happens.
I put down a bill enough to cover my one drink, and then head for the exit.
I duck outside and then lean against the brick wall, breathing slow and steady as the cold envelopes me.
My hands go to my hair, adjusting, smoothing, and always attempting to fix something that can’t be.
I replay every second of the encounter, searching for signs that I gave myself away.
A shadow falls across the pavement. And I snap to attention, heart in my throat.
But it’s just Ian, weaving a little, eyes glassy.
“Hey,” he says. “You sure you’re okay? It’s just now nine. You’ve got me a little worried.”
I muster a smile. “Like I said, my stomach… The wine hit me harder than I thought.”
He grins, sloppy. “You’re a lightweight. It’s okay.”
I shrug. “Maybe.”
He leans in, not quite steady, and says, “You’re the most interesting person here, you know that?
” Inwardly, I cringe as he touches my arm.
“Let me walk you to your car. There was some shit in a parking lot recently. All that stupid gang activity is a real threat apparently. They sent some memo about it a few weeks before you showed up.”
“Hmm.” I stupidly say nothing more, and then head out across the parking lot.
My shoes crunch on the gravel. The wind slides under my jacket and goes straight to the bone.
It feels like the kind of night that ends badly for someone—and I don’t think Ian could save me from much.
My SUV is parked on the far side of the lot, covered in shadows that weren’t there when I arrived here.
Beside it, I see a big black truck, and I don’t know why it gives me a sense of ease in the dark, but it does.
Definitely more so than Ian, who’s staggering somewhere behind me. Clearly, four glasses of wine are more than enough for him.
When I reach my car, I pop the door and toss my bag into the passenger seat.
“I really wish you didn’t have to go,” Ian whines, his hand landing on my car door and shutting it before I can stop him. “I really want to get to know you.”