Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
WARREN
I WANT YOU TO SEE ME!
I WANT YOU TO CHOOSE ME!
I WANT YOU TO LOVE ME!
I stare down at the note, getting fed up with the frat bullshit. Last weekend there were the big parties preparing for rush, and all the shenanigans were supposed to stop. So why am I still finding letters?
Yesterday, one had been slipped under my office door while I was between classes. By the time I found it, the person was long gone.
With a growl, I start to ball up the paper, ready to email the dean to get his frats under control, but the letter is snatched from my hand before I can so much as crinkle the page.
Mike looks over the writing, his eyebrows shooting up higher on his forehead with every line.
“Sheesh,” he says, pressing it to my chest. “Seems like those frat kids are getting more creative. That actually gives me the willies.”
I grunt in agreement. “I’ll be speaking to the dean about this. This is the third such letter I’ve received in just as many weeks,” I say as I push into my office and place my items on the desk.
Mike looks at me for a few moments, then says, “Watch your back. It might be someone being an ass, but it could also be something more sinister.”
Taking a seat, I roll my eyes and boot up my computer. “Not likely. Just a bunch of kids acting as if they have no sense.” He makes a noise between a snort and a grunt. “What’s up?”
“Well, I was coming to see if you wanted to have lunch today but after that letter, I think you need something stronger.”
“Maybe. It’s been a while since I’ve been out for a drink.”
“Then it’s settled,” Mike says, slapping his hands together. “The wife and I are kid free this weekend. A few of us are getting together at Emberwood tonight at nine for some darts and a few beers.”
I nod, saying, “Okay. Count me in.”
Emberwood is the local pub that an older crowd near campus frequent. It’s not wild and rambunctious like most of the clubs here in a college town, even a college as prestigious as Meadowbrook. Not many places are geared toward professionals and those over the age of thirty.
And after what happened last weekend, I need to get out and meet people. Online dating didn’t seem to work.
The guy I matched with unmatched me in the middle of a conversation—no goodbye, no reasoning, just unmatched. I knew it was too good to be true. The man was too handsome—and too young at twenty-six. I should have just told Barb I’d go out with her. Maybe she would have grown on me.
No, that’s a terrible idea and really fucked up. There’s no need to play with her emotions just because she’s the only one interested.
“Cool,” Mike says, snapping me out of my pity party. “Meet us there this evening at nine. And make sure you’re not followed. We don’t have enough room for your crazy stalker.”
“Ha ha,” I deadpan and Mike laughs.
He gives me a wave and leaves my office while I type out a quick email to the dean.
I hate being this guy; I’m usually a good sport when it comes to rush week. Pledges are made to do a lot of shit to prove they belong or will listen to orders, but this is over the line. It’s bordering on creepy.
Email sent, I sit back in my chair and exhale roughly.
I can’t wait until these damn pledges finish with their week of hell.
Most professors are the objects of the pranks and jokes—saran wrap on our doors, blocking us from leaving, finding our offices full of balloons or stuffies, confetti guns set off when we walk into a room. Harmless stuff.
Those letters? They can be misconstrued as threats or stalking. I’d hate for a house to be shut down because a pledge or a brother took things too far.
But I won’t be made uncomfortable just because a kid can’t get their shit together.
Blowing out one more breath, I gather my things and head to my first class, already anticipating unwinding tonight.
“Ugh, I hate playing darts with you,” Mike’s wife, Connie, says, bumping me with her hip. “You always kick our asses.”
I grin as I sip my beer. “It’s simple math. If you—”
“No work talk,” Mike interrupts. “And we have the same job, took the same classes in college, and I’m not as good as you. So, it’s not simple math.”
Mike wraps his arm around Connie’s shoulder and glares at me.
I shrug. “Not my fault I’m smarter than you.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “In your dreams, Bridge. Come on. We have time for a few more games before more people pack in, demanding a turn at the board.”
Emberwood is chill tonight. A few other professors meandering around, unwinding.
It’s nice to be out. Since Mike is my only friend, he’s the only one I go out with. He rarely has time without his children, who are both under the age of ten. So most weekends, I’m home trying to entertain myself.
I had hoped to forge a new…something with the man I matched with, but that was a bust.
Oh well, it is what it is. I’ll enjoy being out with my friend and try to find someone my age and speed while we’re here.
About twenty minutes later, Barb walks in with a few other professors, her eyes downcast as she huddles into herself. Her friends see Mike and wave, then weave their way over to us. I suppress a curse.
It’s not that I don’t want her here; she’s a nice woman. But it’ll be awkward, what with me turning her down, then being out with Mike.
I don’t get a chance to excuse myself before they’re on us, exchanging pleasantries. I give her a loose hug, smiling when she whispers a hello.
“Fancy seeing you all here,” Bert, a math professor, says as he scoops up the darts. “I didn’t think anyone else would come out after hell week.”
Mike and I groan. “Don’t mention that shit,” Mike says, shaking his head. “Someone is still playing tricks on Bridge.”
Bert looks at me, surprised. “Oh? What happened?”
I quickly tell him about the letters, but wave off everyone’s concern. “I emailed the dean. It’ll be handled unless the frats want their houses suspended. I’m not worried.”
“Good call,” Barb says quietly. “But this is a prestigious school. They’ll knock it off with a warning. No need to worry.”
I agree and we all play a few games, and I listen as everyone talks and laughs. Both me and Barb keep to ourselves, letting the fun flow around us.
Maybe she would be more my type, someone my speed—not very talkative, chill and people watching.
Sliding a seat closer to her, I say, “I’m sorry…about what happened.” I feel awkward bringing it up, but she really is a nice woman and there’s nothing wrong with us being friends.
“Oh,” she squeaks, looking at me with wide eyes. “It’s okay. I…can we start over?”
Smiling, I nod and stick my hand out. “I’m Warren Bridge. I’d like us to be friends.”
Her laugh is tinkling as she shakes my hand in return. “Barbara Cooke, but you can call me Barb. And I’d like that.”
For the rest of the night, we sit and talk about people around us, making up stories about their lives and guessing their futures. It’s more fun than I’ve had in a while.
As I’m at the bar, ordering another round for our table, I think I see a familiar face in the crowd. My head snaps up, looking for dark hair and glinting jewelry. My head is on a swivel as I look left and right, hoping it really was him, but nothing.
I scoff and collect the beers. Why would Thorne be in a place like this? He’s only twenty-four. No one in here is younger than thirty-five. This wouldn’t be his crowd.
Feeling a hollow ache in my chest, I set the beers down and watch as more people come and go. None of them look remotely like Thorne.
Sighing, I spend the rest of the night in a funk, pissed at myself that I’m still in this foul mood after weeks of radio silence from him.
After a few more minutes, I decide to call it a night, no longer in the mood to people watch or chat. Barb looks a little sad that I’m taking off early, but I don’t let that change my decision to leave. I’ve had enough for the night.
I’m not drunk, but I still take a cab home, not wanting to risk getting pulled over. I’ll collect my car in the morning.
Once home, I head into my bedroom, strip off my clothes and head to the shower. I’m so tired I just want to collapse into bed, but I spilled beer on myself and don’t want to go to bed smelling of hops.
My shower is quick—just enough to rid myself of the smell of bar. I get out, towel wrapped around my waist, and head to my room to grab pajamas.
When I step into my room, it takes a moment to figure out what’s wrong, what’s different.
The lights are out. Before I went to the shower, I’d left them on so I could—
As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I see a figure standing at my bedroom door, watching me. My heart kicks up in my chest, and my breathing becomes choppy as I try to figure out if it’s my imagination playing tricks on me or if I have a fucking intruder.
“Don’t scream, Firebird,” the person whispers, stepping closer so the moonlight through the open window catches the piercings in his face.
“Thorne?” I ask, my heart rate still not relaxing. “Did you break into my house?”
“Nah,” he says, stepping closer to me. “I just picked the lock.”
“That’s…that’s what breaking in means,” I sputter, though my body is blooming because he’s here. This is fucking wild, but…I’m not going to tell him to get out.
I’ve been thinking about him—both of them—for weeks. A little breaking and entering isn’t going to stop me from getting close to him.
Thorne advances on me, backing me into the wall. He presses himself chest to chest with me and I breathe him in, his spicy scent tickling my nose and calming that racing organ behind my ribs.
“I’ve missed you, Warren,” he drawls, his calloused fingers trailing from my waist down to the tie in my towel. “I couldn’t stay away.”
“Were you in the bar?” I ask, my breathing sawing in and out of me. “Did I see you earlier?”
“Mhm,” he hums, flicking my towel off quickly. “I saw you talking to Professor Cooke. Looked real cozy.”
“We’re not,” I assure him quickly. “We’re just friends.”
“She looked like she wanted more.” I gasp as he wraps his fingers around my straining cock, stroking me slowly. “Do you want more from her, Warren? Did I read you wrong?”
I shake my head, then rest it against the wall as I pant. “No. Not wrong. But we can’t…we shouldn’t.”
“Shouldn’t?” He tilts his head and assesses me as he jerks me off. “You don’t want to?”
“Oh god,” I whisper when he applies more pressure to my shaft, the pain sending a spark of pleasure flaring down my spine. “I do…but you…Chance…your…fuck.” He reaches down with his free hand and tugs my balls. “You two….”
“We’ll be fine, Professor,” Thorne says, leaning closer until his lips are a hairsbreadth from mine. “Tell me you want us. Tell me you’ll belong to us.”
“Yes,” I whisper, thrusting my hips into his hand, my release imminent.
His dangerous laugh heightens my arousal, and I open my mouth to moan my pleasure. Thorne takes that opportunity to lean forward and kiss me hard, tangling his tongue with mine.
I explode without warning, my release taking me by surprise as I shudder against him.
Thorne nips my bottom lip, stroking me through my orgasm. He removes his hand from my sac to keep me on my feet, his strong arm holding me up.
“Fuck,” I groan, leaning my head against his shoulder in embarrassment. “That was quick.”
“I don’t mind,” Thorne says. “Shows me how much you missed me too.”
Now that my head is clear from my orgasm, I look up at Thorne. “You can’t just break into my house. That’s a felony.”
He shrugs. “Misdemeanor at best. And you’re worth it.”
Sighing, I pick up my towel and wipe my release from Thorne’s hand and pants. “This is a bad idea. You and Chance are just starting out in life. I’m tenured, so I can take the hit, but sleeping with a professor—”
“None of that shit matters to me, and Chance doesn’t care either,” he interrupts. “Stop finding reasons not to be with us.”
“They’re good reasons,” I argue.
“Maybe,” he shrugs, so nonchalant, “but it’s not going to stop me or him for coming to get you, Firebird.”
His hand clean, Thorne flicks the light on and walks over to my nightstand. He picks up my phone and hands it to me. I unlock it and he rattles off his number.
“Text me.”
I do and he grins when the ping sounds in his pocket.
“I’ll be gone for a few days next week. But when I get back, I want to see you and Golden. Keep each other company while I’m gone though, okay?”
I find myself nodding, though it’s really not a good idea.
Gripping me by the chin, Thorne kisses me hard, a feeling of claiming descending over me.
Yeah, I’m his. No matter how much I’ve tried to tell myself I wasn’t, I belong to him and Chance.
They both opened up my eyes to what pleasure could be like, not just sexually, but spending time with someone I’m getting to know.
I don’t want to give that up. We’ll just have to be careful.
“See you soon, Firebird.” With that, Thorne leaves me standing alone in my room, wondering what just happened.