India
Lena leans around the doorframe of my office, her long dreads swinging over her shoulder.
“Hey, India, if you don’t need anything else, I’m going to head out. There’s a BOGO sale over at that new shoe store in the outlet mall with my name all over it.”
Smiling, I wave a hand at the administrative assistant. “Of course, go. And thank you for coming in. I really appreciate you sacrificing a couple of hours on your Saturday for me.”
I hadn’t asked Lena to give me a hand in gathering the teachers’ lessons plans and organizing them so I could review and make notes on them. But when she called and found out I would be over at the school, she volunteered to come on in. And I’m thankful. What’s the saying? Two hands are better than one? And it’s definitely less lonely and she makes the work easier. I have digital copies of the plans as well just in case—God forbid—the Department of Education request an audit but for bi-weekly purposes, I print the lesson plans out and critique them.
“Believe me, it’s no problem at all.” Giving me a wave, she disappears from the doorway and I hear her moving in the outer office. “See you Monday!”
“Bye! Have a good weekend!”
I bow my head over the lesson plan on my desk, making a note in the column about the comprehension section of Ms. Dillon’s language arts class, when a soft noise from the Lena’s office caught my attention.
Smiling, I call out to her. “What did you forget?”
“Apparently, my mind. Morals. Sense of self-preservation.”
Shock reverberates through me, and I stiffen, my fingers clenching around my pen so tight, it’s in danger of snapping.
That most definitely is not Lena.
Inhaling a deep, deliberate breath, I lift my head. And meet Asa’s gaze.
Like a light switch, desire floods me at just the sight of him. At the memory of what he’d done to me, to my body the night before.
But an instant later, reality doused some of that electrified heat. Reality in the form of remembering waking up alone this morning. That happened when the person you’ve gone to sleep with snuck out at some point in the early hours like a thief.
Or a guilt-ridden cheat.
“What’re you doing here?” I ask, and my calm tone belies the thud of my heart against my sternum.
“You.” He moves into my office, hands stuffed in the front pockets of his jeans. “I went by your house, but when I didn’t see your car there, I drove here on the off chance you’d be here. I called the office to reach you and spoke with the office assistant. The one with the glasses and shit-eating grin? She didn’t say anything?”
Wait until I get my hands on Lena. I’m kicking her ass.
“No,” I say through gritted teeth. “She must’ve forgot to mention it.”
He shrugs a muscled shoulder. “She’s the one who let me in on her way out.”
Of course she did. I’m so kicking her ass.
“Okay, that explains the how, but not the why or what. Take your pick.”
Yes, my voice holds all the warmth of the Arctic winds, and if there’s any justice in this world, he’s freezing his nuts off right now. I’d known going into last night that I would regret it. Not being with him—I could never harbor any remorse over touching him, kissing him, having him inside of me. Finally. No, I would regret that strained, uncertain aftermath, when we struggled to look each other in the eye. When he wallowed in his shame and saw me as a walking, breathing betrayal, instead of a woman he claimed to desire.
Little did I know he wouldn’t even stick around for the walk of shame.
He leans his big frame against one of my bookshelves and studies me. It calls on every scrap of pride I can scrounge to hike my chin up and continue meeting his gaze. But I need him to say whatever it is he came here to say, and get out.
One lesson I’ve learned lately? When it comes to this man my pride is an endangered species.
But I’ve done this before. I’ve been here before.
And I’m not willing to revert to that version of myself. Not for Asa. Not for lo—
What the hell?