Beauty and the Professor (A Modern Fairy Tale Duet 1)

She rolled her eyes. “No, you called me your girlfriend.”

“What else should I call you?”

“Hmm. Your fuck buddy?”

He frowned. “My lover.”

“Your maid.” No matter that she didn’t work for him anymore. That was how they met. It would always define their relationship, wouldn’t it? It would always be between them.

His hands clasped hers. He rested his forehead against hers. “My everything.”

She sighed in happiness. Maybe everything would be okay.

Blake

Blake leaned against the doorframe and watched until her red taillights turned onto the main road. It was best that she

leave. He had a lot to take care of, and it would be too tempting to lose himself in her body while she was near. She’d helped drag him out of the pit he’d dug for himself, and he was grateful. But he couldn’t continue to use her as a crutch. Already he felt the stirrings of hope within him, like a breath of spring wind. He’d catch himself thinking of someplace to take her, fitting in travel plans between his terms at the university. Terms, plural. As if he’d stay on, when he swore it was only temporary.

All of that was well and good, but before he could move forward, he needed to look back. To finally handle what he’d been too fucked up to deal with when he’d first returned home.

The drive to the hospital took thirty minutes, during which time he steeled himself. Still, as the wide automatic doors slid open, the chemical smell hit like a physical blow. He gritted his teeth and stepped inside. The muted conversation between the nurses, the fluorescent lighting, the mauve-beige-neutral walls—all too fucking familiar. He broke into a cold sweat, feeling the searing pain of his burns all over again. Months, he’d lain in that bed. He remembered shouting hoarsely for them not to touch him, to just give him more pain medicine and go the fuck away. They hadn’t listened, poking and prodding.

“Sir?”

He blinked. A nurse in pink scrubs was staring at him.

“Are you okay, sir?”

“Yes. Yes, of course. I’m looking for a friend of mine.”

She led him to the information desk where she looked up Private First Class Joseph Davis. Blake had visited when he’d first been discharged, but as he’d suspected, Joe had been moved to a different room. A different wing altogether, a more permanent one.

Pink and blue balloons in the gift shop window caught his eye. He stopped inside and picked out a small arrangement of colorful flowers. Joe wouldn’t care—or notice—but he suspected Sherry would be there.

The room was much nicer than the old one had been. It was large, with faux cherry-wood paneling, a wide window overlooking the city, and a sofa that probably doubled as a bed. He studiously avoided the bleached white hospital bed in the center of everything, crowded with plastic piping and holding the unconscious body of his friend.

Sherry stood and greeted him with a tired smile and no surprise to mark the months that had passed. “Blake, how are you? Come in, come in.”

He handed the flowers to Sherry and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “You look great. How’s the kiddo?”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you deflecting. But thanks. Matt’s at school.”

“School? Jesus. Last time I saw him he was in diapers.”

She laughed, setting the flowers down by the window. “Preschool. They do colors and shapes and stuff, that’s all. Just twice a week. Gives me some time to breathe.”

“Of course you need a break. In fact, you should let me hire someone. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that before.”

“Blake, you’ve already done too much for us.”

“I haven’t been here in months.”

She rolled her eyes. “And who paid off the mortgage on our condo?”

“I got your thank-you note. That was sweet.” She’d signed her name at the bottom…and his. Joseph and Sherry Davis. Blake had gotten drunk and surfaced a week later with a mother of a hangover.

“Well, come on. You can talk to him. I’ll run and grab some coffee. You want something?”