Fake Marriage Box Set

“This is my number. Feel free to text or call if you need something. I don’t always check email and would hate to show up to class unprepared.”

He reached out and took the paper, stared at it and then stuffed it into the pocket of his black slacks. I suddenly felt like I made a huge mistake. Did I violate some rule? He seemed a little weirded out.

“Uh, okay, then. I need to get going,” I stammered, walking back to my desk to collect my things.

When I turned to leave, he was still standing in the same spot, looking at me. A bolt of heat slammed into me. His steady gaze held me in place. I couldn’t move. I stared back, looking into those green eyes that held so much pain and sorrow. There was a hint of something else I couldn’t quite put my thumb on.

With a quick shake of my head, I tried to focus. This was not a man who got hot and bothered by his younger assistant. It was probably irritation that I saw. He was irritated with me for being forward and unprofessional.

“See you tomorrow,” I said, as I walked by him once my legs finally started working again.

“Yeah, tomorrow,” he said, clearing his throat.

I dreaded the ride home. The humidity was high today. I hated the humidity but loved Florida. You had to take the good with the bad, I supposed.

Breaking into my rented house was fairly easy. Maybe a little too easy I thought to myself, realizing my roommate and I should probably be a little more safety conscious. We never locked the kitchen window in the back, assuming nobody would bother going around to the back of the house. That was pretty dumb, I realized.

I walked through the small two-bedroom house and unlocked the front door, then grabbed my backpack and headed back inside. The backpack landed on the table with a loud thud. I sighed, thinking about my morning and decided to stay in for the rest of the day. I deserved it.

My gaze went to the picture on the mantle like it always did. There, the smiling face of my beautiful little sister was looking back at me. Staring at the picture of Talia made me want to both scream and cry at the same time. It was so unfair. She should still be here. She should be starting her third year of college. Instead, she was buried in Georgia.

The tears clouded my vision, and before I knew it, they were streaking down my face. Why I kept that picture there, I didn’t know. Every time I looked at it, I was slapped with a horrible sense of loss, as if I were missing a part of my very soul. The picture was in the same spot it had been for nearly two years. After her death eight months ago, I couldn’t bring myself to move it, and Maria hadn’t touched it either. There was a layer of dust over the glass, dulling Talia’s once bright smile. I couldn’t touch the picture. Every day I promised myself soon. Soon I would be able to dust it and look at the picture and smile. That day hadn’t yet come.

Taking a deep breath, I turned away and headed for the bathroom to wash my face. I wanted to show Professor Dunlap that I was the best assistant in the school. I couldn’t risk him firing me because I needed that credit to graduate on time. No way could I afford to repeat a semester to make up for the one I had completely blown after Talia’s death.

Chapter Three

Ian

With a coffee in one hand and my book under my arm, I dug in my pocket for the key to my domain. I stopped when I noticed the door to the classroom was already open a crack. It was then I remembered the dean had told me the assistant would have a key in case I had to miss class for any reason. The dean made it very clear that class was never canceled. Either I showed up, or the assistant did.

I pushed the door open with my foot and froze when I saw her sitting at her desk. It wasn’t in the corner. She had apparently moved it closer to mine. I felt violated. She was too close. My heart started beating fast, and I could feel the anxiety threatening to take over. I fought back the need to shove the desk back into its original place.

As soon as she left, I would move it. She would get the hint then. This was my space. My things were in the desk. Having her so close felt like an invasion. It had been far too long since I’d shared a space with someone and I had no intention of starting again now. She had to go.

She looked up and smiled. “Hi,” she said, in a tone a little too cheery for me.

I nodded in response before putting the book down on my desk that was far more organized than it was when I’d left it yesterday. She had not only moved closer to my desk; she had been all over it, touching and sorting. Taking a sip of the hot, black coffee, and staring at the neat stacks of paper, I studied the situation. Each stack had a post-it on top, indicating what it was.

She had been busy. I was impressed.

“You’re early,” I said, not sure what else to say.

Small talk felt weird, and I was woefully out of practice. Talking to strangers felt awkward, and I generally didn’t know what to say. For so long, every conversation I had ended up being about my dead wife or my precious little girl. I didn’t have any friends, besides my brother Jake. I never went out, and never put myself in a position that required me actual interaction with others. I had become a recluse, and the longer I maintained my social exile, the easier it became.

When she smiled at me again, something stirred deep within. It felt strange—foreign. Her blue eyes twinkled and squinted a bit, commensurate with the size of her smile. She smiled with her eyes, as well as that beautiful mouth. I took a brief second to appreciate the young woman who was there to make me a better teacher. She was very pretty. I imagine she had a steady stream of men lining up to date her.

“I am early. I always try to be, plus I still feel terrible for yesterday,” she said, drawing my attention back to her face. My eyes had drifted south. She was wearing a tiny black t-shirt, with a deep V in the front. From my standing view, I managed to catch a glimpse of cleavage, as well as a bright pink bra. It had been a long time since I’d seen one of those.

“Thank you,” I muttered, trying to remember what I was thanking her for. She was looking at me strangely, and I realized she had probably caught me looking down her shirt like a twelve-year-old boy.

She stood, pulled the shirt down to cover the exposed ribbon of tanned skin revealed by the snug shirt that had ridden up her slender torso. Her waist was tiny, which was more evident in the low-rise jeans she was wearing. That odd stirring kicked up a notch, nearly putting me into a trance.

“I have this week’s lesson plans here,” she said, pointing to the neat stacks of paper. “If this system works for you, I’ll come in early on Mondays and get you all set up for the week.”

“That looks great. It will be very helpful,” I said.

There was an awkward silence as we stood there, looking at the papers, and then at each other. I wasn’t sure what to say.