Save Me, Sinners

“Dissolved? But how? What does that mean?”

“It means you guys need to look for new housing,” I mutter, but they can't even hear me. They chatter among themselves about thirty seconds, realizing that life is about to get very different.

“You did this,” Lizzie says with certainty. She's right, so I'm not going to even attempt to deny it.

“I warned you, Elizabeth. I told you to stop,” I explain simply.

“Stop?” she repeats, incredulous. “Why should I have to stop? Do you know how much stuff I haven't even released yet? Do you know all the juicy videos I've got of sweet little Kita? I can fucking destroy her!”

“Lizzie, don't,” I warn her.

But she's on a roll. She steps toward me, her nostrils flaring with every shallow breath. I can feel the heat coming off of her and the trembling rage in her voice.

“Oh but I have to,” she explains evilly. “You see, little Nikita has been a favorite since she arrived at the sorority house. She's been practically a superstar. There are a lot of people with a lot of money who expect —”

I take a step forward, almost nose to nose with her. I won't touch her, but I want her to know how easily I could.

“You're finished, Lizzie,” I explain calmly. “Everything you have has already been pinpointed and destroyed. Did you really think that you could be hosting that kind of bandwidth and no one would notice? You're an amateur and what you’ve been doing is highly illegal.”

“You have no right—”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter. You see, I didn’t do it,” I interrupt her. She stares lasers at me, furious and considering her next move.

But she’s out of time.

“Elizabeth!” comes a voice from inside a Town Car that just pulled up. A long leg bends forward, followed by the lithe, primal figure of Marilyn Whitmore.

“M-mother?” Lizzie stammers, reddening almost to the shade of her hair. She glares at me. “You called my mother??”

I shrug. “You’re lucky I didn’t call my friends in the Secret Service.”

As Marilyn advances, the other girls go completely quiet. I back away as subtly as possible and head home, satisfied the situation will be handled more or less immediately. Marilyn Whitmore is even more terrifying than her monster of a daughter.

The day goes by excruciatingly slowly. I know Kita will be in class for a few more hours, so I take a drive around, looking at my businesses, past and present. Soon, my name is going to be on the University as well. People will see it every day. That's a little more obvious than I've been in the past, but I feel all right about it. It certainly seemed to make the Dean friendlier toward me. Which is currency I can use.

But Marilyn's arrival was brilliant timing. I couldn't possibly have planned that better myself. After I spoke to Candace, she followed up with an email saying she would contact Marilyn to discuss “all the options." I was fairly sure what she meant, and I'm relieved to find out it's all been put into motion so quickly.

As I pass by the technology incubator, the Dean's admiration for Kita flashes through my mind. So, she designed an app? A socially significant app? How did I not know this?

I can't wait to learn more about her. She gets more intriguing with every day that passes. I had intended to invite her to dinner, but making my offer in front of Lizzie and her cohorts was just too perfect. I could tell by the expression on Kita's face that she was grateful. And that came with a twinge of guilt too, because maybe some of Lizzie's insinuations that I have been hiding Kita away have a small amount of truth to them. Maybe Kita felt like I didn’t want to go out with her publicly. I’m such a private person, it didn’t become obvious to me until just now.

But no longer. We are going to turn that ship around.

When I get home, I take a long time to pick out an outfit, trying to imagine what she's going to wear. One of those sweet, feminine dresses, no doubt. Something that is going to make it almost impossible to spend the evening next to her without wanting her more every second.

That's all right. That's a challenge.

I hope I am up to it.

When I hear her come home, I stay in my room until I hear her head for the shower. Then I go downstairs and putter around, letting the anticipation build.

Finally I just stand at the bottom of the stairs, practically breathless with excitement. I hear her moving around upstairs and with every passing second, my excitement gets bigger. I don't know if she's doing this to me on purpose, or if it just comes naturally to her, but the ache in my core is exquisite.

I hear her door open and hold my breath. When she appears at the top of the stairs, she pauses for just a beat, letting me drink it in. She's wearing a flowy, peach-colored dress with half sleeves and a wide neckline that almost drops off the edge of her highly kissable shoulder. It swirls around her form and flutters just above her knees. I see her bounce on her toes lightly before beginning to descend, her smile so bright it lights up the room.

For just a second, I can't say anything because I'm afraid if I do I’m going to blurt out something inappropriate. Because she's lovely, and I want to be respectful... but I also want to tear that dress off of her and take her right here on the foyer floor.

When she drops to the slate tiles, she twirls around playfully, ending with a shy shrug and a twinkle in her eye.