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  His father had thrown away everything in a moment of weakness. Hurt his wife. Lost everything he’d ever worked for. Years later, the girl admitted in the press that she had in fact lied about her age, going so far as to show her father a fake ID that had conveniently disappeared before charges had been filed. Nothing excused his father’s actions. Nothing. Not even the girl’s deception.

  DECEPTION. DECEPTION. JUST like Honey pretending she didn’t know him that night in the closet. Openly seducing him even though she knew what it could cost him.

  Ben had no idea how long he sat there, taking the bottle his mother passed him and drinking deeply. Eventually, she closed her eyes and passed out on the couch, her eye makeup smeared by her tears. He threw a blanket over her and grabbed his satchel off the bookcase, taking it to the kitchen, where light from an outside streetlamp shined in through the window. Peter’s advice from earlier filtered in through his whiskey-drunk state, making more and more sense as it lapped around his head.

  Head it off at the pass. Be up front and write a formal letter to Dean Mahoney, letting him know a student has shown interest in you. That way, if blondie ever claims you harassed her, you’ve already been honest. It will count in your favor.

  Could he do something like that? Did he have a fucking choice? He’d vowed to himself as a child and again as a man that he would never end up like his father. That he would never let his judgment be clouded by a woman. But he’d done it. Barely one year into his career as a professor, and he’d already broken his word. How could he respect himself if he left himself wide open for the same result? No. No, he had to avoid the same fate at all costs. He’d be damned before he ended up like his father, living in a halfway house somewhere in California. No contact with his family. Not a dime to his name because he’d let it be taken away. That wouldn’t be Ben.

  Ben pulled the notebook out of his bag that was usually reserved for lesson plans. He flipped it open with one hand while nabbing a pen with the other. And he started to write.

  Dean Mahoney,

  I’m writing to you about a matter of great importance.

  Ben dropped his head forward. He sounded like a Victorian novel. Just keep going. Change it later.

  One of my students, Ms. Honey Perribow, has taken an apparent romantic interest in me. Normally, I find it relatively easy to ignore these inconvenient situations until they run their due course, but she has actively pursued me. Aggressively, in some cases. To the point where I no longer feel she is capable of processing my polite and repeated rejections. I have no interest in any of my students, especially the student in question, beyond teaching them and giving appropriate grades.

  He dropped the pen to remove his glasses. His head was suddenly pounding, as if he’d fast-forwarded to the hangover portion of this drinking process. Writing this letter felt infinitely wrong. They were lies. When had he become a liar on top of being a rule breaker? His stomach burned, the whiskey turning to lava and spreading to his limbs. Almost done. He picked up the pen again.

  I no longer feel capable of handling this situation on my own. The longer it goes on, I worry that Ms. Perribow may grow even more insistent that there is a romantic connection between us when that is simply not the case. While I’m not requesting you take any active steps against the student, I would ask that you put it on record as a preemptive explanation on my behalf. Thank you.

  Prof. Ben Dawson

  After taking one final pull from the whiskey bottle, Ben shoved the notebook back into his bag and walked unevenly to his bed, Honey’s tinkling laugh echoing in his skull.

  Chapter 11

  IT WAS FRIDAY night. Honey should have been out raising hell. Letting the slightly older Roxy and Abby buy her drinks in a bar that didn’t card at the door. She should have put on something sexy, like a . . . a sequined romper and paired it with lipstick several shades too dark for her complexion. That’s what she should have been doing. Instead, she was sitting on the roof, staring out over the Manhattan skyline, dumping Pixy Stix into her mouth. A bona fide party animal.

  Two days had passed since her classroom conga with Ben, and she’d heard nothing from him. On a personal level, at least. She hadn’t known what to expect from him in class this morning, but it had fallen firmly on the less desirable end of the spectrum, to put it mildly. He hadn’t looked at her once. Not once. She’d sat in the middle row, same as last time, careful to put some distance between herself and Todd, but her Monster Energy drink chugging classmate had lumbered over and plopped down beside her anyway. She thought she’d seen Ben flinch at that point, but when his gaze didn’t find her once for the remainder of the hour, she decided she must have imagined it.

  That told her everything she needed to know. It had been a onetime thing, and he regretted it. So . . . fine. Okay. Her affair with Professor Ben had ended with a bang. A seriously hot, unforgettable, drove-her-crazy-just-to-think-about-it bang. She shouldn’t feel betrayed. Or like her insides were being prodded at with a hot poker. She shouldn’t feel like she’d been picked up by a hurricane and set down somewhere else. But she did. Ever since class this morning, everything she’d done had felt like a considerable effort. Sitting down, standing up, eating, talking, comprehending words. She’d gone past her subway stop without realizing it and ended up halfway to Chinatown.

  She was starting to think she’d imagined the whole thing. Ben had never been anything but her professor. There hadn’t been a connection between them in the closet or that day after class when he’d noticed her for the first time. He’d never thrown her onto a desk and given her pleasure with his brilliant, insightful mouth. Never. She’d made it all up. While she knew that simply couldn’t be true, the idea of it hurt more than anything. Knowing it could all be a memory so easily. No closure or even a formal rejection from either of them. When she’d walked out of the classroom that night, he’d been staring after her like he couldn’t wait to touch her again. What had changed?

  The roof door slamming made her jump a foot in the air. “Jesus!”

  “Sorry!” Abby put her hands out. “I’ve never been up here. I assumed it would coast to a close.”

  “Well, it didn’t.” Honey pressed a palm over her pounding heart, seeing for the first time how Abby was dressed. In a short, black eyelet skirt and pink halter top, she looked incredible. “Where are you going?”

  “Where are we going, you mean?” Abby clicked to the edge of the roof in her high-heeled Mary Janes and propped an arm on the brick wall. She kicked off one of the shoes and massaged her right foot. “Out. Louis has decreed that our two supergroups are merging into one giant, unstoppable supergroup. He and Roxy are working on a secret handshake as we speak.”

  “He’s downstairs?” Honey came to her feet slowly, irritated by the way her pulse started beating in Morse code. “Who else is there?”

  “Russell is in my room killing a spider.” She switched feet, massaging the left with relish. “It went under my bed, and unless he finds and kills it, we’re moving.”

  “Obviously.”

  Honey swallowed heavily, resisting the urge to shake Abby and ask about Ben’s presence, but her friend beat her to it with a knowing smile. “Ben is meeting us at the Longshoreman later. He had a late meeting.”

  “Oh.” Honey tried to hide her cheeseball smile by ducking her head, pretending to survey her own boring outfit. If he was meeting up with everyone knowing she would be there, he couldn’t have blown her off completely, right? Maybe he’d just been busy and she’d dramatized the whole thing. Either way, she was going to see Ben in a few short hours, and there was no denying the excitement fizzing in her bloodstream. “I guess I’d better go change.”

  “Roxy already picked out a dress for you. It’s on your bed.” Abby replaced both shoes and did a little dance. “How come you never want to wear my clothes?”

  Honey pointed to Abby’s outfit. “I’d wear that.”

  “It’s Roxy’s.”

  “There you go.”

&
nbsp; Half an hour later, Honey had changed into the most incredible little black dress she’d ever worn. It had white leather cutouts for pockets and showed just enough cleavage to be friendly. In the interest of making sure Abby didn’t feel left out, she’d pilfered a pair of red Jimmy Choos from an unopened box in her closet, surprised when they fit her feet, considering Abby was so much taller. All four of her friends whistled when she walked into the living room, so she put on a fierce model expression and cat walked over to retrieve her purse.

  They spoke over one another on their way down the sidewalk to the Longshoreman, telling stories and making good-natured fun of one another, the energy that comes from the start of a night out singing in the air around them. This is when Honey loved New York the most. When possibilities are laid out before you like bright, shining swimming pools and you just have to decide which one to dive into. She didn’t have to wake up tomorrow on time or be in a lab until Monday. Free. She felt free. The homesickness she’d been experiencing was the furthest thing from her mind as cabs whipped past in streaks of yellow and stars winked between the skyscrapers. At the root of it all, she knew this exhilarated feeling came from the knowledge she would see Ben. Just seeing him was enough to make her float down the street on their way downtown.

  When they reached the Longshoreman, they practically fell into the last available table. Louis pulled Roxy down onto his lap and propped his head on her shoulder. Russell yanked out two chairs for Honey and Abby, propping himself against the wall when there were no more seats available. He didn’t seem to mind, though. As if being on guard duty came natural to him.

  “So, Honey. How are those premed courses coming?” Louis spoke up over the loud music. “Cut anybody open yet?”

  “No. Are you volunteering?”

  Laughing, he grabbed the pitcher of beer the waitress set down in front of them, pouring the foamy, gold liquid into plastic cups. “This marks the second time you’ve threatened me with a knife. Is that some kind of Southern custom?”

  “Nope.” She sent him an exaggerated wink. “Just mine.”

  Roxy held up her beer for a toast. “To threats of castration and slightly terrifying Southernisms.”

  “Cheers.”

  They all drank. Abby tilted her head back and looked up at Russell. Who was already looking down at her with a frown. “You work construction all day while I’m in an air- conditioned office. Why don’t you take my seat and I’ll stand a while?”

  He nodded toward something beneath the table. “Because your feet hurt.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know because your shoes are at least two sizes too small. You could barely walk on the way here.” He actually looked irritated at her, tugging the collar of his Hart Brothers Construction shirt. “Why would you wear uncomfortable shoes?”

  “Because they match.”

  “Oh, they match.” He shifted against the wall. “You’re taking a cab home.” Abby grinned up into Russell’s frown until he shook his head, an answering smile forming around the hard edges of his mouth. “Women like you were sent here to drive us all crazy.”

  “Thank you.”

  Honey turned her amusement on Roxy, hoping to gauge her friend’s reaction to the chemistry buzzing between Russell and Abby, but Roxy looked . . . ill. Beside her, Louis didn’t appear much better. Both of them were staring at the bar entrance. With a pit of dread in her stomach, Honey turned in her seat.

  Ben had just walked in, looking as he always did. Just out of work. A little stressed. His navy button-down was tucked into gray slacks, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He wasn’t alone, though. Walking in beside him with a megawatt smile on her face was the older woman he’d sat with at the poetry reading. They were holding hands.

  OH SHIT. THIS feels like a colossal, goddamn mistake. But that had to be natural, right? Because hurting someone’s feelings wasn’t supposed to feel good. In this case, though, it was necessary. The entire subway ride there, Ben had been debating with himself over how to let Honey down easy. If he’d be able to let her down at all, once he got within the vicinity of her and could smell, hear, see her. So when he’d run into Viv coming out of the bookstore two blocks away, he’d thought he’d seen his solution. She’d beaten him to the punch by asking him out for a drink, and he’d said yes. Or he’d heard himself say yes. Or maybe he hadn’t said anything at all. She’d latched onto his hand, and here they were.

  And now that he was standing in Honey’s vicinity, now that they were standing in the same room, he knew with dead certainty that he wouldn’t have been able to accomplish letting her down any other way. She was painfully beautiful staring at him from across the bar, her face flushed from laughing. She’d parted her hair differently so that it was all pushed over onto one side, and he had the odd, sudden urge to ask her why she’d decided to do that. His friends were glaring at him, but he only knew that because he could feel it. He couldn’t take his eyes off Honey long enough to confirm.

  The pink flush in her cheeks was changing, turning red, the sparkle in her golden eyes dulling and dimming. Viv was asking him something, probably what he wanted to drink, but he couldn’t focus on the words. He forced himself to remember why he’d done this. Honey had lied to him, let him walk into a trap. She was everything that had ruined his father, his family. She’d willingly put his career in jeopardy. It was too familiar, and he needed to distance himself from it.

  So when she jumped out of her chair and sped off toward the back of the bar, why did he drop Viv’s hand like a live grenade and take off after her? Because he had no choice. His body moved before his mind registered the action, as if one end of an invisible rope was attached to him and Honey held the other side. He dipped in and out of noisy groups of people, feeling like he’d left his stomach behind him at the bar.

  Oh God. Her face.

  At that moment, even with the voice in his head telling him breaking things off was right, nothing seemed worth the betrayal and hurt he’d seen on her face. What the hell was he going to do if he caught up with her? Explain that he had to hurt her like this? Explain that if he left even a sliver of a chance for this relationship to continue, he’d be toast? He so would. Nothing could keep him away from Honey unless she wanted nothing to do with him.

  Now that he’d handily accomplished that goal and couldn’t take back what he’d done, he had the horrible suspicion that he hadn’t thought it all the way through. That he’d missed something important and it would come back to haunt him. Or maybe it already was.

  Ben ground to a halt outside the women’s bathroom. A brunette walked out drying her hands on her shirt, giving him a funny look when he tried to look over her shoulder before the door closed. “Yeah?”

  “Is there a blonde in there? She would have just walked in.”

  “Nope. Empty.”

  He cursed under his breath while turning in a circle. Where else could she have gone? Two swinging, wooden doors caught his eye, located opposite the bathroom. Several men bustled behind them, yelling over the loud music. The kitchen. Not stopping to think, Ben pushed through the doors, ignoring the strange looks he received as he jogged to the other side, toward the back exit he’d suspected was there. He saw a flash of blond hair and increased his pace, throwing open the door as soon as he reached it.

  His heart started to slam when he saw her. Although it was possible it hadn’t beaten since she’d seen him walk in with someone else. But it kick-started now in a gear high enough to make breathing difficult. She hadn’t seen him yet from where she stood in the middle of the sidewalk, staring out into the side street. Her fists were tightened into balls at her sides, body strung tight as a bow.

  “Honey.”

  She jolted, but didn’t turn to face him. “Jesus. Go away, Ben.”

  His throat was impossibly tight. “I think I did this wrong.”

  “What were you trying to do?”

  “Let you down easy.” It sounded so insanely stupid now. Nothing about this girl
or this situation or the way she made him feel was easy. Everything she inspired in him was intense and concentrated.

  She tossed her head back and laughed, the sound cutting right through him. “Yeah, I’d say you did it wrong.”

  “I’m sorry it has to be this way.”

  “I’m not.” Finally, blessedly, she turned those golden eyes on him. And he was fucked. Fucked. They were hot-tempered and magnificent. Just like the rest of her. They pinned him to where he stood, daring him to move. He couldn’t move, though, because if he moved, it would be toward her, and he needed to move away. How could he do that, when one look from her eviscerated his resolve to end things? “I’m not sorry you did this, Ben, because now I know what an unfeeling asshole you are. I know you’re not worth my time or thoughts. Now I know.”

  Her words scalded him in the worst way. Worst because that part of him she’d woken up, the part that hated when other guys looked at her or ached to see her knee bleeding, demanded that he prove her wrong. It couldn’t cope with her believing that about him. But he forced himself to remain where he was, not going to her even though it tore him open.

  Honey narrowed her eyes at him, tilting her head as if she could see everything taking place inside his fucked-up brain. No, she could. When the corner of her mouth tilted up, he knew she could see it.

  She turned on a heel and came toward him, hair streaming out behind her in the night wind. He swore his heart beat ten times in between each click of her shoes on the concrete, each swish of her dress against her thighs. The intention in her eyes was a warning he should be heeding, but it was nothing doing. All he could do was wait for her to reach him, because it felt vital. It was what she might have done in the bar if he hadn’t walked in holding someone else’s hand.

  Her fingers dragging up his chest was all it took for him to grow hard as a fucking rock. He knew that if they hadn’t been standing on a street with cars whizzing past, he would have grabbed her hand and put it on his cock, shamelessly begged her to jack him off. Anyone from the university could have walked past and seen them, but he could only hold his breath and see what she’d do next. When she flattened her palm on his belly and nudged him backwards toward a recessed doorway, Ben went. He needed to. Needed her.