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- Herausgeber: WS
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Serie: The With Honors Series
- Sprache: Englisch
Alexandra Rose is a 32-year-old divorced mother of two, looking for a better life for her and her sons. In search of answers, she returns to college to finally get that degree she’s always dreamed of. What she finds is something she wasn’t even looking for.
Mason Brooks is every girl's dream: 21 years old, tall, with dirty blond hair that curls when it’s wet, sea-blue eyes, and dimples. Hot, sexy...and deliciously naïve and innocent.
Enter a tantalizing world where an average soccer mom utilizes her newfound knowledge of psychology to make life just a little more interesting. Follow along as Alex educates Mason on the art of seducing and pleasing a woman. Take notes as she introduces him to a whole new level of intensity and sexual pleasure. Study the sensual art of tantric sex as Alex creates her own style of silk and lace female dominance.
This little tryst will never survive past college--but Alex is determined to enjoy it to the fullest while it lasts.
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Seitenzahl: 444
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
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What I Really Learned
in College
The With Honors Series
COPYRIGHT 2014 ADDISON WINTERS
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.
Attribution— You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).
Noncommercial— You may not use this work for commercial purposes.
No Derivative Works— You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.
Inquiries about additional permissions
should be directed to:[email protected]
Cover Design by Greg Simanson
Edited by Katrina M. Randall
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.
PRINT ISBN 978-1-62015-478-6
EPUB ISBN 978-1-62015-488-5
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
A big thank you to my fabulous team led by our fearless leader, Jesse James Freeman, followed by the not so silent presence of our team mouthpiece, Anne Chaconas, who does not believe in the word “censor.” Next comes our glorious and extremely talented Katrina Randall, who understands rambling gibberish, and our elegant proofer Lydia Johnson, who polishes the manuscript to a high shine. Of course, we cannot forget the one that binds us all together beneath his artistic blanket, Greg Simanson and his extraordinary ability to put a “face” on our hard work. And a big kiss and hug for my photographer, Larry Cooper, thanks for making me look fabulous. I cannot thank each of you enough for all your support, hard work and talent. Plus, my “conscience,” Liang Ang whose extraordinary feedback helped to shape my words. None of this would be possible without all of you! And finally, I cannot forget the one who inspired this series and his willingness to participate in testing my hypotheses . . . what a fabulous time! He he.
Chapter 1
THE BUTTERFLIES INmy stomach had grown to the size of buzzards tearing apart my insides. My palms were sweaty and my hands were grasping the steering wheel to keep from shaking. The mid July heat was sticky, the humidity on full blast. The music blaring from my car stereo was more of an annoyance than anything else. I hastily smacked the knob turning it off. “This is stupid . . . ,” I muttered to myself.
I turned the next corner into a parking lot full of cars. I had no clue where I was and an even lesser clue as to why I was even here in the first place. “You are so lost,” I said aloud to the empty car. I sat idling, looking for some sort of landmark that would tell me where I was. To my right was a hulking black man with an armload of books walking confidently across the lot. I slowly eased my car up beside him feeling more stalkerish than anything else.
“Excuse me. Can you tell me where student orientation is, please?” The early morning sunlight was blinding me and I couldn’t get a clear view of his face.
“First time on campus?” he said, rather than asked, with a full-hearted chuckle, leaning into my car.
“Yes,” I stuttered in return.
“And you’re lost, right? Well . . .” He stood upright and looked around. “Hell, it’d be quicker to show you.” And with that, he opened my door and climbed into my little car.
***
Fast forward three weeks and I found myself in a similar situation except this time, it was the first day of school…my first day of college and I was scared out of my mind.
I was thirty-two years old, a divorced mother with two sons and a victim of my own making. I had always dreamed of going to college, earning my bachelor’s degree and getting myself out of a stream of dead end jobs. I had finally convinced myself that now was the time to chase after that dream. I knew it was going to be challenging at best, but now that my youngest was in school full time I decided I could do it.
What the hell was I thinking?
So here I was, turning down the wrong way on a one-way street on campus, hearing a wave of horns blasting at me. My eyes searched for a place to turn off safely when my cell phone started ringing.
“Yeah . . .” I hit the speaker button.
“God, I hate the first day of school. Some asshole in a green car is driving down the wrong way on a one-way street. I hate freshman.” Isaac’s deep voice echoed through my car.
“Sorry, that’s me,” I stated with frustration, pulling into a parking lot on the east side of campus.
“Seriously? That’s you?” He laughed. “Figures.”
“Oh, shut up!” I pulled my little car into a vacant spot. “I hate this campus.”
“You’ll get used to it. By next week you’ll know it better than your own backyard.” A car horn blasted twice behind me. “Turn around.”
“Oh, sorry.” I glanced into my rearview mirror and watched him pulled into the spot next to mine. I turned off my car and gathered my backpack and keys.
Isaac was already standing beside my car before I even got my car door shut. “You’re slow.” He smiled.
“No, I’m terrified,” I muttered.
“Here. This will help.” He handed me a travel size bottle of orange juice.
I was parched so I gladly accepted his offer and took a small swig. “Argh.” I almost dropped the bottle. “What is this?”
“Orange juice,” he said innocently.
“What’s in it?”
“Just a little vodka.”
“I think I need some coffee before class,” I laughed, shaking my head slowly.
“This way.” Isaac gestured towards the building across the street.
Isaac was a pre-med student in his fourth year of college. The day of our first meeting he had kindly showed me all around campus, walking me to each of my classes just to ease my anxiety in anticipation of this day. He was in his mid-twenties, also considered an adultreturning student, and was hoping to someday become a surgeon. He was an easy-going man who was quick to laugh, easily six-feet-six-inches tall, and he weighted at least three hundred pounds.
***
I sat in the second row feeling completely out of place and casually looking around at my classmates. Almost all of them appeared closer to my eldest son’s age than my own. I fiddled with my pen and notebook, wondering once again if I’d made a huge mistake thinking I could do this.
A tiny little woman entered the class toting a bag that probably outweighed her easily by a note. She made her way up to the front ofthe class and let her bag drop heavily on the floor. This was our teacher… Damn, she looks barely old enough to drink. She was a petite girl with a mousey appearance. She stepped up to the podium with an obvious nervousness about her. She cleared her throat loudly and spoke to her feet.
“Welcome everyone to Psychology 104, Psychology as a Social Science. My name is Professor Medea and I will be your instructor this semester.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
She droned on for the remaining hour of class, never raising her eyes beyond the floor or speaking loudly enough for the people in the back to hear her. The girl seated beside me muttered, “This is ridiculous” several times while rolling her eyes, yet she continued working on the doodles she was creating on her notebook. Even I was struggling to stay awake.
I am not sure exactly what I expected on that first day, but it was nothing like what occurred. For some reason I thought of college with long lecture halls, stereotypical professors with tweed jackets and leather patches on the elbows, plain notebooks and crisp textbooks that had never been read. I thought of the smell of coffee, study groups, and ivy halls. This reality, however, had never entered my thoughts.
***
I wish I could say that it was easy or that college was everything I had dreamed about and that first semester went off without a hiccup. I could say that, but I’d be lying. It was hard. So freaking damn hard. There were times when all I wanted to do was quit and return to my mind-numbing day job. Some nights I would stare at my assignments and cry because I was never going to understand the material no matter how many times I read it.
There were times that I truly hated the younger students in my classes who picked up the material easily, who never opened a book and aced every exam without ever studying. It didn’t seem fair. I busted my ass late at night after I’d cooked and cleaned up dinner and helped my boys with their homework. There were more sleepless nights than I cared to count.
But I hung in there, if only for the fact that I wanted better for my children. I wanted them to be able to say that their mother was a college graduate and had a meaningful job that earned more than peanuts. I would look at them after they’d fallen asleep and think to myself that they deserved better than this . . . better than what I was providing for them.
And it got easier . . . eventually. By mid-semester I found my groove and my brain had started working again. I honestly thought I would feel so out of place on a campus where ninety percent or more of the students were in their late teens to early twenties, but I didn’t. They seemed to embrace me as one of their peers and thankfully, never made me feel like I didn’t belong there with them. For that, I was eternally grateful.
Our home fell into a rhythm as well and soon we were functioning in unison with the shift in dynamics. My six-year-old son, Henry, adjusted the best. My eldest wasn’t quite so easy. Max was ten and a die-hard sports fanatic, stubborn and angry. Ever since their dad, Danny, had moved to Arizona three years ago because of a job promotion, Max found it necessary to be as difficult as possible. Their dad and I had been divorced for five years, but Max never let go of the dream of his parents getting back together. When Danny moved Max finally had to let go of the dream as well and that was hard. It was a constant battle that many divorced parents had fought before and nothing but time was going to make it better.
Chapter 2
SECOND SEMESTER: welcome to the big lecture hall. I climbed my way about two-thirds down the steps in a lecture hall that easily held a couple hundred people. It was huge with three large screens behind a podium that literally stood upon a large pedestal. The rows toward the front were fairly empty. It seemed the majority of my classmates preferred to sit closer to the top and in the back.
I slid into a seat a couple over from a young man who appeared asleep. He was hunched down in his chair with a beanie covering a mess of loose curls that were trying desperately to escape. He had pulled his winter coat over him like a blanket and had his feet up on the back of the seat in front of his. I wasn’t sure but I thought I heard him snoring.
I put my backpack down in the seat beside me and took off my heavy jacket. He was right; it was cold in here. I quickly put it back on. I got out my notebook and pen and tried to get comfortable in the most uncomfortable narrow space the university could provide. The little table that slid out from the side was slanted the wrong way and wobbled when I tried to write the day’s date on my paper.
Our professor stepped up to the platform and pulled up a Power Point presentation and started in on his lecture. I had taken sociology thinking that it would be interesting. I was beginning to wonder how I could have been so wrong. Our professor was a drab, chubby man with navy slacks, and a white collared shirt covered by a badly faded red sweater that looked as if it might have fit him twenty pounds ago. His voice was almost like nails on a chalkboard and half way through the class I decided that if he was the last man on earth I would happily become a lesbian. Given his drab décor and demeanor, I christened him Professor Drab for the remainder of the semester.
The cute boy crouched a couple seats down somehow managed to sleep through the entire class. Lucky bastard.
***
The second day of sociology was cold and windy. Several inches of new snow had fallen in the two days since my last class. It was freezing as I walked across the quad listening to the snow crunch beneath my feet. There was a steady flow of students rushing from one building to the next. No one was spending time lingering around except for a small group of smokers huddled in the corner between two walls trying to keep the wind from biting them.
I wandered back to the seat I had previously occupied and was pleased to find the same young man asleep in his usual position. I was beginning to wonder if he was actually in this class or a leftover from the previous class because he’d failed to wake when it wasover. He looked way too comfortable for someone who had justwandered in out of the snow. His sandy blonde curls were escaping out the ends of his beanie and softened the chiseled line of his scruffy jaw. I caught myself staring at him a moment longer than I should have, wondering what color his eyes were. He was so beautiful.
Professor Drab started in on his lecture once again but tried today to engage the students in his topic, “Is there any truth in stereotypes?” He had stumbled onto the topic of sports in high school and the quintessentialjockwe were all so familiar with. Several people spoke up, saying jocks were stupid, class clowns in letterman jackets, or attention whores. All were typical responses. As Professor Drab made his way up the aisle, stopping to address various students, he paused next to a woman who appeared closer to my own age. However, what came out of her mouth next completely threw me.
“Well, I know at my daughter’s school, the majority of the girls who play on the sports teams are lesbians. My husband and I agreed that we did not want our girls to become lesbians so we made them both quit playing sports by the time they started high school.”
Her words almost made me fall out of my seat. I don’t believe I had ever heard something so idiotic in my entire life.
At least until the woman a couple rows over from her said, “I understand, the last thing I ever wanted was for my daughter to become a lesbian because of sports. We also made ours quit.”
As a former high school athlete, I could not believe my ears. Personally, I had attended two high schools and played on their basketball, volleyball, and softball teams. Never once did it make me turn into a lesbian, nor any of my teammates. Of course, we had some lesbians on the teams and we all knew their preferred sexuality, but not one of us cared about it. There were also lesbians in the art club, scienceclub, and on the chess team as well.Oh my God . . . people are soignorant.
It was on the tip of my tongue to say something in defense of all female athletes but I held back. I knew that getting into a verbalconfrontation with ignorance never ends well and nothing I could say was going to deter either of these woman. Plus, I truly believed that if the parents held these types of beliefs, there was a very good chance they had shared them with their children. And the school teams were better off without such bigotry.
Our professor reintegrated into the conversation. “I can understand why, as a parent, you would remove your child from a team for such reasons. While being a female and participating in sports does not make you a lesbian, there is the perception amongst their peers that if you are a female who plays sports then you must be a lesbian. How you are perceived by your peers in high school is extremely important to most adolescents so I can understand your reasoning . . . to a certain degree.”
I couldn’t. These parents weren’t concerned with how their daughters were perceived by others; theybelievedthat playing sports would turn their little girls into lesbians. They were not only ignorant bigots, they were just plain stupid.
I glanced over at my sleeping beanie boy who was almost purring softly. He hadn’t moved an inch since this ridiculous lecture had begun. Again, I wondered if he was even in this class.
“Okay, for the remaining thirty minutes of class, I want you all to break up into pairs and make a list of all the stereotypes you can think of. Put both your names on the list and turn it in before you leave today,” Professor Drab said as he walked back to the front platform.
The rustle of papers and the sound of low murmurs filled the hall as people turned to those around them and paired up. I looked up and down the row I was seated in and beanie boy was the only one who shared it with me. He stirred. For once, he actually moved.
His feet dropped to the floor with a small thump and his arms appeared from beneath his winter coat blanket. He looked around sleepily and smiled at me. “I guess you’re stuck with me.” He had the prettiest sea-blue eyes.
“I was beginning to wonder if I needed to call the coroner, but I decided I’d wait until the end of the semester.” I rolled my eyes at him with a smile.
“I was listening with my eyes closed.” He picked up his things and moved over to the seat beside mine. “So what are we supposed to be doing?”
“Listening intently, I see,” I teased. I couldn’t believe I was actually casually flirting with this boy . . . yes boy, I reminded myself. He is still a boy, not a man!
I scribbled the word stereotype at the top of the page and then my name in the right hand corner before I slid the paper over to beanie boy.
“Alex. It’s nice to meet you Alex, I’m Mason.” He extended his hand with a cheesy grin. My God, he’s flirting back.
Mason and I spent about five minutes at best scribbling down a laundry list of stereotypes and making jabs about others we dared not put on the list. The rest of the time we talked about school ingeneral. I learned he was a business major, in his second year of college, and going to be twenty-one in April.
Dear lord, he’s still a baby! But totally edible . . . and legal.
I dismissed the thought quickly and made certain the conversation remained focused on him and that the only personal information I revealed was that I was a double major: psychology and nursing. I told him my goal was to become a nurse practitioner specializing in mental health disorders. He confessed that the only reason he was taking sociology was to fulfill his liberal arts requirement. I admitted the same.
***
The following Saturday morning I piled the kids into my little car and drove across town to their elementary school for their basketball games. Both boys played, but at different times, so the majority of the day was shot for studying.
It was almost seven-thirty when we pulled into the school parking lot. Snow was falling lightly and there was a bite to the air when I opened my car door. Henry sprinted into the gym, positive he was going to be late. He was supposed to be here a half an hour early before his eight o’clock game. Max didn’t play until eleven. I was hoping to run out for coffee between games and maybe pick up something to eat.
Max and I huddled close together and fought the wind to the gym door. He was in an exceptionally good mood this morning, which was very rare for him and made me wonder if he was up to something. Typically Henry was my good morning boy and Max was my night owl. I, too, was not a morning person and both my boys had learned over the years not to bother me before my first cup of coffee if not my second.
The gym was warm and filled with the smell of sweat and old sneakers. Max saw a couple of his friends and took off to sit with them without as much as a goodbye to me. I hardly noticed his rudeness anymore, which was actually even sadder than his behavior. I removed my scarf and gloves while my eyes scanned over the bleachers, curious as to whether we were the home team or visitors this morning.
I saw my friend Lisa sitting several rows up on the visitor’s side, unpacking her tote bag of team goodies and made my way over to her. Her son, Logan, was on Henry’s team. They had also been on the same peewee team the previous spring so she and I had gotten to know each other fairly well.
It was like that in a small town. You made friends with the moms whose kids played in the same league as your own children. Small town social life or lack thereof was pretty pathetic for the most part, especially if you were a single mom. Lisa was also a divorced mom with three kids. Logan was the same age as my Henry, her daughter McKenzie was three and other daughter Brie was eight. Lisa was only a couple years older than myself and had gone through a nasty divorce the year before.
“Good morning,” I said as cheerfully as my frozen lips would allow. “Are we the visitors today?”
“Yeah.” She set the juice boxes and a box of granola bars on the bench below us. “Don’t forget, next week it’s your turn to bring the snacks.”
“Oh, right. Thanks for reminding me.” I took out my day planner that had become my holy grail for keeping my hectic life semi-organized and marked it down.
“So how is your semester going? You started classes back up this week, right?” she asked.
“They’re okay. I think the microbiology class is interesting. Physiology is going to kick my ass and so far human sexuality class is most entertaining. My sociology class . . . ugh! I hate it. I wish I had chosen anything else to fill my liberal arts quota. It’s so freaking boring.”
“Huh, I would think that class would be interesting.” Lisa shrugged.
“I was hoping so, but it hasn’t been so far. Oh, I did learn something though, did you know that you shouldn’t let Brie play sports? Apparently it will make her a lesbian.” She looked at me, confused since she was also a fellow former athlete. I went on to explain to her the ridiculous conversation that had transpired in my sociology class. Lisa chuckled and rolled her eyes.
“If it wasn’t for the sexy little beanie boy who sits a couple seats over from me, it wouldn’t even be worth going to class,” I concluded.
“Excuse me, beanie boy?” she laughed.
“He’s this sex on a stick kid that sits in my row. I got paired with him on Thursday afternoon to write this stereotypes list. His name is Mason and he’s only twenty years old.” I told her all about his curls, his eyes and the cute little scruff on his face. “He barely looks old enough to shave, but he’s so freaking sexy.”
“Who’s sexy?” Kim slipped in behind us.
“Alex is lusting over this kid in her sociology class.” Lisa laughed.
“He’s legal,” I jousted back.
“But not old enough to drink,” Lisa informed Kim.
“Jesus Alex, how old is he?”
“Twenty. And all I said was he’s cute. I mean, come on, there has to be some benefits to going to college at our age. Right?” I shook my head with a smile.
“I thought you wanted a man in your life, not someone you’d have to babysit,” Kim teased.
“I’ve already got two men in my life and they are enough for me right now.” I nodded towards the area where my sons were.
“Someday you are going to have to get back out there, Alex,” Lisa added.
“Just make sure he can take you out for a drink before dinner,” Kim remarked.
“I’m already having enough trouble with Max. I can’t imagine what he’d be like if there was a man in my life.” It was sad, but true. Max was the real reason I had refrained from getting involved with anyone.
“Max will come around. Boys can be difficult.” Kim would know, she had four of them. But she also had a dang near perfect husband. He was the coach for our boys’ team, worked a fifty-hour week, and adored Kim. She was one of the few people I knew who was happily married.
***
We got back home shortly before two o’clock. Max was all hyped up from his game and groaned audibly when I forced him to get into the shower. Henry quietly slumped off towards his room. His team had lost by two points while Max’s team had demolished their opponents. My heart went out to my little man. He tried so hard to be like his older brother and always felt that he never quite measured up. Henry was good at sports, especially for a six year old, but Max . . . Max had a natural flair for sports. He excelled at every sport he played. Therefore, he played them all. He played baseball in the spring and summer and was the best catcher in his division. Fall brought us football where he was the star wide receiver. I hated to admit it, but the kid did have magic hands. He could catch anything out of thin air and I lovedwatching him play. The winter winds pushed us indoors and to basketball.Max played small forward and loved the fact that he could hit thosecorner three pointers like no one else. And he should, he spent enough hours outside in the driveway perfecting that shot. Plus, year round, both boys took Karate lessons. They had started it at the same time, and Henry was still a green belt. Max had pushed forward already and achieved his purple belt.
My poor little Henry. He always felt he was stuck in his brother’s shadow no matter how hard he tried.
I put my things down on the table and walked back to Henry’s room. I knocked lightly on his bedroom door that was adorned with a big poster of Iron Man. “Henry, can I come in?”
“Yeah,” replied a small voice.
I opened the door and found my little man sitting on the side of his bed still wearing his basketball uniform and kicking the bed frame lightly with his foot. “How ya doing?” I sat down beside him.
“I’m okay.” His big brown eyes looked so sad, as if it was taking every ounce of his strength not to burst into tears.
“Would you like to help me make some chocolate chip cookies?” I put my arm around him and pulled him close to me.
“No.”
“What would you like to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“What’s going on in there?” I leaned over and kissed the top of his head.
“Do you think I will ever be able to make that shot like Max?” We both knew exactly which shot he was referring to.
“Yes, I know you will.”
“When?”
“Sweetheart, Max only learned that shot last year and he is four years older than you are. You’ll get there. You just have to be patient.”
“I’m tired of being the youngest.”
“Well, there’s not much I can do to help you with that one, I’m afraid. But, you know, I was the youngest too and it’s hard having an older sibling. I understand how you feel,” I tried to reassure him.
“Max is always better at everything than I am,” he pouted.
“Now that’s not true. You’re much better at school than Max is.” Max was an exceptional athlete but he also had to study hard to keep his grades up. Henry was only six and already knew his multiplication tables up through his sixes. Learning came very easy to Henry and Max was resentful of him for that.
“That’s only because first grade is easy,” he muttered.
“It’s not easy for everyone.”
“I want to be the best at sports, like Max.”
“I know and you will get better as you get older, just like Max did.” He smiled up at me, seemingly satisfied with that answer.
“Okay.”
“Okay.” I stood up. “When Max gets out of the shower, it’s your turn, Mr. Stinky.” I tickled him a bit.
“I know. I know.” He squirmed away from me. “And then I’ll help you make the cookies,” he said, catching his breath.
“Sounds good.” I knew he couldn’t pass up a chance for cookies.
Chapter 3
BY THE END of February, Mason and I had become old friends. We sat next to each other and chatted casually about silly meaningless things just to make the class more interesting. So far this semester, sociology was by far my easiest class. The other three were so much more demanding of my time and attention that I spent very little time on any of my sociology material. That realization hit me hard when our professor passed out our study guide for our first exam next week. As I glanced through the three pages of material I was responsible for knowing, I had to admit I had not read one single chapter in our text book. In fact it hadn’t moved out of its spot on the corner of my desk at home. The information that was necessary for our little quizzes was all located within our notes so reading the assigned material each week was pointless or so I had thought.
“Damn,” Mason muttered, flipping through the same pages as I was. “I haven’t even opened my text.” He slowly shook his head, realizing the same thing as myself.
“Good. I’m glad I’m not the only one.” I sighed heavily.
“Do you have class tomorrow?” he asked.
Fridays were my study days at home. Monday through Thursdays I had classes on campus so on Fridays I typically stayed in my pajamas after I got the boys off to school and spent the day hovered over my books.
“No.”
“You wouldn’t want to get together and study would you? I’m gonna need some help if I’m going to pass this test.” He blushed.
“I usually don’t come to campus on Fridays,” I said, more to myself than to him. “But I can. What time?”
“Tenish?”
“Okay. Where do you want to meet?”
“You can come to my dorm room?” Mason offered with a grin I didn’t trust.
“Seriously? How about the student center or the library?”
“We can’t have any fun at the library.”
I wished he’d stop looking at me like that.
“We’re not supposed to be having fun. We’re supposed to be studying.” I tried to laugh off his flirtation.
“Fine. I’ll meet you on the second floor of the student center by the coffee house.” He rolled his eyes playfully, but held his mischievous grin.
***
That night I couldn’t sleep. The house was silent except for the low murmurs coming from the television in my bedroom. Ever since Danny had moved out, I couldn’t sleep without the television on. I spent many nights on the couch before I finally broke down and bought one for my bedroom. I had spent my entire adult life as someone’s wife and someone’s mother and I had only just in the last year or so begun to feel comfortable with being alone. Now the only one in my bedbesides me was our shepherd chow lab mix named Billy. My grandfather had given her to Max when he turned four and Henry was only a couple months old. “Cause every little boy needs his own dog,” was my grandpa’s logic, and it was tragic that Max didn’t have one. Max had insisted on naming her himself and despite us telling him repeatedly that his puppy was a girl, he wanted to name her Billy.
Billy had replaced Danny on the other side of the bed. She lifted her head when I climbed out of bed and watched me walk over to the window. I pulled the curtain back and looked out into the backyard. The woods behind our house were dark and the neighborhood beyond it was asleep. I lived in a little ranch style house that Danny and I bought when I was pregnant with Max as a starter home. But our marriage had died before we upgraded to a bigger house. Danny left shortly before Henry’s first birthday. I had kicked him out after learning of the affair he was having with a co-worker. I suppose he would say it was worth it, he did eventually get that promotion and his move to Arizona. It only cost him his wife and sons and, to be honest, he seemed okay with that.
The house was made out of brick with forest green shutters, and I’d built gorgeous flowerbeds with my own two hands. Danny and Max had built Billy a doghouse that stood in the corner of our backyard, rarely used. The backyard was littered with toys, a wooden swing set, and a vegetable garden long since forgotten with the arrival of the snow. Our three bedroom, two bath ranch was perfect for the three of us. Not too big but not crowded either. I couldn’t imagine ever selling it. This was home.
***
The next morning I got the boys off to school and jumped into the shower. The music was deafening and filled me with its contagious energy as I sang at the top of my lungs along with Nate Ruess. It was amazingly freeing and I was thankful no one was there to witness it except Billy. Although I was pretty sure she was laughing on the other side of the shower curtain.
With my hair still in a towel, I slipped into some jeans, a long sleeved t-shirt, and a heavy hooded sweatshirt. Even though the snow had finally stopped falling, there was still plenty of it on the ground and the temperature clung to the mid-teens. A part of me dreaded agreeing to meet Mason. The last thing I wanted to do was drive to campus. I would rather stay home in my pajamas and study alone. But I didn’t have a way to contact him and cancel. I was, however, grateful that he was meeting me at the student center, a public place that was always buzzing with students. I didn’t trust myself to be alone with him.
I shook my hair out and let the towel fall to the floor. My reflection stared back at me in the bathroom mirror. I suppose I didn’t look too hideous for my age. My thick dark hair hung almost half way down my back, my eyes were a dark almond color. Danny had always called them doe eyes and said they were my best feature. I turned sideways and studied myself. My body had held up pretty well considering it’d been through two pregnancies. My stomach was flat, my breasts were still full and perky, my legs long and slender leading the way to a nicely rounded ass that I’d spent many hours in Pilates working hard to obtain. “Not too bad.” I told my reflection. “Not too bad at all.”
I applied a little bit of make up like I did on any other day I went to campus. I was very careful to resist any urge I had to pay a little closer attention to the application like I would have for a date or special occasion. I blew dry my hair and pulled it up in a ponytail like I did most days on campus. I grabbed my coat and study materials and reminded myself once again that Mason was just a kid, not even old enough to drink.
***
I found an empty couch in the far corner across the area from the coffee counter. I set my backpack down on the coffee table and began to arrange my notes in front of me. It was quarter to ten and Mason was nowhere in sight. A part of me was seriously hoping he wouldn’t show. Lisa and Kim both had taken a liking to teasing me about him every week since I had first mentioned him. Of course, they both also reminded me that I was single and maybe having a little fling with this guy would be just what I needed to push me back into the dating world. However, they both agreed that if I did, I had to share all the dirty little details with them so they could live vicariously through me.
Ten after, and still, no Mason.
Okay, if he’s not here by ten thirty, I’m going home.
I took a long sip of my coffee from my travel mug and tried to focus my attention back on the chapter I was reading. I had managed to get through the first three chapters yesterday and highlighted key points that were mentioned in the study guide. Only three more chapters to go and I’d finally be caught up and, hopefully, prepared for the exam on Thursday.
“Sorry I’m late.” Mason plopped down beside me on the couch. “I overslept.” His curls were sticking out the bottom of his beanie as usual as he struggled out of his coat. His clothes were all wrinkled and I couldn’t tell if he had slept in them or it he just didn’t know how to use an iron . . . probably both. The stubble on his face was present as always, but never seemed to grow. I had long since decided that he kept it at that length on purpose because he thought it made him look sexy. And he was right, it did.
He pulled his textbook, study guide, and notebook out of his backpack and set them on the coffee table beside mine. “Have you signed up for your twelve hours of community service yet?”
As part of our class requirements, each of us was required to fulfill twelve hours of community service. Only it had to be at a designated location chosen carefully by our professor. We had about eight different options and there was a list and sign-up sheet on our class community page on the school server site.
“No. Have you?”
“Nope.” He pulled his laptop out of his backpack and set it on top of his textbook. I sat quietly watching him login to our class page and bring up our list of acceptable locations.
“Want to do this one? We can go together and it’s the only one that we can complete our hours in one day.”
“Second Chance? I’ve never heard of it.” Mason clicked on the link below it.
“It’s a consignment shop. I guess people donate unwanted items and they resale them. The proceeds go to feed and clothe the homeless.” He summarized the paragraph that popped up.
“All right, sure. What’s available?” Mason clicked a couple more times until the sign-up sheet appeared.
“The only thing left with two vacancies is the first weekend in April.”
“Okay, that’s fine with me.” I took out my day planner and marked it down while Mason filled in our names on the sign-up sheet. “We’re set. Seven to seven.” He scrunched up his face.
“What’s wrong?”
“That’s my birthday.” He sighed audibly and clicked the submit button. “Oh well.”
“You mean, that’s your twenty-first birthday,” I stated with a grin.
“No big deal. I can go out afterwards.” He closed his laptop and put it back in his backpack.
“Are you sure? We can change it.”
“No. It’s the only one that will only cost us a day instead of a weekend.” He opened his textbook. “How far have you gotten?”
“Through the first three chapters. I just started on the fourth. You?”
“Um . . .” Mason blushed beautifully. “I’ve read most of the first chapter. Well, maybe not most.” He dropped his eyes the same way that Max does when he’s lying to me about something. I had to laugh at him.
“Really?”
“Okay. I’ve read the title of the first chapter.”
“Seriously?”
“It’s boring . . . sorry.”
“All right. Here’s what I’ve gotten so far.”
By one o’clock Mason and I were making good progress. Thanks to the coffee house we were keeping well fueled on coffee and scones. He picked things up quickly and we finally made it through chapter four and completed all the questions at the end of the chapter as well as those up to that point on our study guide. Apparently he had paid closer attention in class than I would have thought earlier, despite looking as if he was sleeping through the lectures.
“Hey stranger, there you are?” I looked up and saw Isaac approaching us with a big smile on his face.
“I didn’t know I was lost.” I stood up and gave him a big hug. “What are you doing here today?”
“Genetics lab. I just came over for a refill.” He held up his coffee cup.
“It’s not Irish, is it?” I said with a grin.
“Not yet, but it will be.” Isaac had a habit of making about all his drinks Irish.
“Are you getting excited yet?”
“About what?” His eyes drifted over to Mason and then back on me.
“Graduation.”
“No, not really.”
“Are you kidding? I’d be ecstatic. You’re almost done with your bachelors.” I couldn’t believe how blasé he was being.
“No, because that just means I have six weeks before I take my MCATS which will decide if I make it into med school or not and where I’ll go.”
“You’ll do great. I’m sure of it.”
Isaac didn’t seem to hear me. “Who’s this?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Isaac, this is my friend Mason. Mason this is Isaac.”Mason stood and shook Isaac’s hand and exchanged pleasantries before Mason sat back down.
Isaac looked at me with raised eyebrows. “Friend?”
“Friend. We’re studying for an exam next week in sociology,” I explained.
“I was going to say, you aren’t shopping in the kiddie section, are you.” He laughed and Mason, thank goodness, remained quiet and pretended to be looking up something in our text. Really, he had no choice, he was a dwarf compared to Isaac. Hell, most men were.
“No, we’re just friends,” I declared a little too loudly.
“Cause you know, if you ever need a man to help you work out some of your frustrations . . . I’ve told you, I’d gladly volunteer my services.” He laughed loudly.
“Get back to your rats, you ass.” I smacked him hard against his solid chest, which only made him laugh harder.
“I’ll see you later. Call me.” He walked away still laughing aloud.
“Bye,” I hollered after him.
“Sorry about that,” I apologized to Mason as I sat back down beside him.
“You seemed offended when he questioned our friendship.” Mason looked at me with a hurt look on his face.
“No, I didn’t,” I said, denying it, but we both knew better.
“You’d never go out with me? Is it me or my age?”
“Mason . . .” I didn’t know what to say.
“I see.” He turned back to his notes. “Let’s just get back to work.”
Thankfully, he let it drop and we got back to working on sociology. However, he wasn’t nearly as playful as he was before Isaac’s interruption. I felt terrible because I didn’t know what to say to him.Yes, you’re too young for me. I’m sorry, but I could never see you as anything other than a temporary plaything and I would just be using you until I decide to return to the dating world where I would be dating men older than me who I have more in common with whereas you most likely have more in common with my sons . . . at least one of them. Somehow, no matter how I said it, it sounded cruel. So I remained silent on the subject.
I left campus a little after three so I could beat the school bus back to the house. I couldn’t get the hurt look on Mason’s face out of my mind. We had spent the better part of the last five weeks casually flirting without actually flirting. There was an attraction there. I could not deny that. But the voice in the back of my mind was screaming at me that he was way too young for me and would be more trouble than what he was worth if I ever got involved with him. Plus, I hated to admit that Lisa and Kim were right, he could never be more than a temporary distraction.
Chapter 4
THANKFULLY, BY TUESDAY, Mason had seemingly forgotten all about the uncomfortable exchange with Isaac and returned to his casual flirtatious self. He was back to teasing me about the silliest little things and making snide remarks throughout Professor Drab’s lecture. It was refreshing to joke around with him again.
We went up to the coffee shop over in the student center. I had skipped breakfast and was starving. I ordered a Venti caramel macchiato and a huge blueberry muffin and took a seat over on one of the many couches. Mason got some coffee as well with a chocolate scone before he came over to join me.
“Any big plans for the afternoon, Lexie?” He set his coffee down on the table in front of us.
“Did you just call me Lexie?” I shifted more towards him.
“Yes. I’ve decided that you should be called Lexie instead of Alex. You’re just very feminine and Lexie fits you better.”
“But my name is Alex,” I retorted.
“It’s short for Alexandria, right?
“Yes.”
“Well, Lexie is just another nickname for Alexandria. It’s a beautiful name for a beautiful lady.” He looked at me with the most adoring gaze. I was completely speechless.
“Well, thank you.” I blushed unintentionally. “I’ve actually got to get home and study. I’ve got a quiz in my human sexuality class tomorrow morning.”
“You have a quiz in sex ed?” He sort of giggled. “Why would you even need to study for that?”
“Because I do. I’m not fluent in sexual dysfunctions and orgasm disorders,” I said flatly and watched as his face turned red.
“You guys actually discuss things like that in class?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t we? It’s part of the class.” I was enjoying watching him squirm.
“Isn’t that a tad embarrassing to discuss as an open topic in class? I couldn’t do it.”
“It’s not like we are discussing personal experience or our own sexuality. It’s very academic.” I laughed. “I hadn’t realized you were so frigid.”
“I’m not frigid. I just don’t broadcast my sex life,” he pointed out.
“I don’t broadcast mine either. It’s an intellectual discussion, not an account of your personal diary.”
“Still, I don’t believe I’d feel comfortable discussing such topics in a classroom,” he admitted.
“I had no idea you were so conservative. Why would such a subject be insulting to your ears?” I teased.
“Some topics should not be discussed in a public forum.”
“It’s not a public forum. It’s a classroom. There’s only about thirty of us in there, four guys and the rest are girls. Professor Hanson isn’t exactly a typical professor. For one, she looks like a grandmother and has the personality of Betty White. Secondly, she has never asked us to share anything personal, simply to discuss the topics with an open mind. And finally, if I have learned anything from taking this class it is that our high school educational system has severely uneducated your generation on human sexuality. I was floored by some of the things these kids said.” I took a long drink of my coffee and rested back a little on the couch.
“Such as?”
“Well, when the class started some of the girls said ‘you can’t get pregnant if you’re on top, or you douche afterwards or if you’re on your period.’ They truly thought there was only a window of a couple days when you could get pregnant. Needless to say this class has been a rude awakening for them.” I put my coffee back on the table. “I still cannot believe how naïve some of these kids are. It’s no wonder why there are so many teen pregnancies when they are so misinformed.”
“A lot of parents feel uncomfortable talking to their kids about sex. I think they feel it’s like giving them permission to do it.”
“I guess I look at it differently. I think children need to be informed so they don’t accidently get pregnant or an STD. But yes, I know most parents feel uncomfortable discussing such topics with their kids.” I agreed with him on that point.
“When I hit puberty, my dad gave me a penthouse forum and a box of condoms. He tossed them on my bed and told me to always wrap it,” he said with a grin.
“Shocker!” I laughed. I could actually picture Danny doing something similar with our boys.
Chapter 5
I ARRIVED AT the consignment shop just before they opened at seven. Mason had beaten me there and was waiting out front for me. He was wearing grey jeans, a black t-shirt, and a maroon sweatshirt that he’d casually left unzipped. His curls were still damp and hung loosely around his face. He looked absolutely gorgeous. It was getting harder and harder to ignore my attraction to him.
“Good morning, Lexie. I thought you might enjoy this. It’s a caramel macchiato.” He smiled and handed me the coffee.
“Oh, you’re so sweet. Thank you.” It was exactly what I needed. “And happy birthday.”
“Thanks. You ready to get this over with?”
“Like I have a choice.” I nodded with a smirk.
Mason opened the door for me and we walked in to pay our penance for class. The manager took us to the back area where all the donations were stacked and sorted. The amount of stuff piled from floor to ceiling was ridiculous. There was hardly any room to walk between all the boxes, huge bins on wheels and bags full of assorted cast-offs. Our job was to sort through as much of these donations as possible and put them into these huge bins.
The woman disappeared into her office and Mason and I got busy. Clothes were separated by gender and size and were piled everywhere. The bags and boxes were endless, and it seemed like every woman on the north side of the city had decided this was the weekend to do spring cleaning, because we had a steady stream of donors dropping off items.
After lunch Mason started talking about his evening out with the guys to celebrate his birthday. They were headed to a pub in the city called Bernie and Clive’s. He was the last one of his group to finally turn twenty-one.
