Was traffic worse than usual?I recall my own horror stories of driving in Boston.
Patience has never been one of my virtues, hence why I work with kids who move a mile a minute. This waiting is torture.
In my attempt to fend off restlessness, I turn my attention to the surround sound speakers, which immediately connect to my phone. Once I hit play, the passionate crooners of ’80s and ’90s R&B usher me into sensuality-flavored serenity. The music loosens my hips and the knot on my trench coat. With each twist and roll the coat begins to lose its hold on my body, and in a few short beats, it falls onto Cole’s white rug.
The slight breeze from the perpetually stuck window makes me shiver. I notice my reflection in the mirror, and my breath hitches. Looking good is not new to me, never has been, but there are moments when everything aligns. The black lingerie complements my deep brown skin like no other. And yes, the body shimmer makes me shine when the light hits just right, but it’s more than that. Waiting for my amazing boyfriend has me glowing all over. I look breathtaking and he’ll agree. Cole’s going to love this early surprise, the same way I loved his gesture with the key.
The night will be perfect, just like our meeting. We are written in the stars, soulmates, asCupid’s Bowput it, and tonight will be a new star in our ever-growing constellation.
Every minute increases my desire for him, and my jitters intensify. Should I call him? I squelch the urge. I refuse to ruinthissurprise. Thankfully, “I Wanna Know” by Joe comes on and the nostalgic music takes center stage, displacing my worsening anxiety. God bless R&B. My eyes land on the toys, and I know what to do to get through the wait.
With long, manicured fingers, I caress my skin, and my tension dissipates. Each touch quickens my heartbeat as I shift my position to the bed.
As the R&B music picks up, the lead singer reaches an octave so impressive I imagine the crescendo loosening the knots in my stomach, and I cannot wait to be undone. Just before my stress evaporates completely, a piercing shriek stops me mid-movement.
My eyes spring open, and the sight freezes me.
Two sets of scorching blue eyes stare me down.
I wonder if this is how Medusa’s victims felt under her stony gaze—helpless and embarrassed. I lie there with taut nipples, legs spread, and mouth ajar.
“Moyo, what the actual fuck?” Cole’s voice is the steel that pierces my trance. My hands retreat and my legs clamp shut, tightening so much I fear they’ll never reopen.
I look at Cole.
MyCole.
His pink lips are twisted in an unfamiliar scowl, chiseled jaw stern below his dark blond hair. His arms shield a petite, blonde woman holding a small suitcase—a woman I have never seen before—whose eyes darken with disdain.
“I said, what the fuck?” Cole’s unfamiliar rage spurs me into action, and I wrap the silk bed sheets, which I picked out, around myself.
“What?” I blurt, still in shock as I search for answers in the eyes I call home. Shame flashes across his features, and for a millisecond, I recognize the man I’ve been in love with for the last year. But it’s not long before he returns to this new, foreign version of Cole.
He crosses arms over his chest, pushing his lickable pecs up on display. “There is no reason for my TA to be masturbating in my bed.”
If not for the joint that holds a set of jaws together, mine would have literally dropped onto the sheets.
“Is she the one you were telling me about?” the woman beside him whispers, her ocean eyes stark and her lip upturned.
“Woah, woah, woah. Back the fuck up!” I yell, surprising myself with renewed confidence. “TA? I’m your TA now?”
At that, recognition seems to wash over the woman, and the disgust in her eyes give way to pity. What lies has he been feeding her?
“Moyo, please,” Cole says, walking toward the bed.
He picks my trench coat off the floor and tosses it in my direction. I catch it with both hands and use it to shield myself from him and this trainwreck of a situation.
“I know I told you that you could come by whenever your family life became too hard to handle. I’m sorry if you misunderstood and thoughtI was interested romantically.” He keeps going, and I cannot believe his words. “You’re a gorgeous woman, but I’m happily married.”
For the first time, there’s a silver wedding band on his left hand. In all our time together, he’s never worn a ring of any sort. In fact, he told me he hates wearing jewelry.
My brain glitches and all I see is red. He has a wife?I’mthe other woman?
This. Fucking. Asshole.
Hastily, I shove my arms through my trench coat, avoiding the Wife’s eyes. But she turns away—bless her poor, unfortunate soul—probably feeling bad for the Black student who’s fallen in love with her professor. Cole, on the other hand, has his gaze fixed on me. The lust in his eyes intensifies and his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, a movement I’ve become intimate with over the past year.
Unsurprisingly, his signature jaw tick shows up when I secure the belt around my waist. I hold his gaze, searching for something more than lust, but his eyes linger on my body with salacious longing, like a dehydrated man stumbling upon an oasis. There’s no remorse, no sympathy, only an inspection of a body he wants to have.
