“We fly out Thursday night.”
“Good. So, I’ll see you before then?”
Willow pulls me in for a hug. “I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”
Tears sting my eyes when I realise yet another person is leaving me, but I swallow down my pain and try to be happy for my best friend. She deserves happiness, and anyone with eyes can tell she and Luca are head over heels for each other.
“You’re always welcome to visit,” Luca says with a wink. He slides his arm around Willow’s shoulder. “Come on, Angel, I promised Kincaid I’d give him some pointers before his first class.”
Willow squeezes my hand before letting Luca lead her out of the coffee shop, and I release a heavy exhale as I try to pull myself together before heading to my lecture.
My friend, Amy, waves to me when I reach the lecture hall in the arts department with five minutes to spare, and I beeline for her.
“I heard Professor Johnson is sick,” she murmurs as I drop into the seat beside her.
“So, who’s giving the lecture?” I ask, pulling out my notebook and searching my bag for a pen.
“Not sure, but I hope it’s?—”
The door to the lecture theatre opens, and Amy lets out a little squeak of excitement as whispers break out around the room.
“What…” My voice trails off as I sit up, and my stomach bottoms out when I see Coach Rourke standing behind the lectern.
I never met him during the six months I was dating his son. On the two occasions I stayed over at their house, he was away at games. Dylan didn’t talk about his dad much, so I don’t know much about him, but I’ve somehow avoided him on campus for four years. Luca’s soccer games don’t count, because up in the stands, I wasn’t anywhere near my ex-boyfriend’s dad. But if Coach Rourke is taking Professor Johnson’s lectures, then what’s the bet he’s also taking?—
“I’m sure by now, you’ve all realised with Professor Johnson away ill. I’ll be taking all his classes for today.”
Amy grins at me, but I’m struggling to breathe. That voice is way too familiar… only there’s no way it can be.
“Heads up, Coach.” Someone tosses a soccer ball to the front of the room, and Coach Rourke catches it with lightning-quick reflexes.
Rather than wearing a suit like most of the other professors, Coach Rourke wears tight-fitting jeans and a polo that slides up to reveal a glimpse of ink on his right side. A compass.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity, fuck.
Completely oblivious to my mini-meltdown, Amy whispers, “Ugh, he’s inked. Can he get any hotter?”
My cheeks flame, and I slouch in my seat, adjusting the beanie covering my hair and thanking the gods for the cold snap this morning. The last thing I need is to stand out with my flaming-red hair today of all days.
As Coach Roarke tries to settle the room so he can begin the lecture, I focus on getting my racing heart toreturn to a normal rhythm so I don’t pass out and draw even more attention to myself. A quick glance around the lecture theatre confirms all the females in the room are staring at the attractive professor with heart eyes, while I’m wishing the ground would open up and swallow me whole.
My mystery masked stranger is none other than my ex-boyfriend’s dad.
Isleptwith my ex-boyfriend’s dad.
The same ex-boyfriend who shared sexually explicit photos of me with half the year twelve class.
Coach Rourke finally begins the lecture, but I don’t pay attention to any of it.
Were there any signs that would have told me it was Dylan’s dad? Sure, their hair colour is the same, but Dylan has green eyes, not brown. Still, how could Inotknow, on some level, that the man I was with is related to the biggest regret of my life?
My mystery man is nothing like his narcissistic son, although how much can you really know someone in one month? Dylan was sweet and caring in the beginning as well. He showered me with love and affection and made me feel like I was special. Until that night.
I swallow the bitterness, my gaze lifting to watch the charismatic man at the front of the room. Ethan Rourke. Is this some kind of sick joke? How can the man who kissed me like I was reason for breathing, and looked at me like I hung the moon, be the same man who raised the arsehole who took my virginity and shattered my trust in the opposite sex completely?
The harder I try to force the memories of Friday night away, the more they assault me. My lips tingle as I recall thebruising kisses, and a shiver runs down my spine at the way his strong, muscular hands held me tight, making me feel safe and revered. The ghost of his warm breath on my skin causes goosebumps to erupt, and my pussy clenches when I remember how it felt to be filled by him. The way he thickened inside me, touching places I thought were a myth.
I’m so caught up in my dirty thoughts about my ex-boyfriend’s dad that I don’t even realise the lecture is over until I hear him say my name.
