Instead, she pulls away, a wicked little smirk playing on her lips.
“Go,” she says. “Shout at some uni kids. Win for Beckford.”
I run my tongue over her kiss-swollen lips. “I’m sure Andy can handle it.”
She presses her lips to mine before pushing me away. “Get out of here, Coach.”
Suddenly, I don’t feel so good about leaving her.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay alone here for a couple of hours? Reception is spotty, and you don’t have a car.”
“Ethan,” she says in a mock-serious tone. “If I get murdered by a possum, tell my family to hire professionals to clean out my room. I don’t need my mum or sisters finding my dildo collection—it’s worth millions.”
Just like that, the tension breaks.
I lean in and kiss her one last time. “Be back by three thirty. Four at the latest.”
“I’ll be here.”
It’s almost physically painful to walk away, but I’m already pushing it to make it to the game on time. When I’m back behind the wheel, I shake my head with a laugh. How is this my life?
Chapter 26
Leni
After Ethan leaves, I put away the groceries he bought and explore the cabin. The layout is quite simple; there are two spacious bedrooms off the open-plan kitchen and living room, both with walk-in robes and ensuite bathrooms. There’s a small laundry off the kitchen, with a door that leads to the back of the property.
Professor Johnson’s parents must be loaded. It has a rustic, cosy feel, but there are little touches that scream money, like the marble benchtops, the matte black tapware, and the skylights that flood the place with natural light. The parquetry floorboards are stunning, and the stone fireplace completes the cosy vibe. Every square inch of this cabin is intentional but not flashy, like someone built it not to impress, but to truly enjoy it.
Once I’ve explored the inside, I grab my yoga mat and step outside, breathing in the crisp, eucalyptus-scented air. This place is spectacular. The bush hums around me, and I stretch my arms overhead, lengthening my spine as I let out a long exhale. This is paradise. No phone reception, notraffic noise, no people—although I am counting down the hours until Ethan returns.
This past month has been incredible, and not just because of the mind-blowing sex. It’s the small things, like the way he holds me in his arms, the deep conversations, and the deliciously forbidden stolen moments in his office.
We’ve been careful. I always Uber to his place so no one sees my car, and I haven’t slept over. We’re trying to maintain the casual boundaries of this arrangement, but with the invitation this weekend, and the intense conversation in the car, I’m starting to wonder if the lines are beginning to blur.
In my mind, they were always an illusion. I’m not stupid. I know he’s leaving, but at the same time, there’s always been this small sliver of hope that maybe something more might come from this. That is, if the truth of what his son did to me doesn’t tear us apart. I only hope he doesn’t hold it against me for hiding it from him.
Trying to push those thoughts out of my head for now, I step into the bush and wander a little way down the scrub-lined trail that winds away from the property. My shoes crunch over twigs and dry leaves, and every step offers me a new sense of stillness. I can’t wipe the smile off my face.
Dad used to take me camping when we were little—Mum refused to come, saying the twins were too young—and I’ve always loved that freeing sense of adventure that comes from being in the middle of nowhere.
After walking for half an hour, I find a small clearing just off the path that’s perfect. I roll out my mat and settle into a gentle flow of stretches and poses. Everything comes easily to me today, and I switch off my brain as I focus onmy breathing and move through each transition. For the first time in months, I feel light and happy.
The breeze plays in my hair, and I close my eyes, taking in the cacophony of nature surrounding me—the rustling of leaves, birds chirping, and somewhere far off in the distance the sound of running water. My happy place. Made even better by the anticipation of Ethan coming back to share it with me.
When I open my eyes, they land on a kaleidoscope of butterflies, and a smile tugs on my lips. Something about this weekend feels like a new beginning, and although I’m nervous about what this means with Ethan, I’m also excited. I know if this thing between us moves from casual territory into something more serious, then I have to tell him about Dylan, but I don’t have to tell him this weekend. For now, I want to be present in this moment and enjoy every second of our time together. The best part is I don’t have to leave after sex. I get to stay cocooned in his embrace and wake up next to him in the morning.
When I get back to the cabin, I make myself a sandwich and clean up after myself before crossing into the living room, where I run my fingers over the spines of the books, marvelling at the collection, though I shouldn’t be surprised with Professor Johnson’s love of literature. There’s a wide variety, from classics—Moby Dick, Wuthering Heights, Great Expectations—to contemporary titles in a variety of genres, including a selection of Mills and Boon romance novels that I really hope belong to Professor Johnson’s mother.
I feel like a kid in a candy shop, and my smile widens when I find plays by Shakespeare and Oscar Wilde,and a handful of poetry books including T.S. Eliot, Walt Whitman, and Sylvia Plath, along with a handful I’ve never heard of. I select one of them at random,The Sun and Her Flowersby Rupi Kuar, and flick through, pausing to read a couple of poems.
One in particular causes my chest to ache because it reminds me of Ethan. It’s a thought-provoking insight into the way sunflowers rise with the sun and bow their heads in mourning as it leaves. The final two lines, ‘this is what the sun does to those flowers, it’s what you do to me’, are a reflection of how I am with Ethan. When he’s around, he’s my sun, lifting my mood and making me happy, and when he’s not, it feels like a part of me is missing.
Swallowing down the intense feelings the poem evokes, I replace it on the shelf and glance around the cabin, a little overwhelmed by how much my feelings for Ethan have grown. If he still chooses to walk away from us after graduation, I honestly don’t know how I’ll survive the damage to my heart. In such a short time, he’s reinstated my trust in men and made me feel safe and seen. I’m not ready to have that crushed all over again.
He’s not due back for another hour and a half, so I decide to take a bath. The only conundrum is I’m not sure which bedroom we’re supposed to sleep in. One is clearly Professor Johnson’s parents’ room—there are framed photos of them travelling on the wall. The other must be the spare, but I can’t help thinking this is the room Professor Johnson would stay in. While I feel awkward about sleeping in his parents’ bed, I feel equally awkward sleeping in my professor’s bed, especially when I’m sleeping with another professor.
In the end, I release a sigh and carry our bags into the second bedroom and try to ignore the intrusive thoughts of my Creative Writing professor doing God knows what with God knows who in that bed. At least the sheets smell fresh.
