Chapter One
Rosie
“Schopenhauer said regarding love, ‘It’s nature’s trick — a bait to make us reproduce. What you call ‘true love’ is biology laughing at your emotions.’He often framed love as a biological force dressed up as poetry.” Professor Wilder leans against the edge of his desk and stares up into the crowd of students before him.
The man is a giant. A huge, towering, wide, bearded, inked-up giant in sensible slacks and a button-up sweater. The dichotomy is intriguing. Sort of like when you see a grizzly bear eating berries. He’s clearly built for raw power, but he’s standing before us in cozy knits, inciting a philosophical conversation about the part hormones play in emotions.
I should insert myself into the conversation. I have enough to say about the topic that I could rattle on all day, but I could never talk out loud in this class, not with a man that looks like that, poised and ready to question my thoughts.
I’d turn to mush. I’d make no sense. I’d make a total fool out of myself, and everyone would know without a shadow of a doubt that I had private fantasies about the philosophizing grizzly bear at the front of the class.
“I think love is real,” some flirty, little blonde in the front row begins saying out of turn. “I mean, sometimes you just know things. Your heart starts racing, and your body reacts.” Shedraws circles on her forearm as she talks to him, never dropping eye contact.
Okay, so everyone notices how handsome he is. I’d wager a bet that the better part of this classroom has fantasies about the man.
Professor Wilder nods slowly toward the blonde. “An elevated heart rate is also a symptom of anxiety, not the best diagnostic tool for love. To your first point, many would argue that love feels profound because the chemicals involved are persuasive, not because the feeling is accurate.”
“Is that what you feel too,” the blonde presses, now twisting her hair around her index finger, “or do you believe love is real?”
“Before I answer that question, I’d like to turn the inquiry back to you. For tonight’s homework, I’d like you all to write me a five-thousand-word essay on what ‘real’ means. Emotionally, biologically, ontologically. We can’t debate the existence of something we haven’t defined.”
I jot down the assignment and tap my pencil against my iPad as I stare at the giant man rattling off tasks. I’m not sure what I feel about the blonde, but I really wanted to know the answer to her question.
Does Professor Wilder think love is real? It’s important for my fantasies to know whether we’re just fucking or whether we’re in it for the long haul. I mean, both are intriguing, but one means we’re in it for the marriage and the baby carriage. The other… we’re just two bodies having fun.
“Class is dismissed, but Rosie Carmichael, can I see you at my desk, please.” His voice is like warm, frayed leather, sending a shock of something electric between my legs as my stomach drops.
I try to memorize the way it sounds on his tongue for my late-night delusions, though there might not be a later because I may very well die on my way to his desk.
Why is he calling me up there? I haven’t done anything wrong.
Or have I?
The last paper we turned in was on the dual nature of human attachment. Maybe I said something weird. Worse yet, maybe he can tell I didn’t actually read the book I was supposed to in order to write sensibly on the topic.
My heart hammers against my chest as students disperse from the tiered lecture hall. I’m not sure how many people this place holds, but it’s taking forever to empty out.
Come on, people! Move!I can’t take the anxiety! I need to know why he called me to the front of the class!
It has to be the reading thing. I haven’t done anything else wrong. I show up on time, I don’t leave early, and I always turn in my homework on time. I should fess up to it right away. People respect you more if you admit your mistakes. I think it was Nietzsche who said that‘mistakes are growth’or ‘to error is to learn’or something like that. Heat crawls up my neck. I don’t remember the quote now, probably because I didn’t read the book!
When the room is empty, I stand from the chair with hollow knees and make my way to the front of the classroom, my pulse pounding in my temples as I approach the grizzly bear in the shawl collared cardigan.
He’s intoxicating!
Green eyes, salt and pepper hair, muscles stacked on muscles, and a deeply arboreous scent surrounding him like he’s just finished chopping firewood.
Dear Lord, please help me not make a complete idiot of myself.
“Ms. Carmichael. Thank you for staying late. I hope I’m not keeping you from your next class.”
“No,” I laugh, tugging at the sleeve of my shirt. “I’m going home after this. If this is about the reading assignment for last week’s paper, I just want to let you know that I didn’t do it.” My throat tightens. “I wanted to do it, but I have so much going on at home, and I let it slide. I’m sorry.” Most people would stop here, but I keep going. “I’m usually very organized, but lately, I’m so scattered. My dad is an alcoholic, and I’ve been working full-time to pay for rent while attending classes. Plus,” I stupidly continue, “my cat, Arlo, just passed, and he’s been my best friend since my mom passed away two years ago, and now… I’m pretty lost.”
Oh, my freaking God! What am I doing?
My face flushes with red-hot heat like a wildfire that’s run into an oil tanker on an Arizona highway.
This is bad! Really, really bad!
