Page 13 of The History in Us

“No,” I choked, not understanding the additional burn in my chest at Grant’s suggestion. While thoughts of having sex with Katie had haunted my dreams for years, having sex with her wasn’t the thing to do. She was the type of girl who needed something more, and I would never ask for that again.

“Mind if I do?” He raised an eyebrow at me, while he sipped his own drink of pleasure.

“Yes,” I barked before I gave it a thought. Grant’s eyes narrowed and a slow smirk rose on his lips. Damn it, he caught me.

“She’s hot, isn’t she?”

“She’s…” I clamped my lips shut, giving away the answer he wanted from me. Katie Carter was hot in a schoolgirl, beach babe sort of way. She was opposite of everything that attracted me and yet the most attractive woman I’d ever seen. Her blue eyes looked at me all innocent and questioning, and I wanted to be the answer. I wanted to be her answer, but I’d never deserve her.

“That’s what I thought.”

I stared at my friend. Younger in years, he appeared older to me in this three-piece suit and fancy silver watch. He wasn’t as carefree as he’d been a year or two ago. He seemed bitter and hardened by the privilege of working at his father’s company. Rough life, I’d joked, but the words were always said out of jealousy. I wished my father had been someone, made something of himself, so I could be his legacy. The label I had, with his last name, only brought fear I’d turn into a drunken abuser like him.

“She’s from my hometown. We have history.” I shrugged to brush off the question.

“What kind of history? Like you fucked her in high school?”

“Man, shut up,” I snapped, appalled that sex was all he could equate to a woman, but knowing I’d felt the same way on most occasions.

“You did, didn’t you?”

“No, she’s like six years younger than me. She would have been a child when I was in high school. Chill.” But an image of her flashed before me—sweet, thirteen, and built like a woman.

“Huh. Never figured you for a cradle-robber, but whatever works to rid your mind of Alicia, sounds good to me. You need to let shit go and move on. Pack up the abandonment issues and get back to love-em-and-leave-em, like me,” he teased. He had his own baggage weighing him down. As for ridding Alicia from my mind, could I do that so easily? Could I sleep with another girl, sleep with Katie, and get over the loss of my child’s mother? In many ways, the answer was a resounding yes. While I doubted Alicia’s fidelity, I couldn’t imagine a pregnant woman attracting another man. But once AJ was born, I had my doubts. Alicia’s denial of sex with me strengthened the possibility of someone else. Then she left me, confirming the reality. Alicia was a sexual being. If she wasn’t with me, she was definitely fucking someone else. So, yes, I could move on without danger of getting attached again. I didn’t have abandonment issues, as he psychologically diagnosed me. I was used to people leaving me.

“Uh-oh, Jugular Johnson at five o’clock.” Grant hated Professor Johnson, and I spun to find Anne approaching us.

“There you are,” she simmered, her eyes bypassing me to focus on Grant. “Oh God,” she teased, “not you.” Professor Johnson had a love-hate relationship with Grant. While she was appreciative of the generous donation to the university from his father, she didn’t appreciate his blatant hatred of all things academic.

“Professor Johnson, how lovely to see you. You’re looking very fine tonight.” Anne’s eyes narrowed on Grant. Her arms crossed in that don’t-mess-with-me stance.

“Don’t flirt with me, Mr. Mullens. It’s unbecoming.”

Grant’s mouth opened, and I knew his comeback before he spewed the words.

“Oh, I’d like to be coming, Professor Johnson.” He snapped her name tightly with his teeth, hinting at the sharp nips he’d give her, forcing pleasure in places I didn’t wish to imagine on my professor. His eyes roamed her entire suit-covered body. Arms slowly uncrossing, she swiped her hands against her hips. I found nothing attractive about Anne, but there was something that Grant did. More than fifteen years his senior, Grant flustered Anne as much as she tried to outwit him.

“But on that note, I think I’ll be going.” His eyes roamed Anne a final time. “It’s too academic here for me.” He patted me on the shoulder and spun with a brief call me. Anne’s eyes followed his retreat before she muttered: “Of course, only a stupid woman would be smart enough to sleep with him.” I took a hardy drink at the longing in her voice and tried to wash away visuals I didn’t wish to see of my advisor and my friend.

“So, you found a babysitter?” Anne asked me, snapping out of her stare. She wasn’t in boss mode at the moment; tonight was about meeting people who could potentially employ me. How did this become my life? I thought the military was all the work I’d ever need.

“Yep. Katie Carter, do you know her?”

“I love Katie.” Anne’s voice rose in appraisal. “She was in one of my classes as an undergrad. She’s such a hard worker. Quite the imagination. Quiet, but sweet girl.”

“Mmm,” was all I could respond. I’d spent most of the week trying not to converse with Katie in fear she’d mention Elk Rapids again. Surprisingly, ER was part of the reason I felt comfortable asking her to babysit. Still caught between fear she would remember me and a slowly nagging hope she would, the hidden fact I knew her family eased my discomfort about leaving AJ. Spending several intimate moments in a bathroom stall with my son, dangerously flirting with one another, helped, too. Or maybe it was the way she lovingly stroked AJ’s head, not afraid of his hearing aids like Alicia had been. Not repulsed by them, like his own mother, who didn’t like the defect in her son to match the defect in the father. I had a warped sense that despite not wanting Katie to recall who I was, I could trust her. The small town was an ironic comfort.

“She’s very responsible,” Anne continued. “Timely, creative, organized.” She dispensed stats like she was a candidate for a job. I nodded in response.

“And single,” Anne added.

“Why the hell would I need to know that?” I blurted, spurting out the sip of whisky I’d taken while Anne rambled on with Katie Carter’s assets. She motioned for me to follow her, my interviewer awaiting us, but we lingered another moment.

“Because single girls don’t have social lives. They have free time. She can babysit for you.”

“Ahhh.” The gleam in her normally inquisitive eyes hinted at the fact that her explanation wasn’t entirely accurate.