Collide (Off-Limits Book 2) Page 6

  They told me I couldn’t be a dancer when I was seventeen. I was crushed. I wish I could say I didn’t remember that time, but I remember every hour of every day. It was dark. I dragged myself to school, went through the motions, until we had a project to build a circuit board. It gave me something to focus on. I discovered science.

  That’s what I love about designing and building. If you do everything right, you can win. No one can stop you. Science won’t stop you. Laws of thermodynamics and electricity don’t care about your face or your arches or your body weight or your parents. It’s a place I can belong.

  And instead of helping it be hers, I’m standing in her way.

  “Can I get you another coffee?”

  I shut the screen of my notebook. I feel like someone’s punched me in the gut.

  I blink up at the waitress, my throat tight. I shake my head and she leaves.

  Maybe Graham’s right about one thing, and I did care too much about myself.

  Conversation from the counter streams into my consciousness. A familiar female voice.

  “…The defensive line was a letdown. I told those boys to shake off whatever’s going on and get their heads on straight.”

  I turn in my chair to find Betty leaning over the counter talking to the barista.

  “Sawyer?” She grabs her to-go cup and heads this way. “You tried the oat milk lattes in this place? Thing of beauty. Like our nemesis’ tackle last weekend.”

  She drops into the chair opposite without an invitation, adjusting to get comfortable in the worn leather seat. “Honey, what’s eating you?”

  “Did my father have close relationships with many of his students?”

  Betty frowns. “I wouldn’t say close. Why?”

  I rub a hand over my neck. “The dean said a student had a copy of his keycard to get into rooms.”

  “Everyone does it, Sawyer. Who’re you thinking of?”

  “Olivia Barclay. He spent time with her.”

  “I know you’re used to looking for the worst in people. You can blame the dead all day long; they don’t have the breath to argue. But don’t you blame anything on that girl. Because she’s a doll and I will use more than my breath to set you straight.” Her eyes shine. “Now what else can we solve today?”

  I’ve fucked my student and can’t seem to stop, even when she won’t let me touch her.

  “My future business partner and I are trying to recruit students. Evidently it’s not enough to simply offer someone a job these days.”

  “Students want to know an invitation is personal, specific. They want to feel like they matter.”

  I rub a hand over my neck. “So I buy them all birthday cakes? Send them participation ribbons for deigning to take my class?”

  She laughs. “In the last few years your father agreed to take on more service activities, like supervising the student projects, helping with the engineering club. I think that endeared him to them.”

  “I’m already doing Stars, though I may have fucked that up.”

  But Olivia was wrong when she said I was making them jump through stupid hoops.

  I wanted to see what they were made of. School has a way of filling your mind without preparing you for the real world. That’s one gift I can give them. The doctorate I have in engineering is nothing compared to the one in life.

  “You could try something truly radical to convince them you care.” Betty’s eyes shine.

  At this point, I’ll try anything.

  8

  Olivia

  When I sink gingerly into my seat in calculus, my hands balled into fists, I look good.

  It’s a lie. I’m a damned mess.

  My fingertips are sliced from working with wires in lab, and my ass is complaining.

  It feels as if there’s an imprint of Sawyer’s hand on my flesh.

  There probably is.

  Sixty seconds indeed.

  I’m sure it was his intention that I wouldn’t forget for long after I walked out the door, and he got his wish.

  Whatever. I’m over it, and him. He has bigger problems than I can solve, and yesterday proved it.

  My phone vibrates with a call—the number of the attorney, probably following up about the inheritance.

  I could use the money. If what my dad said at the gala is true, I can’t rely on my parents. And I’m sure Lancaster would be satisfied to see it go to that purpose.

  Plus, it’s none of Sawyer’s business. And as far as I’m concerned, neither am I.

  Royce and Madison walk in the door, engrossed in conversation, and I shove the phone into my bag.

  Royce spots me and comes over. Madison trails him, looking like she’d rather sit anywhere else but drops into the seat on his other side.

  “You finish the homework?” he asks.

  “Barely. You?”

  “Most of it.” He grins and Madison rolls her eyes.

  “That’s because you can’t stop playing NBA games on your Xbox.”

  “Adam’s into those too. He’s really good.”

  “Huh. I’ll have to challenge him sometime.” He pulls out his books. “Speaking of Stars, having Professor Redmond supervise is turning out great.”

  I frown. “Were you part of the same lab session we all were in?”

  “Yeah, but he sent me this email today. Asked what I wanted to do after school and gave me some options.”

  All he gave me was a red ass.

  “He’s kind of a genius,” Royce continues, oblivious. “He won all these awards here and at grad school, and he’s got more than two dozen patents.”

  “I get it. He’s God’s gift to undergrad engineering,” Madison intervenes.

  “That’s just it. He doesn’t have to be here. When he left his company, he made a lot on the deal. When I got into Russell on financial aid, I knew I’d get a good degree. I didn’t expect an experience like this. Now it feels like we have a real chance to make nationals for Stars. With that, plus a reference from Redmond, I’ll be able to go anywhere.”

  I’m not the only one moved by Royce’s passion. Madison’s watching him, swept up.

  “Is that why you wanted to sit with me?” I tease. “So you can gush about Professor Redmond?”

  “No, I came to sit with you because I found something in the lab that I think belongs to you.”

  He reaches into his bag and pulls out his fist.

  Inside it is my necklace.

  The diamond pendant glitters in the light. My stomach drops, disbelief blurring with gratitude.

  “I found it at the end of the day. It looked familiar so I didn’t turn it in right away, then I remembered you wearing one like it. Is it yours?”

  I lift it, inspecting the diamond, the clasp. Everything is perfectly intact.

  “Yes,” I murmur. “But…”

  I traded it at regionals in New York to another team in exchange for materials to fix our robot.

  Madison knows that, too, but Royce doesn’t.

  “Thanks,” I manage.

  I grip the solitaire in one hand, still not believing it’s here.

  How did it come back? I can’t believe one of the guys on the other team had a change of heart.

  Which leaves one other option.

  I fasten the necklace around my throat, the familiar feel of it pure comfort as I type out a text.

  Liv: I don’t know how you did this, but thank you.

  The response comes moments later.

  Adam: For what?

  “Miss O!” Sienna, one of the little girls in my guppies class, screeches as I wind my way across the studio. “Andy cut me off.”

  The boy in question looks around, confused. “Did not. We’re supposed to go this way.”

  “You’re supposed to go the other way,” Sienna argues.

  I’m teaching dance and enjoying the six- and seven-year-olds. They’re doing a liberal interpretation of chassés around the perimeter and they’re so cute, I’d watch them even if I wasn’t getting pai
d.

  “Let’s all go to the right this time”—I motion with my hands—“and we can go to the left next time.”

  This time, the kids go to the right…except for Andy, who steps on Sienna’s toes.

  “He did it on purpose!” she cries.

  “Did not!”

  “People make mistakes. It’s good to forgive them.”

  “What if I don’t want to?”

  “Well, we can spend the rest of class talking about whose fault it is, or we can talk about what’s next once we master this.”

  The screeching stops. “What’s next?” Sienna asks.

  “Well, then we can add a kick.” I relevé onto my left foot and bring my right up in a développé, extending it at waist height to the side.

  “Then what?”

  I back into the corner and take a breath.

  I do a chassé into a jeté, landing easily and resetting to execute a triple pirouette in place.

  “Wow.” Murmurs go up.

  The movements linger in my body, the tension and the extension. Like a friend I haven’t seen in too long, the kind who makes you feel instantly at ease despite the distance.

  “But that’s next week,” I joke. “One more time around the studio, then we’ll finish for today.” I ruffle their hair and encourage them to get back to work.

  I feel his eyes on me before I can turn toward the windows looking into the studio.

  He stands on the other side of the glass, heavy gaze locked on me like I’m the cause of every good and bad day he’s ever had.

  After the time is up, I escort my kids toward the door.

  “And I thought my classes were contentious,” Sawyer murmurs.

  I refuse to smile. He doesn’t deserve it. “Guess I almost threw down with the asshole that one time. You’re here for Andy?”

  “Daniel’s in the parking lot. I’m here for you.”

  It’s impossible not to be affected. The way he says those words makes my heart race.

  His gaze drops to the necklace around my throat and my chest expands.

  “It was you, wasn’t it?”

  Sawyer’s eyes darken as if he’s about to deny it.

  “I knew it was important to you.”

  “But when…”

  “At regionals, before we were supposed to meet up.”

  Before we fought in the hallway.

  Before Madison caught us.

  He did that for me.

  “Looks better on you than the kid you traded it to anyway,” he says with a grimace.

  “So what is this? An apology?”

  “No. That’s a gift. This is the apology.” He takes a breath, looking so awkward I almost feel for him.

  Almost.

  “You were right. I like to hold people at a distance. After regionals you pushed me away, and finding evidence of you and my father in each other’s lives…I hated that he got to have you when I didn’t.”

  And I got to have him, I think but don’t say.

  The words are a big concession.

  They’re not enough.

  “Apologies usually contain the words ‘I’m sorry.’ For instance,” I press before he can interject, “I’m sorry if me keeping anything from you about your dad hurt you. That’s exactly why I did, and it backfired.”

  He looks around the studio, his jaw working. “In that case…” his voice lowers even though all the kids and parents are out of earshot. “When I punished you in the supply room, I was angry, and you didn’t deserve it. I’m sorry.”

  “You should be. I couldn’t sit comfortably all day,” I grumble.

  I realize my mistake the second his hands flex at his sides. “Really. I can take a look if you like.”

  “Hard pass. Forget I said anything.”

  “Like I said. Very, very sorry.” His eyes gleam with banked desire and amusement.

  “Sure you are.” I grab my dance bag, realizing too late the zipper’s open and spilling the contents onto the floor.

  “I read your essay. The one you turned in to my dad last semester.”

  “You what?”

  On my knees, I pick up my street clothes, spare leotard, wallet, and stuff them back inside.

  “I don’t want to stand in the way of you getting what you want.” Sawyer’s next to me, too close as he helps. “I want you to have all of it.”

  He means Stars, but I want what I felt in his arms, under his touch.

  But I can’t go there with him again, because of what I told Madison and because it would be destructive to let him in the way I was starting to. He didn’t only claim my body, he had a piece of my heart.

  And he wrecked it.

  “It’s better if we focus on school.” I rise to standing and he follows.

  “So you’ll sit in my class, dutifully taking notes, pretending you can’t remember how I make you come.”

  My skin prickles everywhere, a dull ache settling between my thighs.

  “That’s exactly what I’ll do.” I start to turn away, using every ounce of willpower, and he grabs my arm.

  “In your essay, you talk about how dance made you feel. You don’t have to give up the rush. In fact, you need that passion. It’s the only thing that will get you through.” He lays something in my hand—a brand new set of wide satin ribbons for pointe shoes that must have fallen out, too. “I want to spend time with you. However you’ll let me.”

  “Because I’m your type?” I murmur. “I get that you make a habit of crossing lines. But there are some I can’t live with.”

  “Why is that, Olivia?” Sawyer’s staring at me with the kind of intensity that burns a hole in my chest. His frustration is a living thing. “Are you afraid it says something about me or about you?”

  Because the idea of him seeing another woman my age, of wanting her, of risking everything to be with her, hurts like hell. I want to believe what we have—had—was different.

  But he never promised me that. It was only ever supposed to be hot, wild, a fantasy come to life. Maybe part of growing up is realizing when you’re expecting too much.

  “You’re right,” I admit.

  “A first, where you’re concerned.” He looks around at the hall. “You have to teach another class?”

  “I’m done.” A notification beeps on my phone. “But I have to change and run an errand, then head home. It’s Hoes Over Brews tonight.”

  His brows lift. “Excuse me?”

  “Girls’ night,” I explain. “We talk about everything, including how dumb guys are.”

  “Well, I’m glad to provide you sufficient material for this evening.”

  The laugh bubbles up before I can stop it, and his eyes crinkle at the corners.

  His apology can’t undo the hurt, but it helps.

  He returned my necklace, but didn’t use that against me. He wasn’t even going to take credit for it, which is so at odds with the man I met at the beginning of the semester—the one who’d use anything to get what he wants.

  I fist the pendant in my hand. “Tell me how you got it back.”

  “Never.”

  “I could make you.”

  “There’s nothing you could do to pry that information from me.” I open my mouth. “At least not public,” he amends with a grin.

  Now that we’re having an honest conversation for the first time in weeks, I don’t want it to end. “I told the girls I’d pick up some things at CVS. You could come with me?”

  There’s nothing weird about running into my professor at the pharmacy, is there?

  9

  Olivia

  “My roommate wants lube,” I inform Sawyer as I grab a basket and head down the aisle. The section with condoms and other accessories appears, and I stop in front of it.

  He turns the other way, inspecting the contents of the other side of the aisle. The wraps and bandages have me swallowing a laugh.

  “You need sports medicine tape, Professor Redmond? I guess bone density decreases with age—”


  “I’ll tie you up with this, including covering your smart mouth.”

  Heat shoots straight down my spine.

  It’s not awkward to be here with him. Not at all.

  Not that we used lube the one time we were together.

  Really didn’t need that.

  But it could be fun…

  Focus.

  I’m scanning the brands when his voice interrupts me.

  “Tell me about your toys.”

  Being back-to-back might feel safer, but it’s an illusion. I can feel his heat from here, sense the mere inches between us even through my clothes.

  “I have a vibe”—which he knows, because he made me use it—“but hardly a collection.”

  “Have you ever used it with another person?”

  My fingers slip on the package I pick up. “No. But I like the idea of a bullet, like one of those clit vibes.” My voice seems to have lowered an octave.

  Sawyer turns to my side of the aisle and picks out a box of condoms. He drops it in my basket and I gawk at him.

  “Presumptuous much?”

  His eyes darken as he moves to stand in front of me, his body pressed against mine. He reaches into his wallet and pulls out a twenty, setting it on top of the box. “If you’re using toys with someone, it better be me.”

  My heart hammers against my ribs as I glance up to see the mirror reflecting us from above.

  He’s tall, intimidating with his dark hair wild around his face. A decade older.

  I’m smaller, but I look bold, too.

  We look good together. Right and wrong in fascinating ways.

  As we step away from each other, he says, “What else do you need?”

  “Chips. Definitely chips.”

  He leads the way to the aisle.

  “Pringles?”

  “Hell no.” I shudder. “We broke a bunch of cans working on the robot. If I never see another Pringles can again, it’ll be too soon.”

  He chuckles while I pick out some Lays and add them to my basket.

  “We need to talk about the other day in the supply room,” I start.

  “You were dripping on my fingers.” I nearly drop the basket at the heat in his voice. “But the next time we play like that—”