Page 12 of Tempest

“That was the Sanctuary Church, which was an offshoot started by Moon’s son. Unification Church was most notorious for its mass weddings in South Korea.”

“Hmm, well, I guess it adds some spice and history to the house,” I say, shrugging it off. It does explain a few things about my new home. “Maybe I’ll sage a little, though.”

“The historian in me would love to take you up on the offer, if you wouldn’t mind me poking around your house.”

“Oh, not at all. The place is fabulous and deserves more than just my attention,” I say. “I was thinking about hosting a welcoming party for the students. I want them to see me as more of a peer than an instructor of any kind. Perhaps a casual get together will help their comfort with me.”

“It’s not a bad idea, if you don’t mind them knowing where you live,” Vanessa says.

“I’m in one of the most famous houses in the city, I’m not sure I could hide it even if I tried.”

“True,” she agrees.

“You live there alone?” Preston raises one eyebrow. They are neatly trimmed, as is his matching short beard. He’s a well-manicured man from what I can see. While he’s without the signs of someone who’s worked with their hands their entire life, he’s not necessarily soft, either. His hands are large, shoulders wide, and his burnished hair is styled in a way that suggests he’s done little more than run his fingers through it as it air-dried. I bet his students love his lectures.

“I do.”

“Odette is the consummate single,” Vanessa says, taking a sip of her drink that has just arrived. “I’ve never seen her in a relationship.”

Side-eyeing her, I see the spark in her eye. The one that says she’s up to something. In this case, matchmaking. It’s not her first attempt. This is a regular habit of hers. I love her, but it’s misplaced.

A relationship gal I am not.

“Never,” he asks.

“Not since I’ve known Vanessa anyway,” I confirm.

“And you met in college?”

“We did.” I nod, taking a big sip of my drink. It’s good, hits like a balm to my most vulnerable spot that feels just slightly exposed right now. “The last relationship I was in ended right before I moved to New York City for college. It hasn’t been a priority since.”

“That’s a long time to be single,” he says.

“Maybe,” I say, shrugging. “I have had seven different men ask me to marry them, if that counts for anything.”

“Seven?” Preston throws his head back in laughter. He has a nice throat, a prominent Adam’s apple below his strong jawline.

“And I turned down every single one. What about you? Family?”

“I have a son, Victor. He’s twenty-four and living his best life on the East Coast.”

“Married?”

“Separated.” He says it with a slight shrug, but there’s a pursing at his lips that tells me it might not be a safe topic to explore just yet.

Interesting.

Besides not being interested in relationships, I’m not entirely a good woman, either. I don’t fuck with men who are available. Which, of course, leaves me with a long line of narcissistic assholes and men in dire need of therapy.

If you’re an emotionally unavailable guy, pull up a chair and let’s get to know one another for a night. On the other hand, if you’re healthy and looking for love…no thank you. I don’t make time for men that might get attached, because I won’t reciprocate and then things get messy.

I’m not on the prowl for love or commitment, only a good time and a better goodbye.

From a young age, my father taught me that anything a man could do, I could do better…while bleeding. Men should fear me, he said, and I shouldn’t ever forget it. He probably didn’t expect me to embrace that motto in my sexual endeavors, though he’s never chided me for it, so maybe he did. My parents were never conventional thinkers, really. They’re quite progressive, which is likely why I’ve ended up the way I am. I have never bowed to societal norms. Not even when choosing my bed partners.

Preston is my type of man in many ways. Smart, handsome, well-built, and most importantly, not entirely available. I don’t care that he’s still married, that’s his business, not my vagina’s.

“Where’s George,” he asks Vanessa, a clear attempt at changing the subject away from his marriage.

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