Page 11 of Rolling with my Professors

“We were going to break it to—”

“Consider it broken.” I glance at the hot tub. It wasn’t supposed to add tension to my long day.

“I’ll shut the party down and take her home,” Rutherford says.

“Best birthday party ever.”

“It’s not really a party.”

I want to scream. I want to pound my fist against the wall…or his face… but that’s not who I am. I’m the nice guy—the even-tempered, rule-following, lonely-ass mother fucker whose own son won’t even talk to him despite my best efforts to raise him as a single dad. I gave up everything for him.

Haven’t I endured enough? Fuck! Apparently not. But I don’t own Mila.

I’m asking Rutherford to be like me. Misery loves company… which I won’t have if he leaves.

I shoot a restless glance inside. My son broke Mila’s heart. Now I’m cock-blocking her. My sanity is unraveling. Waving my free hand, I say to Rutherford, “It’s your house too.”

Sliding the door open, I step inside, meet Mila’s gaze, and do my best to relieve her worry. Without going into Dad mode, I walk past her to get to the stairs. “Hot tub’s all yours.”

She reaches out, catches my sleeve, and sets my body on fire. “Um… do you want to join us?”

“I don’t think Rutherford would appreciate that.”

A flicker of something wild crosses her expression. “I would.”

Is this what it feels like when people do ketamine? I’m lucid, but can’t move—trapped in my body, trying to process how I fit in this reality.

“Come on,” Rutherford’s voice booms from the doorway. “You look like you need to relax.”

“I was looking forward to a long, hot soak.” Shit, I shouldn’t have said that. “But I can’t.”

“Mila was looking forward to something long and hot, too,” Rutherford mumbles.

I shift my attention to him, still having trouble processing this reality.

He says, “Sorry, too soon… bad timing? But seriously, join us.”

Being a good dad, a good employee… it’s all led me this moment. Why? “Maybe later.”

She continues outside and I watch as she drops her towel. Such a perfect ass.

Frustration builds in me as I take each step up to my bedroom. What has following the rules gotten me? I can’t understand why my son broke up with Mila any more than why he ghosted me.

Rutherford once told me I was too nice, that I don’t fight hard enough for what I want. Is this one of those moments?

Mila’s laughter filters through my window. I cross the room and look down. She’s on Rutherford’s lap.

A dull ache grips my forehead. My shoulders are tight. And as a birthday present to myself, I’m spying on the two of them from my bedroom window. More accurately, enjoying her tits bobbing in the water, her bare skin, her long, wet hair.

Are they fucking? If they start fucking, will I stop watching? Will they care? Will they still fuck if join them? I grip the edges of the window.

I’m not getting any younger. And I’m not usually this immoral… although the decent guy in me is starting to make note of the thoughts running through my mind. He begs me to do the right thing. He’s gotten his way for years.

Living with Rutherford has shown me the cracks in my skillfully crafted walls.

Mila’s bright red lipstick makes her smile extra easy to see. Her laugh is so hearty for how petite she is. Then her head falls back. I can’t move. She catches me watching.

I was never that careless when she was dating Josh. Then again, they were much more private.

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