Page 12 of Forbidden Hearts

“Maybe I can teach you a few techniques outside of class. What are you doing this weekend?”

She straightens up as if she hadn’t expected me to be this blunt. I’m already curious to see what she’s hiding under her clothes.

“I’m busy most weekends,” she says. “But maybe some other time.”

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“I think I work,” she says. “I’ll have to check my schedule.”

“See, how are you going to improve your skills if you don’t make time for private tutoring? I thought you wanted the extra help, Ms. Walker.”

“I do,” she blushes. “I just work a lot. But I’ll try to switch some shifts around.”

“I have office hours on Thursday,” I say, stepping forward and closing the distance between us. She licks her bottom lip. “Does that work for you?”

“I think so,” she says with a nervous smile. With that, she excuses herself and races to the door before I can give her a reply.

There is something up with this girl. Some of her reactions seem genuine, and others manufactured. What is she up to? Did some sorority put her up to a dare? That wouldn’t be the first time.

No. That’s not it. It’s something else.

Her stare makes me feel seen, like she was looking at the mafia enforcer instead of the professor standing before her.

???

There she is.

It took me a few minutes, but I finally found her. She’s at a rooftop bar at the town square, hugging a cup in one hand andyelling at a group of women walking on the street below. She’s telling them to join her.

I park my car a street away and walk to the bar. It’s Monday night, but most nights are treated like weekends in this college town. Crowds of college students litter the sidewalks, including many fresh-faced students who aren’t even old enough to enter the bars. They like to walk the square to see what awaits them in a few years.

I follow a group of college students up the stairs to the rooftop bar. Dance music gets louder as we approach the top of the stairs. A long, narrow bar lines the left wall. Above the bar is a red neon sign that reads ROOFTOP. Its light filters through liquor bottles lining the back wall.

To the right is a patio area, with tables topped with large patio umbrellas. The walls and rails overlooking the street below are decorated with neon string lights that flicker between red and yellow, the university colors.

By the time I order a beer and sit at a table, the womenshewas yelling at surround her. They dance by the speakers in a small area cleared of any tables. And they’re not the only ones dancing. A bunch of college kids and young couples dance with cups of beer in their hands.

I watch her and her friends alternate between dancing and drinking by the rails. After about an hour, she’s worn out, and I hear her say goodbye to her friends.

“You really have to go?” one of them asks her.

“I have work tomorrow,” she says.

She hugs them goodbye and makes her way to the stairs. Without breaking sight of her, I trail her to the street below. Irush to my car but glance in her direction to ensure I don’t lose sight of her. The crowds of college students have thinned out, so it’s easier to focus on her.

A few minutes later, I’m trailing her Uber. If I had been following her during the day, I would have stayed a few cars behind her to avoid detection. But it’s dark out, and most cars are simply anonymous headlights.

We drive south until we cross under the highway that splits San Marquez in half, then pull into a gated apartment complex. The Uber driver enters the apartment code into a security box and the gate opens. I drive close behind them and make it in before the gate closes again.

Once inside, I slow down and let the Uber get ahead. It stops at the end of the parking lot, and she stumbles out of the car and heads for a nearby building. As soon as the Uber drives away, I speed up and park in an empty spot with a clear view of where she’s headed.

She climbs a set of stairs and struggles to open her apartment door. She shakes her head after dropping her keys, then picks them up and tries again.

When she’s finally in her apartment, a light comes on at one of the windows. A few minutes later, that light turns off and another one at a different window turns on. That must be her bedroom.

I don’t know if she lives by herself or with roommates. That’s something I probably should have researched beforehand, but sometimes you just have to play the hand you’re dealt. Honestly, it doesn’t matter if she lives alone or with roommates. I know how to be quiet. Undetected.

Her bedroom lights turn off ten minutes later. I check to see if anybody is loitering in the parking lot. Nothing but darkness and silence. I’m the only one here.

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