Page 14 of Forging Legacy

Thanks, Wyatt. I appreciate that. Good luck on Monday's exam. Have a good weekend.

Again, I should close the computer. I should walk away. But her instructor dot stays green. She’s still sitting there on her end. It’s not like I can type anything I’m really thinking, especially not on an official university server. But damn, do I want to know what she’s wearing, what she’s doing after this, why she’d be monitoring the online support forum on a Friday.

By the time her green dot turns gray, I’m fully hard, aching in my jeans, remembering how she looked spread open on my bed, how she tasted when she was so nervous about being sweaty. I close my computer and move to my bed, wishing I could still smell and feel her there as I unzip my jeans, take myself in my hand, and relieve myself to the memory of Fern Montgomery’s O-face.

Chapter12

Fern

Mom comesup behind me at the table, leaning over my shoulder to kiss the top of my head and peek at my computer monitor. “You’re doing work on a Friday night?”

I shrug. “I’m usuallyworking workingon Friday nights.”

Mom pulls up the other chair at our small table for two. “I’m glad you have a bit more room in your schedule this semester. I thought you’d go do fun teenager stuff, though.”

I try not to roll my eyes. “Mom, I’m 22 years old.”

She winces. “Okay, okay. But still. Where’s Thora?”

I suck on my teeth. “I think she’s working the hockey game tonight. She got one of the bar stands that has a tip cup, so she was excited for that.” Neither Mom nor I need to mention that I don’t have other friends. Everyone from high school is either involved in their adult lives by now, with kids or full-time jobs, or else far away at their colleges, working weekend gigs to supplement their scholarships.

Mom tilts her chin toward the computer. “Well, what are you working on? I saw you smiling at the computer when I came for a drink of water.”

I flush. “I was working on a paper, but then one of my math students was in the forum asking for help.”

Mom tilts her head, looking at me strangely. “One of your students, hmm? What’s that about?”

I wave a hand and close the computer. “He’s someone I knew from before … one of the regulars at Fuel Up. It’s been … weird having him in the class.”

Mom frowns. “Fern, I don’t need to tell you what can happen if you lose yourself to a man.”

I press my fingers into the scratched surface of the table. We’ve had it as long as I can remember, and I’m pretty sure it came to us nicked and scuffed. “You don’t need to tell me again, no. And like you said, Mom, I live like a monk. So, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Mom crosses her arms. “It’s not that I don’t want you to go out and experience dating and love and adventure.” She sighs. “It’s just all so … fragile. You know? Like there’s only a tiny icicle between having a good time and making a choice you can’t unmake.”

I nod. We’ve had this conversation a lot. Too many times. This conversation is why I work so hard at my studies, but it’s also why I went wild on New Year’s Eve, and now I’m having to pretend like I’m not a hot mess every time I see or even think about Wyatt Moyer.

I sigh. “I’m going to go to bed. I love you.”

I reach for her hand, and she squeezes mine. “Love you, too.”

In the morning, I feel restless in our apartment. Mom is at work, and Thora is most likely still asleep. I take the train downtown and grab a bus to campus, head into my usual spot in the library, and freeze in my tracks when I see the very cause of my unsettled state.

Wyatt sprawls in a chair by the wall of windows overlooking Forbes Avenue. His long legs, clad as usual in gray sweats, seem to take up the entire floor. He wears a university t-shirt despite the January chill, and his baseball hat is tugged low over his eyes. His dark hair peeks out a bit from the edges of the hat. I wonder if he’s due for a cut or just likes it shaggy that way. And I can’t be wondering such things about one of my students.

I pause and look around, trying to find another place to sit and get some work done, but something causes Wyatt to look up, and his eyes catch mine. I have one of those moments where the rest of the room fades away, it’s like I’m peering down a tube. All I can see is Wyatt, framed by bright daylight, smiling at me.

“Fern! Hey.”

I nod and look over my shoulder again. Now that he’s seen me, is it rude if I don’t sit near him? Instructors sit in libraries with their students. I’ve done it myself lots of times. I sigh and walk toward the seat next to him, opposite a low table with just enough space for both our notebooks. “Hi yourself. I don’t usually see you here …”

He shakes his head. “Well, technically, I’m supposed to be at cardio this morning, but I have a meeting with my agent later, and … you probably don’t care about any of that. Sorry. Hi.”

I swallow and tuck my hair back behind my ears even though none of it had come loose from my ponytail. I wish I had tried a little harder with my appearance today, but I’m in old jeans, an old bar t-shirt, and a huge sweater that probably has holes. “I don’t mind. Will you get in trouble for missing cardio? With the team?”

Wyatt sets his book down on the table. I see that it’s the same one he was reading a few weeks ago, when I met him. But now he’s nearly done with it. “I won’t get in trouble, no. I would have entered the MLS draft and been gone from here, but I have some shit I need to finish up.” He shakes his head. “That’s not what you want to hear about, either.”

I fuss around with my bag, pulling out my pencil sharpener and scrap paper I rescued from the recycling bin in my classroom. “You mentioned a hard time changing your name. What’s the problem with that?”

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