Page 8 of Forging Legacy

I can tell by Fern’s face that they have me on the roster under my legal name toward the beginning of the alphabet. “Wyatt,” I repeat as everyone stares. “I’m probably the only one on the roster.” I gesture at Fern’s list, and she nods, moving her pencil. She continues on through the roster as people murmur.

It’s already too late. People recognize me. I hear someone ask their friend if they heard I got a shoe deal. I wish. Except, not really, because that would be a lot of fucking publicity. I just need to buy myself some time to get signed. I can focus on endorsements and all that superstar crap later. I just need to seal my first deal and get myself established, hopefully far away from American soil, where nobody knows anything about me from before I got good at soccer.

By the time my heart slows, and I can concentrate, the students around me are packing up and filing out. I kill time reading a book until the room clears out, and it’s just me and Fern.

“Wyatt, may I speak to you?” Fern’s voice is oddly formal, and I nod, staying in my seat until everyone leaves. I’m definitely not having any sort of conversation in front of other undergrads. Fern seems to expect our convo to start immediately, and she sighs and shifts over to a seat next to me.

She smells great, floral and fresh. Her outfit is damn fine, too. I liked her in jeans and a tight tank top, but this look suits her a lot. She looks professional and confident. Or I assume she looked confident until she saw me and realizedshefucked one of her students. I grin at that. Damn right, she did.

“Wyatt.” Her tone is angry now. “Why did you lie to me?”

Chapter8

Fern

Wyatt blows out a long breath,takes off his baseball hat, and then shoves it back on his head, covering his eyes. “I didn’t lie.” I point at the roster, about to yell at him for gaslighting me, but he holds up a hand. “Not exactly. I just didn’t tell you everything. It’s not like we traded life stories.”

I bite my lip. He’s right that we didn’t give each other a ton of information. But we did share something pretty intense. Or maybe it was just intense for me because I never did that before? Maybe that’s always how sex is…an overwhelming connection and feeling that this other person can see directly into my soul and fill me with unreal pleasure…

“Look.” Wyatt grips the edge of the desk attached to his chair so hard his knuckles are white. “The last name on your roster isn’t supposed to be public information.” I furrow my brow, and he explains that he has an alias. “I can’t stand any association with the man who sired me, but that’s what was on my birth certificate. So, I don’t use it unless I have to.” He takes off his hat and fiddles with his hair, a nervous habit apparently. “I go by Wyatt Moyer wherever I can. My mom calls it a stage name, but that makes it feel even more like I’m not really part of the family.” He fidgets in his seat, and I stare, not knowing what to say about all of this. “Look,” he pleads, eyes huge and doing things to my insides. “I did try to go into the system and change it to Moyer. I also tried to change it at the damn social security office, but that’s a whole freaking production involving court and lawyers and shit.”

Something about this revelation tugs at my heart. Maybe it’s the look in his partially hidden eyes…the obvious pain and frustration there. “You’re trying to change your name?”

He nods. “It doesn’t feel like mine. It’s my birth father’s name, and he’s a piece of shit. I go by my family’s name, Moyer, and I swear I didn’t try to mislead you or something to get in your pants.”

My cheeks heat, and I grimace. “Well, I guess it was me pushing the pants situation.”

He leans forward and grins. “You didn’t have to push too hard, Fern.”

It’s my turn to take a deep breath. I stare down at the roster on my desk. “Okay. Well. I’m assuming you’re not able to switch to another recitation section?”

He shakes his head rapidly. “My schedule is nuts between conditioning and weight room, and I’m not even in season right now.”

“Mm. Well, I also have an intense schedule trying to finish with a double major in math and computer science, so that leaves us stuck together in a teacher-student situation.” I fidget with the pen on my desk, not meeting his eye. “We need to keep things professional. No more flirting and definitely no repeats of New Year’s Eve.”

When I finally look at him, he’s giving me a filthy look, like he’s remembering every second of our night together before I slinked away from his bed like a thief. “Wyatt, I’m serious. I absolutely need this experience on my CV and?—”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it.” He flinches, like he’s also trying to convince himself. “You’re my teacher. I will be on my best student behavior. You’ll barely notice me.”

He grabs his backpack and heads for the door, leaving me to doubt my ability to ever concentrate in his presence. Staring at his ass in his gray sweats doesn’t help me with this mission. Not one bit.

I’m supposed to meet Thora in the library to debrief. Neither of us has any other classes on Fridays, but since we both live so far off campus, we usually hang out and study together until lunch. She spots me approaching and makes exaggerated winky faces, fanning herself. “Fern, you look smoking hot. If I were your student, I’d have trouble paying attention.”

I sink into the seat opposite her at the table. “You have no idea.” She furrows her brow and I slump forward, head on my hands. “The guy from the bar is one of my students.” Thora is silent long enough that I pop my head up to make sure she hasn’t left. Her mouth hangs open a bit, and she blinks a few times. “Did you hear what I said?”

She grins. “Oh, I heard. And I’ve read this book before.”

“What do you mean?”

Thora rubs her palms together. “Forbidden love. Hot as fuck student. Sexy-as-hell professor. I probably have ten of those in my e-reader right now.” She rummages in her bag like she’s going to show me her romance novel collection.

“I’m not going to read one of your steamy books right now, Thora. This is serious.”

She waves a hand. “I know. But … is it serious? It’s recitation, right? Graded based on if he shows up to class?”

I clench my whole body. “Yeah but coming to class could feel unsafe for him. Or uncomfortable. I might be making him uncomfortable.”

Thora nods. “Yes, I can see how your overt sexual energy would be unsettling for a young student-athlete about to sign a pro soccer contract.”

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