Page 35 of Riptide

I can’t deny it was a surprise to see him in class, to realize that the same man I had pinned beneath me, the same man who made me shudder with nothing but his mouth and his hands, was Professor Nicholas Jones. For a split second, I thought maybe he lied about his name. Maybe he was just another guy who wanted to fuck me and then disappear under an alias. Butafter class, I did some deep diving into his social media, just to be sure.

And there he was. His profile isn’t flashy. He’s not the kind of guy who over shares, that much is obvious. No thirst traps, no captions meant for likes. Just some old photos, a few tagged pictures from what look like department dinners. But one post makes me pause. It’s an old photo, at least five years ago. A younger Foxx standing beside another man.

The guy is attractive, tall, built, with sharp features and a smile that’s a little too perfect. He has his arm around Foxx’s waist, holding him close, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and Foxx looks different. It’s not just that he’s younger. There’s something about the way he’s standing, the way his shoulders are relaxed, the way he smiles, because he is smiling, soft and easy, and it’s so unrestrained.

I scroll through the comments, but there aren’t many.

No more posts of them other than that one. Nothing to explain who the guy is, what happened. But I don’t need much to put the pieces together. Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t just someone Foxx slept with; he meant something.

I close out of the app, dropping my phone onto my chest, staring at the ceiling.

I tell myself it doesn’t matter. That it’s just a picture.

But for some reason, it sticks with me.

And I really don’t like that I don’t know this version of him.

***

I stand in line at Mug Life with Daphne, who’s gently rocking Rosie in her arms. The place smells like freshly ground beans and vanilla syrup, my favorite combination.

We inch forward as the line moves. Stuffing my wallet back into my pocket, I try not to obsess about the ache in my lower back from a bad night’s sleep. Daphne catches my eye and arches an eyebrow toward her daughter.

“Think we’ll actually get our coffee before Rosie starts her meltdown?” she jokes under her breath.

“We can try bribing her with your boob if it all starts to go wrong. Either that, or I’ll start singing my best rendition of ‘Defying Gravity.’ That always gets her to stop crying.”

“Please don’t break into show tunes in the middle of Mug Life,” Daphne says through a laugh. “I’m too tired to pretend I don’t know you right now.”

I smirk. “You’re just jealous of my vocal range.”

“If you say so.”

We scoot up as the line moves again, nearly to the counter now. Rosie begins to fuss a little more and Daphne jigs a little harder. I find myself also swaying and shushing, which is completely bizarre. I’ve been baby brain washed already.

Daphne huffs a quiet laugh, catching my movement. “Look at you,” she teases. “Natural instincts kicking in?”

“I think it’s more self-preservation,” I mutter, adjusting my stance, but still unconsciously rocking in time with her. “If she starts wailing, everyone in here is going to glare at us, and I’ll be forced to perform a one-man musical to distract them.”

“I thought you said that would be for Rosie’s benefit.”

“Potato tomato.”

Daphne gives my arm a playful smack just as we get to the front of the line, where we see her friend, Indie, looking a little frazzled. “Hey, Daph, Finn. Hey, Rosie girl,” she coos.

Daphne angles Rosie so she can see her better, then says, “We’re in need of caffeine, and Rosie is seconds away from squealing. Can I have my usual?”

“Double chocolate frappe, no coffee, extra whip, coming up.” Indie’s eyes flick to me as she scribbles Daphne’s order on a cup. “And your usual too?”

“Yep, vanilla latte,” I say. “Extra shot if you feel like being nice.”

Indie smirks, already reaching for another cup. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I love that you pretend you don’t have claws.”

She gives me a knowing look. “Prickles, or so Seb says. I disagree. Which is why you should appreciate this while it lasts.”

Daphne chuckles and shifts Rosie in her arms. Indie straightens, already punching in our orders, and I pay quickly. “You coming to scrapbook club next week?” she asks Daph.

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