Page 19 of Kismet

Pushing to my feet, I start packing my briefcase up, and am almost done when Dean Marshall walks in. “Stone, hey. Glad I caught you.”

“Hi, Trey. How’s it going?” Trey Marshall has been the dean of this school since I was in undergrad. We’ve come to be on a friendly, first name basis.

“Not too bad. I need a favor; I’m hoping you can help me.”

“What’s up?”

“Professor Dillion went into labor early. She wasn’t due for another six weeks, and her water broke late last night. We have someone who can cover her classes for the rest of the semester, but their schedule is extremely tight. I was hoping between you and your aide, you two could do the grading for that class?”

“Just the grading?”

“Yeah. Like I said, we have someone who can do the lectures. Her course material is the same as yours, so you and Mr. DeMarco shouldn’t have any issue.”

“Uh, yeah. That’s fine, I guess.”

Trey claps his hands together, clearly thrilled by my agreeance. “Wonderful. I’ll have my assistant bring you the assignments that currently need grading later this week. You’re the best, Stone.”

As Trey leaves, my ass sits on my desk, hand rubbing the back of my neck. I reallyshouldjust do this myself, but with my current workload, I don’t have the capacity to grade a whole other class by myself. I’d be stretching myself too thin. Reaching into my pocket, I grab my phone, opening my text exchange with Cash.

Me: Hey, just spoke with the dean. He asked a favor from us. Can you meet me later this evening to go over it?

The message shows read almost immediately, the text bubble appearing, letting me know he’s writing his response.

Cash: Sure. Where and when?

Me: Can you come to my classroom, say six pm?

Cash: Okay. See ya then, teach.

I probably shouldn’t enjoy the way he calls me“teach”as much as I do. Flipping my wrist, I check the time—half-past three. I decide to head home for a few hours until I need to meet Cash. I rode my motorcycle to class today. My house is only about a ten-minute ride from campus, and most days, I choose to take the bike instead of my car. The weather has been colder, but not unbearable.

Pulling into the garage, I take my helmet off, heading inside. Aida is in the living room folding laundry when I walk into the house.

“What are you doing home so early?”

“Hello to you too, honey,” I drawl, slipping my shoes off.

She scowls at me. “Hi. What are you doing home so early?”

“I have to go back to campus around six to go over a new project with my aide. Thought I’d come home in the meantime.”

“So, you’re not going to be home for dinner… again?”

“No, I’m not, Aida. Work’s been hectic lately. One of the professors in the English department had her baby early, so we’re all having to pick up the slack. If I could be home, I would. Why do you care anyway? It’s not like we ever eat together.”

“Whatever, Stone. It’s always something with you.”

Here we fucking go.

There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t piss her off in some way. Things between us seem to be getting gradually worse. We argue almost as much as we ignore each other lately.

It’s not all her fault, either. If I’m being honest, I don’t enjoy being around her anymore. We have nothing in common. We feel more like roommates than husband and wife. We don’t even have sex anymore. We haven’t for over a year, but when we did, it was rushed and void of any intimacy at all.

Part of me thinks that’s why I latched onto Cash as much as I did when we were in Portland. Yes, cheating is wrong, but he made me feel seen—heard—like I mattered. Mix all that with the whiskey that diluted my mind, and it’s not all that surprising I kissed him the way I did.Though it doesn’t excuse it, and it certainly doesn’t make me feel less guilty.

It’s also not all that surprising that I’m still fantasizing about it. Okay, obsessing is probably a more fitting word. But I need to knock it the fuck off. It’s wrong on so many levels.

“While we’re here, remember we have that banquet to attend for the college in a few weeks.”

---