Page 57 of Kismet

“Fuck no!You think I would’ve come here if I had?”

“Well…”

“Well, what, Kylie?”

“Cash, don’t act like you everactuallygot over that man.”

Narrowing my eyes at her, I spit out, “Yes, I fucking did!”

“Cash…”

“Kylie…” I toss back.

She is looking at me like she can see right through me, which she probably can. Aside from Weston, she’s the only person who knows about Stone. Xander knew I went throughsomethingwhen we became roommates, but he didn’t knowwhatit was. Regardless of how Stone hurt me and left me like I meant nothing, he was still my professor, and that could get him into a lot of trouble.

“Whatever,” she finally resigns. “What are you going to do about it?”

I heat up the pasta sauce I’m having for dinner tonight, hoping to look more nonchalant than I feel. “Nothing. There’s nothing I can do. I need this job. How often will I realistically have to deal with the dean anyway? His office is on the opposite side of campus.”

“Whatever, Cash. I want all the deets.”

“There will be no deets. Enough about me. How’s California?”

“It’s okay. There’s one other new professor, but she’s not very friendly. Our lecture rooms are next to one another, and she’s always scowling at me.”

“Weird. Maybe she likes you,” I retort as I dish up my plate.

“Shut up. This isn’t elementary school.”

“I’m just saying. Maybe see if she wants to hang out. With you both being new in town, maybe she just needs a friend.”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Well, let me know what happens there. My food’s done, so I’m gonna go.”

“Okay, I will. You too! Bye, Cash.”

Hanging up with her, I grab a beer from the fridge and sit down at the table. I’m trying this meal service that’s offered in my area. Since I’m living alone now, I don’t want to make entire meals only for myself. The company delivers ready to make meals with ingredients enough for one person. It’s convenient as hell, and so far, I’ve liked everything I’ve tried. It’s only been a few days, but whatever.Tonight is a baked ziti of sorts.

My mind is replaying every time I’ve seen Stone in the past week. Granted, it really hasn’t been much. I wasn’t lying to Kylie when I said his office is on the opposite side of campus as my classroom. I’ve had to go to the office a few times for administrative paperwork stuff, which luckily wasn’t with him, but someone from HR. I refused to look into his office when I walked by, despite feeling eyes on me.

It took me a long fucking time to get over what he did to me. If I’m being honest with myself, Kylie was probably right when she said I never really didfullyget over it. But over time, I was able to not feel so gutted all the damn time. The summer before I started my graduate program was adarktime, which feels stupid to say, since we were never anything more than a dirty secret hidden behind the shadow of night.But dammit, we were meant to be more. We wanted that.Hewanted that.

My feelings for him never made sense to me. I’ve dissected them hundreds of times over the years, and I always come up short. Why him? Why did I fall so hard, so fast, for him? What was it about him that made me feel like I was suffocating without him?

I’ll probably never know, and obsessing over it isn’t going to do me any good. We have to work together now, and I just have to steer clear, keep my head up, and deal with it like a fucking adult. I’m not a naïve college student anymore. I can’t go back down that road again.

No matter how fucking good he looks.

No matter how seeing him reminds me of the field, the stars, the long nights, and how those nights made me feel.

I spend the rest of dinner actively thinking of anything that is not Stone. I’m semi-successful. I thought about going out since it was Friday night, but I’m still so new to town and know no one. Going out alone and exploring just seems like more effort than I’m willing to do right now.

Instead, I take a long, hot shower, then sit in bed with my laptop. I’ve been writing for several years. I remember being a kid, and reading books like Harry Potter and authors like Stephen King, and wanting to be able to tell stories like they do. Create worlds and have the ability to move people with my words.

When Stone disappeared, writing down my feelings helped a lot. I was able to process my emotions and expel some of the anger and hurt I was holding on to. At some point, it transformed from an angry journal into a work of fiction. I’ve written several manuscripts over the years, none of them ever seeing the light of day, but it’s still therapeutic.

The current story I’m working on here and there is about a lonely man named Lennon, who owns property on thirty acres. The farmhouse he lives in is one he built himself. It’s a cornflower blue, with white shutters, and white trim. The door is a shade of maroon, and has stained glass, and there is a wraparound porch with a rocking chair. Flower beds reside around the entire expanse of the house, with an extended vegetable garden in the back.

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