Page 13 of Because of Dylan

“Now, it's not as easy as you say. What if she doesn't want to be fu”—his words stumble—“made love to?” This question comes from Arnold, the more outspoken of the three.

“Would you want to make love to yourself?” I ask, making quotes motions with my fingers when I say make love. “Switch places with your wife for a second. Would you be receptive and eager if the roles were reversed?”

He says nothing.

“Go home and think back to the time when you first met. What did you do? How did you win her over? You already know what to do. You did it before. The problem is not that she's cranky or that you're too tired. The problem is that you're taking your wives for granted. And start appreciating them as women and individuals. Stop seeing them as extensions of you or your kids. Win them over again.”

The three of them look at each other and, as if by mutual agreement, push their unfinished beers away and stand up. Bills drop on the counter. More than enough to cover their bar tab three times over.

“Keep the change,” they say.

They leave the bar with brighter eyes than when they walked in, and they stand a little taller as they walk across the room. I know it won't be as simple as that, but's it's a start. I smile to myself while closing their tab and pocketing the very generous tip. The extra money will go straight into my savings. Every penny I save adds more distance between me and my old life. I'll never be that hungry or scared again.

“Move over, Doctor Phil. Here comes Doctor Becca.”

I glance up, a smile already on my face as I recognize Tommy's voice. I grab a glass and fill it with ice and Coke and place it in front of him.

Then I notice the man sitting next to Tommy. He's judging me. Even though his handsome face is schooled into a neutral expression, I can pick up the clues. I have lived my entire life under the judgment and scrutiny of others. There's always a tell. They always think they’re so good at hiding how they feel. But I’m better at reading them.

His eyes narrow on me, his jaw tenses. He casually drapes an arm over his brother’s shoulders as if protecting him from me and pulls him a little closer.

Professor Dick.

Tommy’s brother is Professor Dick.

His gaze is like a slap in the face. A sucker punch you can’t anticipate.

The universe has a sick sense of humor. Just when I met someone I like and want to be friends with, I get a reminder I’m not good enough.

The professor’s eyes are fixed on me—ice and fire. He wants to freeze me out and burn me alive at the same time. It hits me in the chest. The coldness and the burn. Professor Dick’s dislike and disdain slithers across the space between us like an invisible snake ready to pounce.

I take a minuscule step back and stop myself. I will not allow this judgmental asshole to make me feel like less than I am. I put on my imaginary armor, forcing myself to raise an eyebrow in defiance, step closer to the bar top and lean in. I look at Tommy with a real smile on my lips.

Now that I see the two side by side, the similarities are undeniable. Tommy’s brother is taller, bigger, with wider shoulders and more muscles. His hair is shorter, and he’s sporting a scruff I know won't be there in the morning. Every time I run into him on campus, he’s clean-shaven. His attire is also different from what I'm used to seeing. He’s wearing jeans and a Henley instead of the slacks and button-down shirts he usually wears at Riggins. Also gone are the glasses, and without them his eyes are brighter, the color more vivid. That's one thing he doesn't have in common with Tommy. No baby blues for the professor. His eyes are whiskey colored, and I’m a little drunk gazing into them.

“Becca, this is my brother, Dylan. Dylan, this is my new friend, Becca Jones.”

Dylan … well, that puts an end to the mystery. I know him as Professor Beckett. The nameplate on his office door says D. Beckett, and in my head I’ve always called him Professor Dick. A little snicker escapes my lips at the thought.

As if he can read my mind, his eyes narrow further, hiding the beautiful amber color under a slash of dark eyebrows.

“You know each other?” Tommy asks. His curious glance bouncing between the professor and me.

“Yes.”

“No,” I say at the same time.

Tommy laughs. “Which is it? Yes or no?”

“I have run into Miss Jones a few times.”

“But, we have never been formally introduced, and I'm not in any of his classes,” I clarify.

“Yes, I guess ethics is not something you're interested in.”

His dig hurts, but it goes unnoticed by Tommy. I know he's not referring to his class. This is a reminder of the time he caught me making out with Lucas in his then-empty classroom. It's not like we were naked. It was just kissing. But after that, every time I ran into him, he gave me a dirty look. And I run into him often because River’s in a classroom next to his, and I often meet her there after class.

“What can I get you, professor?”

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