Page 6 of Falling for Roxanne

Specifically, the kind of fun where I went home with a guy and came home walking funny the next day. The problem was, I’d never been able to just pick up a guy. It was awkward. I didn’t want to chat up a man, have a couple drinks and then head for the inevitable.

It felt weird to me, that you meet, get friendly, hook up and then never see each other again. It was brief and kind of transactional. I have to know someone really well and be close to them before I take my clothes off.

Not judging anyone else, just naming my comfort zone. Even if my comfort zone was really outdated in modern times. I’d come to terms with the fact that I was never going to just swipe left to get some dick. I was either in a relationship, or I was too busy with school to worry about it. That was the plain, depressing truth.

Not that Hamilton Bell didn’t wake up my libido in a way that made me very nervous—my whole body had lit up. My nipples tightened, my breath caught, and I felt a rush of sensation and heat between my legs. If I hadn’t had another class right afterward, I might have snuck home to get myself off. It was that powerful of a reaction to his touch and his nearness.

I had never been that physically affected by any man, especially not so quickly. That was really inconvenient, but I wasn’t going to let some short-circuited hormones keep me from being successful in his class or prevent me from going after that internship. It wasn’t like I’d be working closely with a busy attorney who was also a professor and probably needed an intern to pick up some slack, not because he was going to spend time mentoring someone when he was clearly stretched to the limit on time.

I could gain valuable experience interning at that office, and I’d probably never see the guy. I could handle this, I told myself. And I made a few notes for my internship application before returning to my Ethics assignment. I wanted to make sure it was my best work that I submitted to that office.

When I got home, despite my best efforts to organize assignments and work out a viable schedule for completing them on time, I kept getting distracted. I was thinking about Hamilton Bell. I couldn’t stop. Every time I resolved to put him out of my mind, an image of him would crop up. There was the way he had taken off his glasses and run a hand through his wavy, auburn, hot-guy-from-Outlander hair.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t spent my formative years fantasizing about Jamie Fraser, so the build and the coloring, the square jaw and piercing eyes affected me. Nevertheless, I had to get on with my work and stop thinking about him, about the way his gaze had caressed my face. Caressed? There was no caressing! That was ridiculous. I needed to quit reading so many romance novels in my downtime, because now I was using really stupid descriptors to think about my instructor. This had to stop immediately.

CHAPTER 5

HAMILTON

Considering the fact that the majority of my students were not interested in criminal defense, I was surprised at how many quality applications I got for the internship.

Sydney had culled them for me as a first round of narrowing down the field. Knowing my stance—in part thanks to my friend Kyle and his women’s studies sensibilities—Sydney had removed demographic data from the copies of the applications she submitted to me. All I had was a last initial for each applicant. That way no unintended bias toward race, ethnicity or gender expression would color my choices.

There were several impressive resumes, but only one really stood out to me. Stellar recommendations and GPA, but it was the personal essay that got me. The applicant was dedicated to pursuing the discipline of criminal defense because their father had served a decade in a state prison for a crime he didn’t commit.

The applicant had lost ten years of their relationship with their dad, and it had cost him a great deal even after his release because of the stigma attached to being a convicted felon. This personal experience with the justice system and its failures made the candidate more intriguing to me.

I wanted to sit down and have an interview with this student and see if they were a good fit for the firm. I needed someone level-headed and compassionate but not a pushover, not some idealist whose narrow, rosy outlook blinded them to the real world.

When my phone rang and it was Kyle, I thought he had great timing.

“Hey,” I said, “how are the twins?”

“Noisy and wonderful. How’s law in the private sector going? I know this week isn’t good for us all to get together because the semester just began, but I thought we could catch up a little.”

“Sounds good. The private sector is booming. Sydney convinced me I need an intern.”

“Ah, get some free labor from the students, good call. It helps them build a resume, so it’s not totally self-serving. Have you opened up applications yet?”

“Yeah, and I got more than I thought I would. One of them has really stood out from the rest. They want to go into defense because their dad was wrongfully convicted of a crime and went to prison.”

“That’s definitely something that would motivate you. I noticed you said them instead of he or she. Non-binary, or are you just taking my excellent advice and going over your applications with the demographics redacted?”

“I’m bowing to your expertise, Kyle. I admit I thought that kind of thing was a waste of time at first, but I tried it out and it’s made a difference in how I view student work. Mainly it keeps me from looking at an answer or a paper and thinking that’s that joker who thought he was funny in class and derailed the discussion…keeps me from holding a grudge and maybe taking off a couple points I shouldn’t from a strict ethical perspective. What do you think about the internship?”

“I think it’s a good plan, and that someone with personal experience in having a family member failed by criminal defense would be worth considering. Could be a rising star full of righteous indignation or could be a whiner who likes to play the victim. You have to interview them to see.”

“I think I’m going to,” I said. “I’ve got another candidate whose essay wasn’t as powerful, but who hails from a family of lawyers and wants to join their firm but get experience interning elsewhere first. So that way if I do find out that my first choice only looks good on paper, I have a fall back.”

“Do you really want some privileged, pop-collared white boy who tells everyone his dad is a lawyer running around your office saying that’s not how my dad does it?”

“Wow, that was quite a stereotype you just used,” I chuckled.

“I never met a lawyer’s kid who didn’t announce it to the room while wearing Ralph Lauren and, if it’s summer, Sperry boat shoes. Just speaking from experience.”

“You’re wrong. Colin is a lawyer’s kid, and he mainly wears rain boots and robot shirts,” I said. Kyle chuckled.

“Okay, you got me there.”

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