CHAPTER 21
Mara
Everything about the last few weeks, months even, was boiling down to one thing: did I trust Nate?
It was hard to concentrate on any of my classes, let alone grade a stack of late papers for Nate’s undergraduate course. Each time I saw his name on the heading, my mind wandered back to the things we had done. Relentlessly trying to convince him to be in a partnership with me. Working on a serious project together. Drunken late-night noodle eating. Visiting a BDSM club as friends, and then as something more than that. Staying at his lakehouse, and secretly having sex while everyone was there. Dinner with my mom. Witnesses at a drive-thru wedding that turned into a collaring ceremony. A spanking that broke my skin.
The scabs had flaked off since then. It was difficult to tell if there had been anything there—the marks had been tiny, and the skin now was back to its normal coloring. But that didn’t mean that he hadn’t left a mark on the inside. Nate had changed me forever.
Because I liked it. Even if I had said our safe word, a desperate attempt to stop the most intense experience I had ever had, in the end, Ilikedthose spankings. I liked feeling his need to tame and control me.
But I didn’t want to like it. It would be easier to hate him if he were exactly what Dr. Smith and my mom said: someone not to be trusted. Because even if Dr. Evans cared more about me than he did about tenure, then what my mom said was still up for judgment. Why trust a man who continually wanted to prove others wrong, when he had been wronged decades ago? Or what Lily and Kiley hinted at: why trust a man who had a dark past, pushing people beyond what they thought they could handle?
I wanted to trust Nate. I wanted to believe that he was looking out for me. But something stopped me.
I focused on the task in front of me, because regardless of what I decided to do with Nate, I would be his teacher’s assistant until the end of the semester. I flipped through one of the late essays, rereading the thesis statement, then scanned the rest of the paper for supporting points and textual evidence. After I slammed a grade on the last page, I flipped to the next essay.Doc. Evanstyped on the top. I couldn’t stop myself. My mind went to him.
Damn you, Dr. Evans, I thought, distracting me even when I want to hate you.
The door to the office burst open. Jessica was humming to herself and lit up when she saw me. I smiled, though it was hard. Because it was difficult to pretend like everything was fine. No matter what it was. Because when I looked at her, I was back in the kitchen of the lakehouse, face to face with Dr. Smith. Being faced with the decision on whether to trust Nate.
Because if I trusted Nate, then what the hell were we going to do when Dr. Smith outed us? Would Nate blame me for losing his chance at tenure?
“Did you see the email?” Jessica asked, her voice full of pep.
“What email?” I asked.
“The finalists!” she squealed. “They sent confirmations to the finalists for the Crossing Collaborations Contest.”
My heart beat rapidly, thudding in my chest. This was it, the chance to see if everything we had done together had been worth it. To prove to everyone, but most of all, to prove to myself, that I was meant to be here. I turned on the computer and clicked the browser, quickly going to our college email, and—
No email. No junk mail. No student emails. Nothing.
“I didn’t get anything,” I said.
“You didn’t?” Jessica tilted her head. “I mean, you should have gotten something. Even if it’s an email congratulating you on participating and an invitation to the Finalists Ceremony.”
I refreshed my email, but nothing came in. “Nope,” I said. “Nothing.”
“That’s strange.” She faced her desk, then looked over her shoulder. “Maybe give it ten minutes?”
I resumed grading the late papers, literally keeping a hand on the headings where Nate’s name was. But when I finished another essay and checked my email again, it was still empty.
“Nothing,” I said.
“Maybe we should check with the lead judge for our department. She’ll know what’s going on,” Jessica said.
We headed down the hallway, going past Nate’s office. Jessica chattered away, but my mind zoned out, unable to think of anything beyond the contest, as if it would be the clue that I needed to figure out how to move forward with Nate.
We came to an office with a metal nameplate outside of the door statingDr. Roberta Cameo, Professor. I had met her at one of the events. I held my breath.
Jessica knocked on the doorframe. “Dr. Cameo?”
“Yes?” Dr. Cameo said. We both peeked inside; Dr. Cameo lifted an eyebrow at us, her glasses barely holding onto the end of her nose. “May I help you?”
“We wanted to check on the status of one of the papers for the Crossing Collaborations Contest,” Jessica said. We both walked into the office, taking the two cushioned seats in front of her desk. “Mara didn’t get an email.”
She turned to me. “And you’re Mara?” I nodded. “Let me see.” She pushed her glasses up on her nose, then turned to her computer. “This thing takes forever to boot up. Hold on, ladies.”
