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I switch my phone on, busying myself with going from room to room instead of making my call, but it rings not long after, making the decision for me.
“Professor Bernstein, I was just going to call you,” I tell him, seeing my face in a window, awkwardness written all over it.
Guess it’s better to get this over and done with so we can enjoy what’s left of the weekend.
“I’ll get straight to the point, Katelyn,” he says, sounding more hurt than anything.
“You know I respect you as a scholar, but I also care about your wellbeing as a person, Katelyn,” he adds.
It’s true, he’s been the closest thing to a friend since I started college, instrumental in getting me the post-graduate research grant as well.
I owe Professor Bernstein a lot. But do I owe him an explanation for how I feel about Wes?
He seems to think I do.
“How long has this been going on for, Katelyn? One minute I’m chatting with my neighbor, the coach, and the next I discover he’s… well. The next minute he’s involved with my start student.”
I knew he’d be upset, lecture me, and tell me how foolish it is.
But I don’t expect his attitude towards Wes, and my future.
“I made your position here, Katelyn. And I can take it away too. The scholarship board doesn’t take kindly to scandal, but there’s still a way to keep things right. To guarantee your future.”
I open my mouth to speak but think better of it.
The solution on offer is pretty clear, I can see that much.
“Just come back to school and we can make sure you have plenty of things to occupy your time, so you don’t have to be so…”
“Involved?” I interrupt him, almost hissing the word as I feel my emotions start to get the better of me.
“Now, Katelyn,” he cautions me again, carrying on with his concern which I can see is just self-preservation.
“I’ve arranged a meeting, for tomorrow morning with Dean Masters. I’d like you to be there. We can work all this out, put it to rest before the term resumes, and make sure everything’s still in place for you next year. How does that sound?” he asks like it’s an offer I can’t refuse.
“And all I have to do is dump Wes?” I ask him, not even trying to hide my contempt.
“In time you won’t see it like that Katelyn. You’ll see it’s for the best once you get to Boston, once you grow up a little… find someone your own age,” he says calmly, sounding more like the friendly grandpa than the domineering Professor I think he actually is after all.
“What time tomorrow?’ I ask politely, deciding on the spot I know exactly where my future lies.
I know exactly what side my bread’s buttered on now.
“Nine o’clock,” he says amiably. “You’ll be there, at Dean Masters’ office?”
“I’ll be there,” I drone and hang up, taking some more time to move from room to room, picturing furniture we haven’t bought yet, hearing sounds we haven’t heard just yet.
I’m standing in the smallest room, overlooking the south side of the hill when I feel Wes’s hands over mine.
I’m holding my belly without even knowing why a tear is running down my cheek but I’m not sad.
It’s like I can feel the future of this house.
I can feel my future and it’s with Wes.
Wes and our family.
“Tomorrow morning,” I tell him softly, and I feel him nodding.
“Nine o’clock,” he adds, echoing my thought.
“You too?” I ask him, wondering if he’s had a similar call from the powers that be and I feel him nod again.
“I told you I’ll always be by your side, Katelyn. Always.”
“You know, I like this side of the house better for some reason,” I hear myself saying, making him laugh softly.
“Is that because it’s the side with nothing in it yet?” he asks knowingly, squeezing my hands and belly as he brings me closer to him.
“Yeah, I think there’s definite room for something on this side,” I reflect. Suddenly feeling more at home than ever.
“How ‘bout we go snuggle by that fire?” he asks.
“I thought you were gonna show me that bedroom of ours?” I reply, shivering but not from cold once his hands start to move up to my chest.
“Mm hm,” he promises, and I feel my head falling back as I moan softly, his thick fingers drawing circles around my stiffening chest.
“We can get to the bedroom, and I can show you the bathroom too,” he whispers in my ear before he kisses it, his foot pushes my legs apart as one of his hands finds the heat between them.
“Wes,” I gasp louder. Feeling behind me for what I really want, his thick line of arousal waiting for me as it strains against new denim.
“These really won’t do, will they?” I ask, shuddering as he pops my buttons, sliding a hand down my front.
