Page 49 of Backlash

He’s in danger of getting the wrong idea. Of course he would think more sex would fix things. I shoot eye daggers at him as I yank my jeans on and button them. There’s no time to find my panties. That’s another pair lost to him.

“I came over for Zeus,” I say, edging toward the bathroom door. I need him to be completely clear on this point. “And it can’t be over, because it never really started.”

“I love you.”

This stops me for a minute, but it’s not enough. “Saying I love you is meaningless. Show me! Prove it!”

“I will every damn day,” he growls, lunging for me.

I dodge him, shaking my head. “It’s too late.”

“Lucky,” he splutters, but I’m already out the door. I swipe my sandals from the floor outside his bedroom and grab my purse from the counter. I don’t turn even as he keeps calling my name. I practically run into the elevator.

“Lobby, please!” I tell the bellhop, reaching past him to jam the door close button just as the door to Sterling’s penthouse flies open.

The door slides closed, giving me one flash of a very naked and very angry Sterling stepping into the hallway. The bellhop turns away, a smile ghosting across his lips.

“Sorry about that,” I mutter before falling into an awkward silence. I take a deep breath and allow myself to relax. Sterling knows what I need when we manage to shut out the real world—that much he made absolutely clear. But it doesn’t change what I need from him in the real world or my determination to get it.

By the time the elevator reaches the lobby, it’s being called back to the penthouse. I turn pleading eyes on the bellhop. “Do me a favor—” I read the name on his badge “— Percy? Stop on a few floors before you take him to the parking garage?”

He winks at me. “Yes, Ms. MacLaine.”

“How do… never mind.” I realize my tempestuous encounters with Sterling have probably drawn a fair bit of attention to both of us among the building staff. “Thank you.”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” he says as he holds open the doors for me, “are you sure you’re running for the right reasons?”

My eyes flicker upward, as though drawn towards where Sterling is. Every inch of me wants to go back up there. That’s how I know. “I am.”

Percy nods and steps into the elevator. “Going up!”

The panel above the elevator begins to light up, climbing back to him without me. That’s my cue to get away before I find myself falling right back into Sterling’s arms. It doesn’t matter if that’s what I want, because I can’t risk having him now if ignoring our problems tears up apart forever.

14

Sterling

The Past

Econ 101 has 220 students and seven teaching assistants. As soon as Professor Jones releases us all to our Thanksgiving break, I find myself struggling through a hoard of bodies toward the front of the class, where my eight sub-instructors are arranged like courtiers attending their king.

“See you Sunday,” Cyrus calls over his shoulder, off to some island with his family for the holiday. He left the keys to his family’s suite with me, as promised, but unlike for him, the arrival of Thanksgiving only means we’re getting close to finals.

I’ve been back on the straight and narrow for a week, thanks to Adair’s gentle, if fierce, dedication to my reform. She’s even going to help me study over break. Now, I need to find out exactly how far I managed to fall during my two-week bender. Surely, it can’t have been enough to jeopardize my grades seriously.

My assigned teaching assistant, Shannon, a short, fierce grad student from Boston, left through the faculty exit almost immediately. Probably on her way back to the Northeast for the holidays. Apparently, I’m not the only one worried about my grade because two dozen others stop for an audience. By the time I reach the front, there is only one T.A. left to bother. His pinched face is adorned with black, wire-rimmed glasses that reflect his laptop screen so perfectly I could probably read Cyrus’s grade as well as mine.

“Hey.” I shoulder my bag higher. “I was wondering if you could let me know where I’m at.”

He sighs, his eyes flickering to the long line of students, waiting to ask the same question, behind me.

“Name.”

“Sterling Ford,” I say. “Thanks. I have to maintain a certain GPA for my scholarship. I have to get a B.”

This goes a considerable way toward softening her attitude. I’m guessing someone stuck grading papers and tests for a professor is in the same boat I am. He’s got to earn his keep here, too.

“Well, bad news, Sterling. To get a B, you’ll need to score an A on both your final essay and your final exam,” he says with a grim, but sympathetic smile.