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The class was small, only fifteen of us or so, but big enough for an elective. We all sat up just a bit straighter as Professor Ashe dropped his bag on the front table and set a stack of notes on the lectern.
“Welcome to your Family Law Clinic,” he said. “I know some of you; to those I don’t, welcome. In this class, you’ll learn the skills and background necessary to participate in the clinic that accompanies the course. Orientation at the Jamaica Plain clinic is either directly after this class at one or tomorrow at eight a.m., so please be on time in order to sign up for your scheduled hours.”
Professor Ashe continued to go over the basics of the class as he distributed the syllabus to everyone.
“Can anyone tell me the significance ofIn re: Marriage of Ferguson?” Professor Ashe asked once we had covered the course calendar. He took his place behind the lectern.
And so, the class began, following a Socratic question-and-answer routine I had come to know well over the last two and a half years. When Professor Ashe finally released us, I was one of the first out the door, eager to get to Jamaica Plain.
* * *
“Someone is asking about you.”
Interrupted from my thoughts on Massachusetts welfare law, I jerked my head up to find Eric standing next to me, his hand wrapped in one of the stability straps above my seat on the train.
“Oh, hey,” I said. “On your way to orientation too?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I’m doing another internship at the firm this semester too, so I need to make sure my clinic hours work with it.”
He took the seat beside me, and I turned to face him. “What do you mean, someone is asking about me? Someone at the firm, you mean?”
Shit.Had Margie heard something she wasn’t supposed to? It felt like so much longer, but it had only been a week since I’d stormed out of Brandon’s office. Maybe I was water cooler gossip after all.
Eric’s brown eyes twinkled. “Something like that. Ana keeps asking weird questions about you.” His phone buzzed, and he pulled it out of his pocket to look at the message. “Case in point. ‘Do you know if Skylar likes boats?’” he read. One brow arched. “Something tells me it’s not Ana who is concerned with your sea legs, Crosby. Anything you want to say back?”
I blinked as innocently as possible. “Just tell her I’m a landlubber since she apparently needs to know. How odd.”
“Odd, huh? Okay, then.” Eric chuckled and typed back a quick reply. His phone buzzed again instantly. “Oops. I guess I wasn’t supposed to tell you she was asking. So why is Sterling digging for your preferences?”
“Who says he’s digging?”
“Do I look like an idiot, Crosby? Be honest. You hitting that?”
“Oh my God,no!” I protested as a flush rose up my cheeks.
It was the truth, but obviously Eric didn’t believe me. I scanned the train car to make sure no one was listening. It wouldn’t matter if my classmates had worked at Sterling Grove or not; everyone knew that firm, and an intern sleeping with the boss would be good gossip to anyone. Luckily, we seemed to be the only HLS students in the car.
“Sure, sure, Cros,” Eric said. “Well, if you’re not, looks like he wants to. Is that why you refused a position at the firm?”
“No, it’s not,” I said. I really was not enjoying this little interrogation. “I only just met the guy two weeks ago. We’ve talked maybe once since then.”
Right. Once while he polished my shoes in his living room. And then that time we almost ripped each other’s clothes off in his office. before I came to my senses. And, of course, when he walked me home all the way to New York City, met my father, and gave me the best goodnight kiss I’d ever had. I shook my head vehemently, more to avoid getting sucked into that particular daydream again.
Eric just laughed.
“I told Ben and Laura I wasn’t planning to take a position about a week before I met him,” I insisted.
Eric studied me as if he were looking for some flaw in my argument. I wasn’t sure why it mattered so much, but I didn’t want him thinking I had anything to do with Brandon Sterling in my professional life. After about a minute of Eric watching me blush furiously, the conductor announced our destination.
“Whatever you say, Crosby,” Eric said as we filed off with the other passengers. His phone buzzed again, and he fell behind as he read his message. More than one of our classmates stepped off other cars. Thank God they weren’t there to overhear our conversation.
“Hey, Crosby!” Eric called as he jogged behind me.
I cringed, bracing myself for the inevitable “be careful about dating such a rich guy” speech. Surrogate brothers came with some embarrassing caveats.
Instead, he just said, “Ana wanted to know if you eat red meat,” with a cheeky grin. It wasn’t any use, I realized. That was the thing about a surrogate brother. He’d call me on my shit just as much as I called him on his. I might as well let him in.
Slowly, I returned the grin and let Eric catch up. “I’m as carnivorous as they come,” I said. “What else does he want to know?”
