Teaching Roman

  Teaching Roman

  Geneva Lee

  For the girls who waited…

  Contents

  Untitled

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Dear readers…

  Reaching Gavin

  About the Author

  Also by Geneva Lee

  Copyright © 2014 by Geneva Lee. 2nd Edition 2017.

  All rights reserved.

  Ivy Estate Press P.O. Box 255 Keyport, WA 98345

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Illustration © 2017 LuckyStep48/BigStockPhoto.

  Cover Design © 2017 Date Book Designs.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademark of any other product or brand mentioned in this fictional work.

  Chapter One

  Although I had no prior experience, I’d always imagined a marriage proposal resulted in tears and smiling. Boy asks, girl bursts into a waterfall of happy tears, wedding plans ensue. I didn’t cry, which was a bad sign. We both knew that, but Brett was still down there on one knee with a ring in his hand.

  Will you marry me?

  There had been more to his speech. Something about compatibility and solid communication skills. Basically, the antithesis of romantic. It takes a lot to shut me up completely. I’m talking about total I-can’t-think-of-a-thing-to-say silence, but Brett had managed to dumbfound me with that one question. In fact, I could barely process thoughts at all, so I started to make a mental list, hoping it would look like I was thinking and not stalling long enough that he’d give me an out. Or we’d fall into a wormhole. Or die of old age.

  Basically, anything that got me out of answering him.

  Lists were my back-up plan. They kept me on top of school, out of trouble, and most of all, they made sure my life was organized. My whole brain was like a giant day planner, split into neat, categorized lists: classes, MCATs, Cassie and Jillian, family, and Brett. Not necessarily in that order, but close. Brett’s list took up the smallest amount of space in my brain’s agenda. I didn’t think it was harsh, because he didn’t need much. Not from me. Brett was independent and responsible, majoring in business and planning to continue straight through for his MBA. We worked because we didn’t need each other. At least, that’s what I thought. Now, I wasn’t so certain. Getting married would require a major recategorization. Apparently, Brett wasn’t happy with the tiny, but adequate, space he occupied on my priority list. Why else would he be asking me to marry him?

  The ring he held was proof of premeditation. He’d been thinking about this—planning this—for days? Weeks? It’s not like you can pick up a diamond at a 24-hour mini-mart. Retracing my night, I examined each of the evening’s events moment by moment, looking for some clue as to what the hell had brought this about tonight. We’d both finished finals earlier in the week, which let me focus on getting Jillian through her own tests. Tonight, we had met Cassie, Jillian, and Liam at Garrett’s for the end of the semester celebration. Cassie had begged out to hunt down Trevor, and Jillian and Liam had left for a private party back at our apartment.

  But no matter how hard I retraced my steps for the evening, I couldn’t find one hint that Brett was unhappy with our relationship as it stood. He was quiet at the bar, but he always was. Brett’s brain was constantly in two places at once: trying to go on a date while worrying about school or the future. We had that in common. It was part of what made us work.

  Brett cleared his throat to remind me he was still there, and I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. I was out of time, and I still couldn’t think of anything to say to him. What would Jillian or Cassie do in this situation? Jillian would laugh at him and Cassie would curse at him. Neither of those reactions seemed appropriate, although I felt a little like doing both. And maybe crying, too, but not in a good way.

  “Jess?” Brett prompted, and I forced myself to look at him. He was good-looking but not so hot that he was an asshole. Clean-shaven with precisely cut hair and clothes that skirted the line between hipster and preppy. I had no doubt that those clothes would get preppier the closer we got to graduation. Blazers and khakis were in his future. Because Brett was the perfect match for someone who planned to continue on to a demanding career. He was steady, responsible, and moderately ambitious, but as I stared at him now, I realized that didn’t mean anything to me.

  The fact that he was down on one knee made the whole thing so much more awkward.

  “I’m thinking,” I hedged.

  “Are you thinking yes or no?” The accompanying laugh was too forced to break the tension. Could he sense my hesitance? It couldn’t be what he’d expected when he planned his proposal.

  “I don’t know.” I really didn’t know. My mind was incapable of producing a definite answer to any question at the moment. He could ask me if the sky was blue right now and I couldn’t say yes.

  Brett’s shoulders dropped, but the smile stayed pinned to his face. I was beginning to think he wouldn’t budge from this spot until I agreed to be his wife.

  His wife!

  Crap on a cracker. Brett wanted me to marry him, and no matter how hard I tried to adjust the never-ending lists in my head, I couldn’t seem to find a spot for that. I couldn’t tell him that though. Instead, I closed the lid of the jewelry box, concealing the sparkling princess cut diamond engagement ring as though I could hide from it.

  The muscles in Brett’s jaw popped as he rose to his feet. “I guess that’s my answer.”

  “That’s not an answer,” I stopped him. “I need to think about it. There’s a lot to consider. Med school, finances, residencies.” Even as I said it, I knew that if he’d presented me with a Power Point on how our marriage would affect all those things, I wouldn’t have been able to say yes on the spot. I wanted to believe this was because I was a careful girl, and not because I’d been stringing him along for the better part of a year. The problem was that I couldn’t imagine any scenario in which I would say yes.

  But was not saying yes really saying no? Had I just signed the termination order on our relationship? It would be difficult to recover from this. Maybe with some time, and a lot of pro-con listing, I’d see things differently.

  “I get it.” Brett held up a hand in surrender. “Make your list, Jess.”

  But even though I hadn’t said no, Brett didn’t kiss me goodnight at my door, and I couldn’t blame him. I could hedge and make excuses to him. I could even tell myself that I might change my mind after a good night’s sleep and some time to think. But the truth was that we both knew this was one decision a list couldn’t help with.

  Chapter Two
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  Whenever my phone buzzes at 2 a.m., I tell myself that it’s preparing me to be a doctor and I need to get used to it. If I didn’t, I would wind up killing my friends. Neither Cassie nor Jillian abused the power of the cell phone very often, but I’d been called to pick up their drunk asses from the bar more than once. I’d also been summoned to bandage a sprained ankle, pranked during finals, and been butt dialed on more than one occasion. After tonight’s insanity, I hoped they had a a good reason for calling. Fumbling for my phone, I yanked it free of its charger.

  “You better be bleeding,” I mumbled as I answered.

  “I’m on my way over,” Cassie said. The phone went dead, and I sat up straight in bed. I adored my best friends, but they could be a tad dramatic. Not that they didn’t have their reasons. They usually did. But whatever reason Cassie had for heading to my apartment at this hour had to be serious. For one thing, it was 2 a.m. on a Friday night. Normal people were having sex or still at the bars right now. For another, she hadn’t cursed. Instead, her voice had been totally monotone. A calm Cassie was the scariest thing in the world. The girl didn’t do calm.

  Pushing out of bed, I pulled my blonde hair up and padded down the hall, stopping at Jillian’s door. She’d hung a do not disturb sign that one of us had stolen from a hotel on her knob. It was our way of announcing that there was a boy behind that closed door. She was definitely having a normal Friday night. Against my better judgment, I pressed my ear to her door and held my breath. Hopefully the wild monkey was over for the night. It was surprisingly quiet with only a few giggles punctuating the silence. God, Liam had stamina. I took my chances anyway and knocked.

  Twenty seconds later, the door cracked open. Jillian raised one eyebrow at me. The door exposed the curve of her hip, and I realized she was naked. It was totally uncool to cock-block her, and I felt terrible interrupting, especially since she’d only worked things out with Liam recently. However, this was an emergency.

  “Cassie is on her way over. Jills, she sounded calm,” I said.

  Her eyes widened. Jillian was the only person who would understand what that meant. “Shit, give me five minutes.”

  Jillian disappeared behind her door, and I tried not to eavesdrop on the muffled voices. She was back in less than two minutes, slipping out the door and following me to wait in the living room. She tried to rake her fingers through her tangled hair, which had obviously fallen victim to an amazing night of sex. I couldn’t help wondering what that was like. I rarely had a strand loose from my ponytail when Brett and I finished doing it.

  I was still considering this when Liam emerged from the bedroom, half-dressed. I looked away, blushing, as he zipped his fly. But as he barreled around the apartment, his six pack on full display, it was hard to ignore him. By the time he laced his shoes and finally put on his shirt, I was the color of a candied apple.

  Jillian escorted him to the door, and he paused, leaning against the frame. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “Bright and early,” she reminded him, popping onto tiptoes to kiss him goodbye. A strange mix of happiness and jealousy flooded through me. I was thrilled for them. Jillian had tried to sabotage their relationship, but love had been more powerful. They were totally perfect together, and Liam was more than a nice guy. He was a catch. I turned away as they finished their farewell with a PDA worthy of a porno.

  Liam left with a soft “I love you,” and a final kiss on the forehead.

  Jillian didn't lock the door behind him. She joined me on the couch, glowing like a lightbulb, contentment radiating from her. But I could tell she was doing her best to look natural and serious for the sake of Cassie.

  My stomach began doing gymnastics with each second that passed. I was already on edge after Brett’s impromptu proposal and this thing with Cassie was only making me more anxious.

  “What do you think happened?” I bit my thumbnail absently.

  She swatted my hand from my mouth. “Stop that.” Jillian paused and let out a long sigh. “I have a feeling I know what this is about.”

  I waited for her to tell me, but she seemed reluctant to do so. “Which is?”

  “I ran into Trevor at the library and he was acting weird, like I had caught him doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing.”

  “Caught him doing what? Studying?” I asked. Trevor was the kind of guy who wouldn’t want the rep of being studious. He threw around money to look carefree and wealthy. It was obviously an act, but Cassie had fallen for it—hook, line, and sinker.

  Jillian snorted. Apparently, she didn’t share my views on Cassie’s boyfriends. “I doubt he was having a tryst with an economics journal. I think”—

  Before she could tell me exactly what she thought, Cassie burst into the apartment. Her calmness was gone replaced by a visible anger that shook her entire body. “That son of a bitch!”

  “Uh oh.” My eyes flashed from Cassie to Jillian, whose shoulders slumped. Whatever Jillian thought was going on, it was clear Cassie had confirmed she had been right.

  “You want a drink or something?” I offered. I knew exactly what I needed to do. Get her comfortable. Calm her down. Distract her. Then discuss options. I called it my chill pill list. It was a bad habit of mine to fall back on my bedside manner when one of my girls was freaking out.

  “I would like a baseball bat or some pepper spray.” Cassie rattled off a list that grew scarier with each item. She ended on “one of those giant medieval devices with the spikes that you shut assholes up in.”

  “I’m not sure we have an iron maiden,” Jillian said, a note of apology in her voice. She patted the couch in an effort to get her to sit down, but Cassie kept up her manic pacing. The whole room was filled with the frenzied energy of a woman scorned. Normally, Cassie was totally put together, but right now her black hair was pulled into a messy ponytail and her clothes were wrinkled.

  “You’re going to be a doctor.” She pointed at me, and I shrank back against the couch cushion. This couldn’t be good. “What do they use to castrate assholes?”

  I shook my head. “Um, we generally don’t do that…even to assholes.”

  “Knives,” Jillian spoke up, and I shot her a look. Even without details, I knew arming Cassie was a bad idea.

  “Good. You have knives, right?”

  “Noooooo,” Jillian lied, but her gaze flickered to the kitchen.

  I made up my mind to tackle Cassie if she took one step towards a cabinet.

  “Tell us what happened.” She needed to talk about it, and I needed her to dial down her homicidal mood.

  “Let’s just say I went over to Trevor’s and there was a pair of legs around his neck that definitely weren’t mine.” The revelation exploded from her but as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she crumbled onto the floor in a deluge of tears.

  Jillian and I shared another oh shit look before we scrambled onto the floor to join her. We wrapped her into a tight hug and let her sob, nodding supportively as she tried to choke out more of the story, but between her sobs and her cursing, we couldn’t follow it.

  One thing was clear: Trevor had screwed up big time, and Cassie was the casualty of his idiocy. Over Cassie’s shoulder, Jillian was looking positively murderous herself and echoing Cassie’s half-coherent ramblings.

  He is a worthless piece of shit.

  I’ve always thought he was an asshat, too.

  I was glad Jillian was around for this. My talents consisted of calming someone down to have a rational discussion. I was never any good at just getting verbal about my anger. Once we got Cassie calm and she got some sleep, I’d be able to reason with her. We’d talk this through and she’d see what we had all along. Guys like Trevor didn’t last. It was so obvious to everyone but Cassie. Now even she’d see that. Still some wounds would take longer to heal—like the tattoo Cassie had gotten for him.

  I couldn’t tell Cassie that she was better off without him right now, there was no way we’d be having that conversation tonight. Instead,
we sat there, letting Cassie cry until she was so tired that she didn’t fight it when we dragged her to my bed. She climbed in with mascara-streaked eyes, her body still trembling from sobs, and let me pull the covers over her. I wrapped my arms around my best friend and held her until we both fell asleep.

  Chapter Three

  How do you spot a girl who just survived a bad break-up? Watch for rash decisions. Sometimes, getting a new haircut or screwing a rebound guy from the bar will change a girl’s outlook on life. It was a danger we’d all faced, and Cassie was in full-on, post-break-up thinking. She’d stopped crying long enough to hatch a completely ridiculous plan to make herself feel better. Unfortunately, said plan involved me and my passport.

  “It’ll be epic,” she promised me.

  “Absolutely not,” I repeated as I filled a glass with water for her. There was nothing worse than a crying hangover.

  She held the water without drinking it, her fingernails tapping on the glass. She’d borrowed a pair of pajama pants and a tank top to get out of last night’s clothes. Or as she called them ‘the outfit she wore on the worst day of her life.’ I hadn’t seen her this dressed down all semester. But even though it was almost 10 a.m., her eyes were circled and puffy with dried tears. She hadn’t cried in the last hour, but it was only a matter of time.