This Love Read online

  This Love

  Nazarea N. Andrews

  A University of Branton Novel

  Books by Nazarea Andrews

  After the Fall:

  Edge of the Falls

  Chasing the Wind (coming Dec 2013)

  University of Branton:

  This Love

  Beautiful Broken (coming Fall 2013)

  For Amanda, who always loved me.

  And my work.

  And whose bad decisions rivaled my own.

  Love you!

  This Love

  Nazarea N. Andrews

  A University of Branton Novel

  Chapter 1—May

  Avery

  I stare at the screen of my laptop, hoping the numbers will change. I'm not a math major, but even I can see the money is not adding up.

  I tap the screen and bring up my email.

  I know it’s short notice. But you have to be there, Avery. I need my sister to be with me for this.

  It's the last line that slays me, every time. The money isn't there, but somehow I have to find a way to Jamaica for my sister's wedding.

  A wedding to a man, who, until two weeks ago, I hadn't known existed.

  "Hey!"

  I blink, startled, and look up to find my roommate staring at me, hands on narrow hips. I stare at her blankly, taking in the skimpy skirt, sheer top, and expertly applied makeup.

  Damn. I forgot we were going to the Sigma Pi party. It's the last big bash of the year, and even if I wanted to back out now, there's no way Kelly will let me.

  Frankly, I could use the down time—to blow off a little steam and have some fun. Forget my money issues for a few hours. Forget that Daddy is trying to force me home for the summer.

  And Brian will be there.

  Kelly looks at her phone and then me, eyes narrowed. "You have fifteen minutes. Shower—I'll pick something for you to wear."

  Twenty minutes and two shots of tequila later, we're walking across the commons. I'm wearing a microscopic black skirt, white button down that feels a size too small, and a loosely knotted thin teal tie. My silver bracelets clatter every time I move.

  "Do you think you'll sleep with Brian tonight?"

  I roll my head to look at my best friend. Kelly and I were matched as roommates our freshman year, and though there are times our personalities clash, we've been together for three years, and I can't imagine life without her on the other side of our room. Graduation and going our separate ways terrifies me.

  "Sleeping with him is stupid. We both know there's an expiration date."

  Kelly wrinkles her nose. "Sleeping with him is fun, and you could do with a dose of that."

  I don't bother to respond. Casual sex isn't my thing—and anything with Brian would be casual.

  The noise from the party spills into the quiet of the street, and I hesitate for a second. I'm not opposed to parties—with Kelly as a roommate, I can't be—but I don't want to be here tonight. I want to be tucked in my room or drinking a latte and reading a book.

  Or figuring out where the hell I’m going to come up with two grand.

  Kelly bounces up the front steps, and I laugh as she dances to the music. Fuck it. I'm young—a night off won't kill me.

  Atticus

  “Take the summer off, man. You don’t need the stress—not right now.”

  I swallow the shot of Jager and look at my best friend. “Dude. I’ll lose my grant. If you get a research grant, they actually expect you to do the research.”

  He shrugs. “So?”

  “So I think the year has been shitty enough without tanking my career, too.” I snap.

  He nods, slowly, “Okay, I can see the logic in that. So hire someone. Like a research assistant. You know, to do what Nik did.”

  “I don’t know, Dane. I’m not sure I’m up to training someone.”

  “You won’t get it done if you don’t have some help.”

  I glare at him. “Do you live to repeat shit that I already know?”

  He smirks, tossing me a beer. "Someone should."

  I look away as I open it. The kitchen is disorganized, the counters cluttered with unopened mail and pizza boxes. The table is covered in files and books, a laptop open to a brief that Dane was working on earlier. Chinese takeout perches on one of the closed books.

  It's messy and comfortable, clean but cluttered. It's lived in, in a way my apartment across town isn't.

  Not that I'm going there anymore.

  Dane sits at the computer, and I swallow another shot of Jager before grabbing my beer and making my way to the couch. Sports Center is on—they’re rambling about some lame-ass baseball game. God, I hate spring sports. Basketball and baseball and fucking horse racing.

  My books and research are on the coffee table. It occurs to me that I should clean this shit up—Dane is pretty easy going and tolerant, but I’m sure he’d like his living room back at some point.

  I’m drunk. Too drunk. I thought I left this shit behind in my undergraduate days—I partied hard then, with my frat brothers. Grad school was different. I had responsibilities and a job, and drinking didn’t hold the same appeal.

  I built a perfect life—respected, teaching history to undergrads, a beautiful home—all of it was perfect.

  Until it fell the fuck apart.

  Dane drops next to me, shoving a shot at me. It helps, sometimes, with forgetting.

  “Come on, man. Drink.”

  He’s the best friend I don’t deserve. Dane never faltered, never even hesitated when everything fell apart in February. Although, I don’t think he usually spends his Friday evenings drunk off his ass—he’s too dedicated to his work for that shit.

  Maybe he’s right. Maybe what I need is a summer off. Or an assistant.

  I lean my head back and close my eyes against my spinning thoughts. “Dude,” Dane says, and something about his tone makes me wary, even drunk. “Let’s go get something pierced.”

  Avery

  Why is it when you need to be quiet, everything seems louder? I trip over my shoes, and curse as the boy in Kelly’s bed lifts his head up to peer at me.

  The idiot invited me to join them last night. I hope she gets rid of him quickly. I grab my computer and shut the door on whatever he’s going to say.

  The sun is shining outside, the morning promising to be warm. The campus is quiet—most of the student body sleeps late on Saturdays. So do I, but worry pulled me from sleep early. I have less than a week before the semester ends and I need a plan before then.

  I didn’t expect a wedding. And I know that Dad will pay for me to get to it. But he won’t pay for my apartment, and I’ve tapped out my savings. I could give in—go home and lay around the house.

  The idea of going home, of facing everyone in Grovetown, makes me break out in a cold sweat.

  Hill of Beans is quiet. A few couples are in the booths, and a tired looking study group is at one of the tables. Jeffery grins when he sees me, and I nod an acknowledgement as I make my way back to my corner.

  The Hill is one of my favorite places in the world, a coffee shop and bakery that most of the college students avoid because of the lack of “atmosphere.” I like the quiet, the feeling of disconnectedness that lets me focus on my work. It’s where I meet clients for tutoring sessions, a comforting home away from home. Jeffery, the owner, walks over and hands me a latte. He laughs at my grabby hands and sits across from me.

  “You’re early for a Saturday.”

  “Yeah. Kelly has a friend and I don’t know. Just stressed.”

  His brown eyes narrow in concern. “What’s up?”

  “Some unexpected stuff came up, and I’m short on my budget. Gonna have to find some work for the summer, and this place is emptying out.”

  “A
h. I see. Have you checked the paper?”

  I wave at my computer. “I’m doing that now. But you know how Branton gets.”

  “Sometimes, the university lists positions on Cragislist—you should check.”

  It’s a good idea. I look up and pause. “Jeffery, you look like shit.”

  He laughs. “That bad, huh?”

  “Is Sydney still giving you trouble?”

  His face softens, and a smile turns his lips. I can’t help but envy that look, a little—that utter devotion. “She’s still adjusting, but it’s getting better. Babies apparently like getting up a lot at night.”

  I flash a quick grin. “Don’t suppose y’all need a nanny for the summer, do you?”

  Jeff laughs as the door swings open. He heads toward the counter and pauses. “Check Craigslist. I mean it.”

  I nod, and he retreats to take care of his customers while I pull up the local help wanted ads. None of it looks promising—and I know that part of it is that I don’t want to work this summer. I want to focus on my applications for grad school, like I had planned. It’s one of the reasons I was staying in Branton instead of going home.

  Not the major reason, but one of them.

  Amelia knows that. I wonder if it even occurred to her, when she called and fucked up my summer plans.

  I love my sister. I really do. But she rarely considers the consequences of her actions, and right now, those consequences are about to bite me on the ass.

  With a sigh, I click over to Craigslist. I’m not holding my breath—it’s doubtful anyone waited this long to find summer assistants.

  Which is why the first listing stops me cold.

  Atticus

  Some fucktard left my phone on the counter in the kitchen. And the damn thing won’t shut the fuck up. It goes silent and I groan, staring at the fan spinning lazy circles above me.

  I fell asleep on the couch again. I keep swearing this isn’t going to happen. And honestly, it bothers me more than it does Dane. He gave me a room, the spare he kept for his dad. But I can’t bring myself to sleep there. The big, empty bed is a silent reminder of who isn't there with me, and it bothers me. Which is stupid.

  The phone rings again, a shrill alarm Dane set to fuck with me. I half fall off the couch and stumble to the kitchen, silencing the phone as I grab some OJ. I splash some into a glass—drunk, unwanted houseguest and apparent bachelorhood notwithstanding, I have some manners. My mama made sure of it.

  I finally look at the phone and stop.

  What. The. Fuck? Eighteen missed calls from fourteen numbers, and none of them I recognize. What the hell is going on?

  No one calls me. Nik used to, but her calls ended months ago. My sister emails me; the only time my phone rings is when Dane is checking on me. But he's here, so what the hell?

  My phone rings again, a different number.

  I answer it. "Who is this?"

  "I'm calling about the job you listed on Craigslist."

  The girl's voice is like warm scotch, sliding around me with just the hint of a bite, and even in the midst of my hangover, I can't help the surge of interest. Then her words make it through the Jaeger induced fog and I groan.

  "I'm going to kill Dane." I mutter.

  "Excuse me?" She sounds startled and a little amused, and I flush.

  "Look, sweetheart, my roommate is being a dick. I'm sorry."

  "You don't need a research assistant? Because I'm actually really good at this and I have better qualifications than most people."

  Her voice. God, it's too early—that has to be part of the reason I'm getting aroused just listening to her talk. "What kind of qualifications?"

  "I'm a double major—history, with a specialty in ancient civilizations, and secondary education. I planned on spending the summer researching graduate schools."

  "You should stick with that," I advise.

  "Can't. And I don't really want to spend the summer waiting tables—although I will."

  There's something about her voice that makes me think she's telling the truth. And it tells me something about her: she's serious. There's a work ethic I don't often see in undergraduates, and it makes me pause.

  "I'm sorry," she says, sounding frazzled—I can hear a male voice in the background—and music and laughter. "You said it's not really a position. I'll let you go. Get back to your morning."

  "Wait," I say, startling both of us into silence. What the hell am I doing? "How about you meet me, and we'll talk. It can't hurt, right?"

  She hesitates, and then, "Look, I'm not trying to do a job that doesn't exist. I appreciate it, though."

  "Coffee. Please. Just to talk about it."

  "Ok," she says, reluctance clear in her tone. "Hill of Beans at five?"

  I nod. "I'll see you then."

  We hang up, and I stare at my phone. What the hell am I doing?

  Avery

  I'm nervous. I don't even know why—it's not like he's going to hire me. And I'm okay with that. He was so obviously drunk this morning, I'm not sure I want to work with him.

  But the hours are good and the job is perfect. And frankly, it’s the only thing I’ve seen that is even remotely appealing. Everything else makes me want to claw my eyes out a little.

  I fidget, smoothing my hands down my pants again. Jeffery swings by my table. “You look good, Avery. Date?”

  I make a face and shake my head. “Job interview.”

  He grins and leans down to kiss my hair. “Good luck, girlie.”

  I do look good—I raided Kelly’s closet when I got back to the apartment. Thankfully, her friend was gone—so was she. I’m not worried. Kelly vanishes often enough with her boys.

  The door opens and a man steps in. His gaze sweeps over the coffee shop, lingering on a few girls sitting alone. Jeffery eyes him curiously.

  He’s tall—a few inches over six feet—lanky, with messy black hair, wearing a loose button down with the sleeves rolled up above his elbows, worn jeans, and dark sunglasses that he removes. Tattoos peek out from under his collar and snake down one arm.

  He looks hung over and like the last person I would expect to be looking for a research assistant.

  I stand up. “Atticus Grimes?”

  His gaze zeros in on me, raking over my hair and dangly silver hoops, my fitted green top and black pants, all the way down to my wedge sandals and red toenails.

  The look is hot and invasive, and I’m suddenly glad I decided to dress up. He pauses when he gets to my table, and I flash him a nervous smile.

  “You never gave me a name this morning,” he says, his voice rough and deep.

  “Avery. Avery Emili,” I force out. His eyes—bright green—soften a little at my words, and I look away. “Do you want to order anything?”

  Jeffery hurries over, and I smile up at him.

  “A regular coffee, three sugars, a little cream, please.”

  “Sure thing. You need anything, sweets?” Jeffery asks. I flush but shake my head, and he retreats.

  “So,” Atticus says into the silence, “why don’t you tell me something about yourself.”

  I shrug. “Nothing special to tell. I have an apartment here, go to UB. I’m finishing my junior year. My father and sister live in Virginia, but I want to stay here and focus on grad school applications this summer.”

  “Then why get a job? Did you not plan for this summer?”

  I shrug. “Apparently I didn’t plan well enough.”

  He’s quiet for a moment, and Jeffery delivers his coffee, giving me a questioning look. I shake my head, waving off his concern. Atticus stirs his coffee, the silence stretching to uncomfortable lengths, and I shift. “What do you need a research assistant for?”

  “A few things. I’ve got a grant, and I need to put my research together into something publishable by the start of the next semester. My last assistant isn’t working anymore, and I never got around to finding a new one.”

  “Organizing. That’s all you need?” I ask, my heart sink
ing.

  “There would be a lot of organizing, a good bit of transcription. I’ll be moving in a few weeks, so you’ll probably need to help me set up my home office. And there would be a research trip—toward the end of the summer.”

  I look away. It sounds perfect. Too perfect. And this stupid research trip is probably the deal breaker.

  Atticus

  She’s gorgeous. I don’t know why I didn’t even consider that she would be, but holy shit. And it’s a great reason to not give her the job. She toys with her bracelets nervously. "The research trip. When is it? I have to be at my sister's wedding."

  "Where did you say it the wedding was? My trip should be early enough in the summer it won’t be a problem."

  "Jamaica."

  I sip my coffee—it's good, even if I don't like the way the barista is watching us. "We can talk about it later. When can you start?"

  She blinks, startled, her mouth falling open in an adorable little O. I wait and she flushes, scrambling. "I have finals this week. If you can let me get through them, I'll be free and all yours for the summer."

  She flashes me a smile, and the expression coupled with her words makes me think this is either the best idea I've ever had, or the worst.

  I shove the thought aside and slide a card over to her. "I don't like talking on the phone," I say, and she picks it up. "But I email and text a lot."

  She looks up, curiosity in her eyes. "You’re a professor?"

  "Is that a problem?"

  She laughs, a breathy little noise that makes me harden. "Is there anything you need me to work on this week?"

  I grin. "Are my colleagues going so easy on you that you have time for more?"

  Avery's nose wrinkles, adorably. "I have a light load, finals wise. Most of my Profs wanted term papers, and those are done."