Chapter 45

Whenever Matt callsme at home, I'm worried about Heather overhearing. If she's in the room with me, I press my cell phone tightly against my ear so that there's no chance of my professor's voice being heard and recognized. Maybe I'm being paranoid, but I'm pretty sure you can't be too cautious when you're screwing the professor.

"Hey, Rach," Matt says. "Do you feel like coming over and doing some studying?"

Half the time, when he says that, he means sex. The other half of the time, he means studying. I can never tell by his voice which is which.

"Sure," I agree.

I close my anatomy text, get up off my bed, and pull my coat off the chair in front of my desk. Heather raises her light-brown eyebrows.

"Where are you headed?" she asks.

"Nowhere," I mutter.

"Who was that on the phone?"

"Nobody…" I clear my throat. "Just going out to study."

"Then why aren't you bringing any books?"

A rush of blood comes into my cheeks. "Um, I'm going to, uh…"

"Oh, come on, Rachel!" Heather gushes, nearly bouncing on her mattress. "Tell me who it is! Please? Is it Leo Chang? Chris Johnson?"

Yeah, right, like I'm going to tell Heather anything when she's acting like a complete child. It's bad enough that Danielle might know. Anyway, it's not like she's been honest with me.

"Tell me why you broke up with Abe."

That stops Heather in her tracks, and her lips twist into a pout. "Fine, go have fun with your prince."

I take the now-familiar drive to Matt's house, weaving through the back roads. As I make the final turn on the wooded path, I notice that I've started humming a song from the radio. Oh, great. Matt's turning me into Heather.

I pull into the driveway and park behind Matt's car—a large white Lincoln Continental. Considering he's the youngest professor I've ever slept with, I find it amusing that he drives a car that looks like it's owned by an eighty-year-old. In a lot of ways, Matt acts very much like an old man. It's something I always tease him about.

Matt yanks the door open almost before I even have a chance to knock. I can't help but suppress a smile.

"Happy to see me?" I ask, closing the door behind me as I enter the house.

"You have no idea," he says. And before I can even get my coat off, he pushes me against a wall and starts kissing me.

About two hours later,we're both exhausted, and as we lie in bed, holding hands, I make the executive decision that we should order pizza. Matt nods soberly.

"Yes, I think we're definitely too tired to cook," he says. He grabs for his cell phone. "Toppings?"

"Hawaiian, what else?" I say.

"That's my girl," Matt says with a grin.

He's the only other person I know who loves ham and pineapple on a pizza as much as I do. We're definitely soulmates.

We lie in bed a bit longer, then Matt decides he's too sweaty and wants to take a shower. I've suggested showering with him in the past, but he's rejected my idea, saying he's too worried about slipping and breaking his neck. (See? He really is an old man.) So I lie in bed, playing games on my phone until the doorbell rings.

I knock on the door to the bathroom and stick my head in. "Pizza's here. I'll go get it."

Matt sticks his head out from behind the curtain. His black hair is plastered to his scalp, and he has water in his eyelashes. He looks so sexy.

"My wallet's on the kitchen counter," he says.

I roll my eyes. "I can afford a small pizza."

"I want to pay," he insists.

"You don't have to pay."

"Rachel," he says. "If there aren't twenty dollars missing from my wallet when I get out of the shower, I'm going to fail you in anatomy."

I stick my tongue out at him and slam the bathroom door closed. I throw on one of Matt's T-shirts, figuring it's big enough to conceal most of me, and that way, I don't have to get dressed. Then I take the money from my own wallet (I don't believe his threats) and throw open the door for the pizza guy.

Except it's not the pizza guy.

It's Patrice.

Oh shit.

She's clutching a Tupperware container, and her face goes completely white when she sees me standing there. She nearly drops the Tupperware but manages to hold onto it at the last second. But she's clearly speechless. She just stares at me, her mouth hanging open.

I try to think of an excuse—some reason why I might be here. I mean, it's not totally ridiculous that a student might be at a professor's house. Maybe we're having an extra tutoring session.

Except I'm having a little more trouble thinking up an explanation for why I'd be wearing his shirt.

Well, maybe I came over here for a tutoring session. Then, while in the middle of the session, I spilled some red fruit punch on my clothes. And of course, Matt offered to wash and dry them for me, and in the meantime, he gave me his shirt to wear.

Yes, I can see how it looks, Patrice, but this is completely innocent.

Of course, we're still just staring at each other when Matt limps into the living room. His hair is still damp from the shower, and he's dressed in a T-shirt and boxer shorts. This is getting harder and harder to fit into my little makeshift excuse.

"You got the pizza, Rach?" Matt asks me. It takes him like another half second to realize who's standing at the door. His eyes go wide, and he looks like he might fall on his face. He grabs onto the couch to support himself and says, "Oh shit."

"Matt," Patrice manages. She glares at me and pushes her way into the house. "What's going on here?"

Well, I think that's pretty obvious at this point.

"You said you were sick." Patrice shakes the Tupperware in his face. "I brought you some soup."

"Oh," he says weakly. "Thanks."

"I can't believe you, Matt!" she murmurs loudly. "How could you do this? Especially with her!"

Especially with me? What does that mean?

"Rachel," Matt says in a pained voice. "I think… maybe you better go."

I get a sick feeling in my stomach. I go back to Matt's bedroom, where I put my clothes back on. I can hear her scolding him in the living room, although I can only make out some of the words.

"… you of all people, Matt, I really can't believe… so stupid and irresponsible… could lose your job… obviously she's playing you… not like she's so pretty you couldn't possibly resist…"

I hate Patrice so much.

I come back out into the living room, where Matt is now sitting on the couch with a glazed look on his face. Patrice is just glaring at me. I don't even say goodbye as I hurry out the front door. As I'm on the way to my car, the pizza delivery truck pulls up.