8. Fern

Chapter 8

Fern

Wyatt blows out a long breath, takes off his baseball hat, and then shoves it back on his head, covering his eyes. "I didn't lie." I point at the roster, about to yell at him for gaslighting me, but he holds up a hand. "Not exactly. I just didn't tell you everything. It's not like we traded life stories."

I bite my lip. He's right that we didn't give each other a ton of information. But we did share something pretty intense. Or maybe it was just intense for me because I never did that before? Maybe that's always how sex is…an overwhelming connection and feeling that this other person can see directly into my soul and fill me with unreal pleasure…

"Look." Wyatt grips the edge of the desk attached to his chair so hard his knuckles are white. "The last name on your roster isn't supposed to be public information." I furrow my brow, and he explains that he has an alias. "I can't stand any association with the man who sired me, but that's what was on my birth certificate. So, I don't use it unless I have to." He takes off his hat and fiddles with his hair, a nervous habit apparently. "I go by Wyatt Moyer wherever I can. My mom calls it a stage name, but that makes it feel even more like I'm not really part of the family." He fidgets in his seat, and I stare, not knowing what to say about all of this. "Look," he pleads, eyes huge and doing things to my insides. "I did try to go into the system and change it to Moyer. I also tried to change it at the damn social security office, but that's a whole freaking production involving court and lawyers and shit."

Something about this revelation tugs at my heart. Maybe it's the look in his partially hidden eyes…the obvious pain and frustration there. "You're trying to change your name?"

He nods. "It doesn't feel like mine. It's my birth father's name, and he's a piece of shit. I go by my family's name, Moyer, and I swear I didn't try to mislead you or something to get in your pants."

My cheeks heat, and I grimace. "Well, I guess it was me pushing the pants situation."

He leans forward and grins. "You didn't have to push too hard, Fern."

It's my turn to take a deep breath. I stare down at the roster on my desk. "Okay. Well. I'm assuming you're not able to switch to another recitation section?"

He shakes his head rapidly. "My schedule is nuts between conditioning and weight room, and I'm not even in season right now."

"Mm. Well, I also have an intense schedule trying to finish with a double major in math and computer science, so that leaves us stuck together in a teacher-student situation." I fidget with the pen on my desk, not meeting his eye. "We need to keep things professional. No more flirting and definitely no repeats of New Year's Eve."

When I finally look at him, he's giving me a filthy look, like he's remembering every second of our night together before I slinked away from his bed like a thief. "Wyatt, I'm serious. I absolutely need this experience on my CV and?—"

"Yeah, yeah. I get it." He flinches, like he's also trying to convince himself. "You're my teacher. I will be on my best student behavior. You'll barely notice me."

He grabs his backpack and heads for the door, leaving me to doubt my ability to ever concentrate in his presence. Staring at his ass in his gray sweats doesn't help me with this mission. Not one bit.

I'm supposed to meet Thora in the library to debrief. Neither of us has any other classes on Fridays, but since we both live so far off campus, we usually hang out and study together until lunch. She spots me approaching and makes exaggerated winky faces, fanning herself. "Fern, you look smoking hot. If I were your student, I'd have trouble paying attention."

I sink into the seat opposite her at the table. "You have no idea." She furrows her brow and I slump forward, head on my hands. "The guy from the bar is one of my students." Thora is silent long enough that I pop my head up to make sure she hasn't left. Her mouth hangs open a bit, and she blinks a few times. "Did you hear what I said?"

She grins. "Oh, I heard. And I've read this book before."

"What do you mean?"

Thora rubs her palms together. "Forbidden love. Hot as fuck student. Sexy-as-hell professor. I probably have ten of those in my e-reader right now." She rummages in her bag like she's going to show me her romance novel collection.

"I'm not going to read one of your steamy books right now, Thora. This is serious."

She waves a hand. "I know. But … is it serious? It's recitation, right? Graded based on if he shows up to class?"

I clench my whole body. "Yeah but coming to class could feel unsafe for him. Or uncomfortable. I might be making him uncomfortable."

Thora nods. "Yes, I can see how your overt sexual energy would be unsettling for a young student-athlete about to sign a pro soccer contract."

I frown at her. "He's going pro?"

Thora rolls her eyes at me. "Are you telling me you didn't even look him up online after he was inside your body? Hell, I looked him up the minute things calmed down at the bar. Oh! I have your tips." Thora reaches into her cavernous bag, rummaging around until she pulls out a bright pink envelope stuffed to the ripping point. "It's mostly ones, I think. Mine was."

I slide the money into a zippered pocket of my bag, pinching it between my thighs in case someone wandering past gets any ideas. Not that I really believe everyone is out to rob me. I just really need that money to end up in my savings account ASAP.

Thora runs her fingers through her hair and looks at me. "Fern, I get it. You know I get it. And honestly, you're both seniors. You're both clearly dedicated to your own thing. I think you're mature enough to ignore him for an hour a week while you plan your climb up the academic ladder."

I nod. She's probably right. The shock of seeing him today will wear off.

We try to get things done for a bit before I give up, too distracted by Wyatt and what could happen now that he's my student. "I need to go deposit those tips." I sigh. "And my mom will probably want to touch base about teaching anyway."

"You gonna tell her about Wyatt?"

I squint, considering. "It's not like I pour out my soul about guys and stuff like that … how would I even bring it up?"

Thora shrugs. "Mama Montgomery is very reasonable. And she'll sniff you out in a heartbeat if you don't tell her something. Why not just say one of your students is a guy you were interested in last semester."

I nod, tapping my fingers on my bag full of precious, dangerous cargo. "It's not technically a lie…"

I stand up, checking the time on my phone. "All right. I'll talk to you later. You working this weekend?"

Thora nods. I wave to her and run outside in time to catch the bus downtown.

I have an entire hour on public transit to figure out what to tell my mom, so by the time I get to the bank where she works, I'm feeling much calmer about the whole situation.

Mom looks up from her teller window , smiling when she sees me. I slide the pink envelope across the counter. "I'd like to make a deposit, please!"

She glances at the envelope, still taped shut. "You didn't even use any of it to buy yourself something nice?"

I make a face. "Mom. What am I gonna get that's nice?"

She sighs. "We can do a treat every now and then, Fern Montgomery. It isn't sustainable to keep living like monks while you save and save for the next thing."

I grab a deposit slip and start filling it out. "I know, Mom. And I am easing up a little. I told you I went out with friends on New Year's Eve after my shift. And I'm not even working this weekend." I don't add that my only friend is working, so I'm still not doing anything social. "We should have a movie marathon."

Mom's face brightens. "We can get takeout. You can tell me all the latest news about your fellowship."

I slide her the completed deposit slip. Mom doesn't ask for my ID, but I show it to her anyway. I don't want anyone to be checking a video or something and get her in trouble. "There's nothing to tell right now until they make their decisions. You know that, Mom."

And she does know it. She was once a bright student like me, applying for scholarships and looking at colleges. She got pregnant with me and moved in with my dad, and they both made a real go at juggling school and parenthood … until it got really hard, and Dad took off. He didn't go far physically, but he also never really seemed to mature much, and he's certainly never offered either of us any support, financially or emotionally.

Mom hands me a receipt for my deposit, and we both smile a bit at the balance number on my account. Slowly and steadily, I'm getting closer to my benchmarks. Assuming I get accepted into one of the programs … I can't let myself worry about what might happen if I don't. I say, "I'll make dinner tonight and queue up that new Reese Witherspoon movie for when you get home." I grin and squeeze Mom's hand. She squeezes back and waves me off.