Her words sting in a way I never imagined possible. I can't really blame the infuriating woman, she caught me in a bad mood the other day when she showed up for office hours. Only an hour earlier my daughter, Olivia, decided to show her contempt for my outfit by throwing the closest thing to her - a steaming cup of black coffee. While I was grateful that she didn't burn herself, I couldn't say the same for me. All of my pent up anger got the better of me, and then Ms. Wilde showed up with her smart little mouth.

The audacity that she had asking, no, demanding a rewrite. My fingers still itch at the thought of bending her over my knee and giving her a spanking she'll never forget. One lesson from me would set her straight. Instead, like a school boy with a crush, I spent the majority of the conversation ignoring my growing erection and pressing all of her buttons. Nothing could hide my amusement as I watched her squirm under my gaze. Her feelings were written all over her face and she certainly made it known that she didn't particularly like me - a reaction I've become accustomed to when it comes to women.

My students don't have to like me in order to learn, most of the time they don't. I'm not there friend. I'm their teacher. Although I almost wish I wasn't her's. Josie Wilde is the kind of trouble I need to avoid. The kind of trouble my younger self would love. If I'm lucky, she'll take my advice and take an incomplete for the class. And that'll be that. I'll be done with her.

"Parker! You actually showed up?" My younger brother Derrick pushes past a crowd of rowdy frat boys playing pool and heads in my direction. After spending hours rifling through paperwork for my classes at Oceanside University, I'm exhausted and in no mood to entertain company tonight. Although bailing on my brother on this ridiculous commercialized holiday and his plans to go drinking isn't an option, but it doesn't stop me from making my annoyance known.

"I see Valentine's Day is on steroids again this year," I grumble.

I've always hated this fucking holiday. Now even more so. It's hard to believe I once celebrated the day and even looked forward to it. The memory of it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

"C'mon, let's get a drink," Derrick says. "I never thought you'd actually come."

"There's only so many times I can take you asking me." With the arrival of my signed divorce papers, I needed some air. Tonight I'll put the past three years behind me. I'll put her behind me. Parker Grant is officially a divorcee.

"Don't be such a grouch. It makes you look older."

Derrick winces at the biting glare I shoot him. He knows I'm more than willing to kick his ass into next week. A grin spreads across his face as the two of us stand in between a disarray of pink and red streamers. Derrick seems to take joy in making me uncomfortable. I'm not sure if we stepped into an actual bar or my sixth grade homecoming dance. It feels like the latter. Any moment now another depressing song by Depeche Mode song will begin to play.

"Jesus, it looks like someone threw up balloons in here," I grumble.

Derrick laughs as he claps me on the back in a gesture that is meant to be reassuring, but is more annoying than anything. I swat away strings of balloons from flying into my face as we head for drinks. There isn't an inch of the shabby bar that isn't covered in Valentine's Day decor. From the cheesy smiling cherubs hanging from the ceiling to an influx of metallic paper hearts taped to the walls. God, even the bar menu is tailored for couples. Shots for two? Fuck me this is depressing.

I'm officially no longer a plus one. That realization is both comforting and embarrassing. To hell with all that baggage.

"I'll take a uh…cupid's asshole," I say, trying in vain to read the bar menu's swirly pink font.

The bartender with double Ds arches an eyebrow at me. Despite her obvious irritation, I catch her gaze lingering on the tan line on my ring finger. I take my hand back suddenly feeling self-conscious about the entire event.

"Married?"

Her question hits me like a kick to the gut.

"Divorced," I answer.

"You want a Cupid's Arrow?" she asks, correcting me.

"Whatever cuts this conversation shorter."

Derrick swallows a laugh as he watches the bartender walk away with a pissed off expression. It isn't long before she returns with my order. A smug look of satisfaction crosses her face as she slides my drink over. The damn thing sparkles.

"What the fuck is this?" I look down at the fruity drink with a glittery pink umbrella. The smirk on her face is malicious enough to tip me off. She most definitely spit in this. I take the cup with no intention of actually drinking it and discreetly toss it in a nearby trash.

"Dude, wipe that sour look off your face. You're a bachelor again! Time to bury yourself in pussy and forget about that bitch."

He makes it sound so easy.

That bitch my brother Derrick is referring to is my ex-wife, Scarlett Jones. Hollywood's newest beloved actress. A year ago, she confessed that she was having an affair with her co-star, some cliche douche with abs of steel named Miles Storm. I should've been angry. I should've told Scarlett she was a Hollywood cliche. But she was everything to me.

She was the reason I got up in the morning.

Not anymore. Not ever again.

Now, she's a bitter memory I chase with a glass of whiskey almost every night. I've become a brooding cliche. My brother leans in with a beer in hand and gives me a giant, irritating hug. I stiffen at the unfamiliar touch of another human being. It's strange to think that it's been a long time since anyone has shown me any real affection. It's even stranger to admit that it bothers me.

"So how does it feel to be single again? You know, it only took three years for it to happen."

I grimace at the wide smile on Derrick's face. I've never understood why people celebrate divorces. I guess no one really takes the "Till' Death Do You Part" seriously anymore. It took one moment to destroy our marriage. One moment to destroy my world. I've been picking up the pieces ever since.

Sensing my discomfort, my brother returns to the bar and orders a whiskey on the rocks. This time instead of a pink umbrella, my glass is filled with pink ice cubes.

"She really doesn't like you," Derrick laughs. "C'mon Parker, drink up. You're finally free…you should live a little."

I begrudgingly take the glass from him and muffle my snort.

"Free? You think I'm free from Scarlett simply because the divorce went through. Sure, she didn't take me for every penny that I'm worth in comparison, not that I'm worth much anyway, but we have a daughter together. I'll never be free of her."

A defeated sigh escapes Derrick as he hangs his head. "I'm just surprised you left New York to move out here. I didn't think you'd ever leave that dismal place."

New York was home. I miss the familiarity of knowing where to go and what to see. California is still growing on me.

"I didn't have much of a choice. My daughter is out here. You think I'd willing live across the country from her?"

"Never. I'm sure she's going to be ecstatic to see you."

My chest aches slightly at the realization that it's been two weeks since I've seen Olivia. The divorce hasn't been the easiest on her. She doesn't seem to understand why I moved out on my own or why her mother is spending so much time with another man. And God only knows what Scarlett's telling her.

"It's an adjustment."

My eyes fall to the crowd of people gathered around the bar chatting and clinging to one another. My subconscious tells me to go home, but I can't bring myself to actually walk away. I need one night of no inhibitions. Hell I need several. There's a reason why my brother constantly teases me about being so uptight.

"Just forget about her. For one night," Derrick says, as if reading my mind.

I sigh in defeat as my brother surveys the club for girls. It's only nine o'clock and the establishment is brimming with people. In the city, people don't arrive to a bar let alone a club until midnight. It's common to go bar hoping. In this picturesque seaside town, this seems to be the only watering hole.

"What about her, professor?"

His tone is all amusement as he points at a woman wearing thick, hot pink high heels, a black mini skirt and a top that dips to the middle of her breastbone. Derrick has a thing for spotting a callgirl from a mile away.

"I can practically feel my balls itching from here. Besides I don't pay for sex."

"You may have to if you keep up with this celibacy business. No one wants to have sex with a minute-man."

I scoff at Derrick's insult. None of them women I've been with have ever complained about my skills in the bedroom. I tip back my glass of Whiskey and stop mid-drink at the sight of a pretty and familiar strawberry blonde walking into the bar. Her hair falls into silky waves down her back just below her shoulder blades. She looks like sex and candy wrapped in her soft blush dress that perfectly matches the flush on her cheeks. Mesmerized, I watch as she floats across the room with another woman at her side. A strange sensation hits me as I feel a familiar tug in my chest.

It's her. Ms. Wilde. The snarky student from my office hours.

The sudden urge to follow her hits me like a speeding train, but I stop myself somehow. Despite the freckles that kiss her skin and the smile lighting her face, I know she isn't as innocent as she looks. I've made this mistake before. She's just another hellion in disguise of that I'm sure.

It's been three years since you've even touched a woman but it feels like twenty. I stare at my young student, watching as she laughs and then turns her head to survey the club. She's so beautiful she practically sparkles. No one's stolen her light - yet.

I won't be the fucker who does.