Chapter Three
“‘I value brains,’ he says,” Saige muttered to herself sarcastically as she walked briskly down the sidewalk toward her dump of an apartment. “Please. If you value brains so much, why do you assume I can’t tell you’re hiding something? I can see right through you.” She scowled as she walked, still annoyed with Professor Wilson for making her stay after class. For making her say those things about her past. The last thing she wanted to do, like, ever, was get in a conversation about her shitty living situation as a child, and how she’d lost the two most important people in her life, her mother and little sister.
“Let it go, Saige. You’re going to give yourself a migraine if you keep chewing on it,” she murmured, even as her brain ignored her. Professor Isaac Wilson was one of the most intriguing, sexy, frustrating teachers she’d ever had. “And you’re not going to obsess over him. Crushes are for high school, and you can’t afford that kind of emotional shit.” She squinted against the bright sunlight, wondering if any of the other students walking to and from class and their housing thought it was weird that she was talking to herself. She slowed, then laughed at herself. “No one gives a shit, Saige.” All the other students were busy ignoring her. She shook her head, still walking. When she stopped at an intersection, she frowned and whipped her head around. A shadow slid behind a tree, half a block away.
“You’re losing it,” she said, when nothing out of the ordinary happened after a minute. No shadow. No creepy guy following her. Of course, now the other students on the corner were giving her the side-eye. She smoothed down her pixie haircut, feeling like an idiot.
“I’m fine,” she said, needing to show she wasn’t insane. “Nothing to see here.” She was not surprised when the girls on her left hurried ahead of her as soon as the traffic let up so they could cross. She sighed. “Yup, that’s me. Mental patient in the making.”
She continued across the street, then turned down Kensington. Her studio apartment was another few minutes walk, past an undeveloped lot. She hated the place, but she couldn’t afford anything better right now. As she started across the lot to her building, a prickle at the back of her neck had her whirling around. Again. She thought she heard something scuttle across the gravel, but as she stared into the sun, nothing but bright skies and dust greeted her view. She shaded her eyes, heart tripping too fast. She waited, but no shadow magically appeared.
“Saige, get a grip. There’s nothing there,” she muttered as her face flushed. “God, I’m really losing it.” She ran her hand over her face, then turned around and trudged to her apartment building. Once inside the building, she hurried up the stairs to her third-floor studio, and fumbled with her keys. Before she could unlock the door, her cell phone rang.
“Shit.” She dropped her bag as she tried to juggle the keys and shove her hand into the front pocket of her jeans at the same time. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she said to the ring, then finally retrieved her phone. She smiled when she saw who was calling. She swiped at the screen. “Grandma!”
“How’s my sweet Saige doing?” Her grandmother’s voice sounded as warm and reassuring as ever.
Some of Saige’s frustration with her shitty day faded. “I’m okay. You know, the usual stuff going on. Classes. Work.” She shoved her key into the deadbolt and unlocked her door, then grabbed her bag from the floor, only to drop it back down just inside her apartment. It made a thud on the linoleum tile. Freaking textbooks.
“Liar,” her grandmother said tartly.
Saige grinned. “Okay. I’ve had a shit day. How did you know?” She kicked her door shut and locked it, then leaned against the jamb as her shoulders finally relaxed. Home sweet home, such as it is. Saige’s smile twisted as she looked at the unmade mattress on the floor and the dirty dishes in her sink. She never had enough time to take care of things.
“I’m your grandmother. I know these things,” the old woman said.
“What, you’re psychic now?” Saige laughed and headed to the kitchen. She opened her fridge. A whole lot of empty shelves stared back at her. Macaroni and cheese it is, she thought, grabbing a box of the cheap pasta from the counter.
“I’m only psychic when it comes to you,” her grandmother said. “So, have you met anyone? You should start dating. I hate to see you living all alone.”
Saige rolled her eyes as she poured water into a pot. “Are you kidding? I have no time for that kind of drama, Grandma. You know that. Besides, most men are total assholes.”
“Language, Saige,” her grandmother chided in a mock offended tone.
“Ha. You swear like a sailor, and don’t try to deny it,” Saige said, cursing under her breath when the stove element wouldn’t go on. She tried hitting it, but that didn’t work either. She moved the pot to another element and prayed that it would work. When it went cherry red after she turned the dial, she breathed a sigh of relief. Only two of the four worked now. Piece of crap stove.
“I may swear, but I’m older than dirt so I can get away with it. You need to be more ladylike.”
“Oh please, me? Ladylike? Why would I want to be ladylike? Sounds boring.” Laughing, Saige dumped the uncooked pasta into the water. “Also, you’re not that old. You’re only, what? Sixty?”
Her grandmother chuckled. “You know I’m seventy-nine, but thanks for that.”
Saige smiled. “So, why are you calling to nag me about dating? I thought we’d agreed to avoid that topic.” She paused, spoon in hand. “Hmm, wait. Unless… Are you dating?”
“Good lord, no,” her grandmother said, laughing. “You know most men are assholes.”
“Ah ha.” Saige snorted. “The truth comes out.”
“Except for those handsome Sentries that have been on the television so much lately. They seem like nice young men,” her grandmother said.
“The Sentries? You can’t be serious.” Saige pictured Bruno Day in her head. His blond hair and cold blue eyes made her shiver. His brother, Solomon, seemed a little more approachable, but not by much. She couldn’t remember what the other two looked like. “They’re scary. So is the idea that some alien race tinkered with their DNA. Creepy. Does that make them aliens or humans?”
“I don’t think it matters, my dear. They’re still handsome.”
“They’re older than you, Grandma!” Saige poured out the water, careful to keep the pasta in the pot. She tore open the orange cheese packet and dumped it on top of the steaming food, making a face when she realized she’d forgotten the butter. She headed back to the refrigerator.
“They don’t act old, and they certainly don’t look it. You should try dating one of them,” her grandmother said, a hint of amusement in her voice.
Saige choked. “Grandma! Will you stop?” She grabbed the container with the butter, opened it, and then sighed in resignation. No butter. Story of my life. She headed back to the stove and added a little water to the pasta, then stirred the powdered cheese into the hot mixture. It stuck to the sides in gloopy chunks, but she started eating it anyway. It was the only food she had.
“I’m not going to stop until I’m sure that you won’t be alone. You need someone to share your life with,” her grandmother said. “Romance isn’t dead yet.”
“Someone to share my life with the way Mom did with Dad? That didn’t end well for her, remember?” Saige asked bitterly. An indrawn breath told her she’d gone too far. Shit. I suck so much. She grimaced, wishing she knew how to keep her mouth shut sometimes. “I’m sorry, Grandma.” Her three spoonsful of pasta sat like a lump of stone in her gut. “That didn’t come out right.”
“Just because your mother picked an idiot to marry doesn’t mean all men are like that. Your grandfather was a fine man. I wish he’d lived to see you born,” her grandmother said, voice heavy with old grief. “Your father is a true bastard, but that doesn’t mean every man is like him.” She paused, then continued. “You haven’t heard from him, have you?”
“Who, my dad? No, Grandma.” And Saige wouldn’t tell her grandmother even if she had heard from him. The fewer people who had contact with her father the better. He was bad news. He’d always been bad news. She closed her eyes and thunked her head on the refrigerator. Her grandmother missed her daughter and granddaughter just as much as Saige missed her mother and sister. The silence on the other end of the phone told her everything she needed to know about how badly her stupid words had hurt the only person in her life she actually cared about.
“So, my history professor is cute,” she blurted out, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Oh my God, what the hell am I doing? That is not a good way to deflect the conversation. She tossed her spoon into the pot and plunked her dinner down on the counter, not caring that the metal bottom was still too hot and would scorch the laminate. “Wait, never mind. Ignore what I just said.”
Her grandmother, of course, did no such thing. “Cute, hmm? Tell me about him.”
At least she doesn’t sound sad anymore. Saige sighed, mostly resigned to a very uncomfortable conversation. She was in for it now. “Well, he’s got brown hair, a fugly beard, and he hides his gorgeous green eyes behind hideous tinted eyeglasses.” She paused, and then made a face. “Oh, and he’s hiding something. I don’t know what, but I can tell he’s not showing us who he really is. It bugs me.”
“A history professor who doesn’t share his life story in class? How is that a bad thing?” her grandmother asked, clearly skeptical of Saige’s frustration. “I wouldn’t want a teacher who droned on about himself when he’s supposed to be teaching world history.”
Saige snorted. “Yeah, but it’s almost like he’s wearing a disguise. The dark glasses drive me crazy. I can’t tell what he’s thinking,” she explained.
“Sounds just like a good teacher. You don’t want a narcissistic lecturer.”
Saige rolled her eyes. Her grandmother had very distinct opinions about education. “I know, but those dumb glasses he wears still annoy me.”
“Hmm, I see. Gorgeous green eyes, eh? Eyes he covers up so you can’t see them.” Her grandmother sounded both smug and amused. “And have you asked him about his sunglasses? Maybe he has a medical condition and has to protect his eyes.”
God save me from interfering old ladies, Saige prayed, only half serious. She loved her Grandma to pieces, even when the old woman drove her crazy. “He muttered something about having to wear them to keep us safe. It made no sense.” She took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “He asked me to stay after class. He wanted to know why I was angry with him.” Her grandmother’s laughter made her wince. Ow. She held the phone away from her ear.
“Oh, he’s got your number, my girl. He sounds very intriguing.” Her grandmother chuckled with more delight than Saige believed was warranted. “He’s cute and intelligent. How interesting.”
Saige shook her head. Her grandmother was too freaking perceptive for her comfort. “Yeah. Interesting is a word. So is irritating. And aggravating.”
“Those are two words.”
Saige grinned through her embarrassment. “Okay, two words.” Her grandmother was too sharp for comfort, sometimes. “Doesn’t mean I’m not right.”
“You should ask him out.”
“What? He’s my professor. Good lord.” Saige rubbed her eyes. Her fingers smelled like orange cheese powder, yuck. “No. Just … no.”
Her grandmother clicked her tongue. “So? You’re an adult. He’s an adult. I don’t see the problem. Unless he’s old? He isn’t eighty, is he? That would be gross.”
“No, Grandma,” Saige said, smiling despite herself. “He looks like he’s about thirty. Maybe younger.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. He wears a hideous sport jacket, but he’s in really good shape under the ugly clothes. He doesn’t make sense. Nothing about him adds up.”
“Men aren’t arithmetic problems, Saige,” her grandmother pointed out. “They’re just people, like you and me.”
Saige rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”
“Hmm. A young man who hides his handsomeness. That’s unique.”
Saige had to agree, dammit. “It doesn’t matter. I told him why I dislike guys, and why he annoys me so much. He won’t bother me again.”
A pause. “Are you sure about that? He doesn’t sound like the kind of man who will take that kind of statement at face value.”
Saige frowned. “I don’t know. I hope he just lets it go. I don’t have time for this stuff. I have work and homework.” And a severe lack of food in the house, she thought, glaring at the half-eaten pot of pasta. It had congealed into a sticky mess.
“I hope he doesn’t let it go, for your sake, Saige,” her grandmother said.
“Grandma—” Saige began, but her grandmother interrupted her.
“No, let me talk, Saige. I really think you should give him a chance.”
Saige frowned, but before she could argue, her grandmother continued.
“I love you, dear, but I’ve gotta run. I’m dropping dessert off at the local retirement home. The old biddies love my chocolate chip cookies.”
Saige had to smile. She loved how her almost eighty year old grandmother still thought of herself as not-old. “I love you, too, Grandma.”
“We’ll talk next week,” her grandmother said, and then the line went silent.
Saige sighed, then shoved the phone back into her pocket. Her grandmother had a point. She would like to have someone to share her life with, but not Professor Wilson. Never him.
“Maybe I need a dog,” she mused, thinking again about the shadow she swore had been following her earlier. She could use the protection. She pursed her lips, thinking about her teacher. Would the professor stoop to stalking her? He didn’t seem the type, but then again, her own father was nauseatingly charming to other people. “I’ll ask him about it on Friday,” she said, picking up the pot of pasta and her spoon, and choking down a bite. She needed the energy, especially if she was going to confront a man who looked sturdy enough that even a hurricane wouldn’t knock him over. She thought about his muscular torso again, blushing as she realized she’d memorized how his shirt molded to his chest. And his hands…
Stop it. Stop obsessing. “I’ll talk to him on Friday.” Saige nodded, mind made up. “And he’d better not be the one following me, or he’s going to regret it.”
****
Saige narrowed her eyes at Professor Wilson, annoyed all over again. He wasn’t wearing a beanie today, so his messy brown hair was on full display. He had on another fugly sport jacket, but he’d worn a tight green t-shirt underneath and Saige could see his muscles rippling every time he pointed at the white board. He looked like a freaking model, even with the stupid bristly beard that was in serious need of a trim. The green shirt was a perfect match for the eyes he still hid behind colored glasses.
No man deserves to be that pretty, she thought, tapping her pencil on the desk in irritation. When he glanced her way, gaze narrowing in on the hand making the noise, Saige forced herself to stop fidgeting. Class was nearly over. She could sit still for one more minute.
“The next reading assignment is on the board. Don’t forget to answer the practice questions at the back of the last chapter,” Professor Wilson said as everyone began to gather their things.
Showtime, Saige thought, not bothering to stand up with the rest of her class. She slid her books into her bag, then leaned back and crossed her legs. She’d made sure to wear her beat-up black boots with a sturdy pair of leggings today, the better for kicking someone in the nuts. So what if her pink tunic hugged her curves? It was comfy. She didn’t care what anyone thought of her clothing. And the color made the hazel of her eyes look amazing, not that that mattered. She licked her lips nervously, once again pushing down the thought that she’d dressed for him. She was so not crushing on her professor. Saige was not that cliché type of girl. No way, no how.
“Saige, I’m glad you’re sticking around. I wanted to talk to you,” Professor Green-Eyes said, walking down the aisle. He pulled out one of the now empty chairs and turned it around, straddling it and leaning forward with his arms on the back.
Saige stared at his stupid lovely hands. Focus, girl. Stop fixating on him, she told herself. She couldn’t remember what she wanted to say to him.
His lips twisted when she didn’t respond. “Actually, I wanted to apologize.”
“Wait, what? Apologize?” Now, that made her sit up straighter. “For what?” she asked, warily. He’s derailing my inner rant, she thought, disgruntled. She’d had the whole thing planned out, starting with ‘Are you stalking me?’ and ending with ‘You have no right to keep me after class,’ but then all her words had flown right out of her head with the close-up view of his hands and chest.
He sighed, running a hand over his hair. “Last time after class, I deflected when you asked me if I was really a teacher, because the truth is, I’m not.” He shrugged. “I mean, clearly I am, because I’m here, but teaching isn’t all I do.”
Interesting. Saige narrowed her eyes at him. Finally, a clear statement. “Okay, so what do you do when you’re not playing at being a history professor?”
“Look, call me Isaac. I feel weird when everyone calls me Professor Wilson.”
Saige huffed. “You’re deflecting again.” She paused, then decided what the hell. She was an adult. She could call her professor by his first name if she wanted to, especially if he’d asked her to. “Isaac.”
He stared at her, then shook his head. “Yeah, so I am. The truth is, I can’t tell you what I do when I’m not moonlighting as a professor.”
Huh? Saige blinked. “Can’t or won’t? And before you respond, let me tell you in advance that I’m not going to like whatever excuse you come up with.” What was he, a spy? She looked him up and down again. For some reason, her eyes wanted to linger on the crease of his jeans, where his legs met his torso. Jesus, the guy is seriously built.
“I won’t give you an excuse, then.” He rolled his shoulders. “It’s neither can’t nor won’t. It’s more like I shouldn’t tell you.”
“Shouldn’t? I have no idea what the hell you’re getting at,” Saige said, getting angry. Before he could speak, she forged ahead. He could keep his lies to himself, for all she cared. “Look, were you following me on Wednesday after class? Because if so, you need to cut that shit out. It’s not cool.”
His eyebrows went up. “Following you? No.” He frowned. “Was someone following you?”
Saige stared hard at his expression. He seemed genuinely confused. And concerned. “You’d better not be lying to me,” she said, instead of answering his question.
Isaac shook his head. “No. I wouldn’t do that. If someone’s following you, you need to report it. Campus security takes that very seriously.”
“It wasn’t on campus,” Saige said.
“Then you need to tell the police.” Isaac leaned forward, eyes intent even behind his dark glasses.
“Ha. Like that does any good.” The words slipped out before Saige could stop them. Shit. He’s got me believing he seriously gives a shit about me. Not good. She rubbed her eyes, abruptly tired. And she had work tonight, too. Dammit. “It’s probably my asshole father,” she muttered, discouraged. She’d managed to ditch her old man for six months this time, but he always turned up in the end, demanding money, or time, or nothing in particular. She assumed he just enjoyed making her life hell. “So much for restraining orders,” she added, pissed. “I’m not switching schools again, no matter what he does.”
“I’m walking you home today,” Isaac suddenly said.
Saige looked at him, startled out of her downward spiraling thoughts. “What? No. There’s no need for that. I can take care of myself,” she said, shoving her fear into a little box in the back of her head and slamming it shut. She’d faced off with her father before, and she could do it again if she had to. Although, she had to admit, she wasn’t looking forward to needing to find another apartment. Maybe she wouldn’t move this time. God, why does he always show up and try to destroy my life?
“I know you can, but it’ll make me feel better if I know you got home safely,” Isaac said unexpectedly.
Saige stared at him. “Who are you?” she asked, again. In her experience, guys did not care what happened to the people around them. Guys mooched off their girlfriends and tormented their daughters. Guys like her dad got their wives killed through stupidity and extreme selfishness.
“I’m the guy who needs to make sure you’re okay,” he said, standing up. “Come on. This is my last class for the day.” He held out his hand.
“How do you know it’s my last class?” Saige said, already standing. “And I’m not holding hands with you. That would be weird.”
Isaac sighed, loudly. “I don’t know that it’s your last class,” he said, clearly at the end of his patience. “Is it?”
Saige eyed him as she adjusted her bag’s strap over her shoulders. He still had his hand out. “Yeah. It’s my last class.”
“Good.” Isaac smiled. “Why would holding hands with me be weird?”
“Because we’re not dating,” Saige said, then immediately wanted to clap her hand over her mouth. This is Grandma’s fault, for putting the idea in my head, she thought as her face burned.
“I was just going to help you out of your seat.”
“Of course you were,” Saige muttered, embarrassed beyond belief. She couldn’t imagine actually touching him. She’d go up in flames. “But I already got out of my seat all by myself. See? No injuries.” She waved over her torso.
Isaac chuckled, but let his hand drop. “Where do you live? I can give you a ride.”
Saige headed for the door. “No, thanks. I can take care of myself.” She didn’t know why she was arguing with him. She could tell he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
“I’m going to follow you, so you might as well just let me give you a lift.” Isaac paced her to the building’s exit.
Saige suppressed a growl of annoyance. “Fine. I walk home after this class. It’s that way,” she pointed east.
“It’s a beautiful day for a walk,” Isaac said.
Saige squinted into the sunlight. “Yeah, if you like having your eyeballs gouged out by the sun. And as long as you don’t mind being nearly run over by all the perky students. Why is everyone so freaking happy all the time?”
Isaac laughed. “You’re just a bundle of joy, aren’t you?”
Saige hunched her shoulders, unwilling to admit that having him at her side did make her feel safer. And happier. “Sorry. I’m not a cheerful person,” she muttered.
“Hey.” Isaac’s hand on her arm stopped her on the sidewalk. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to tease. I’ll see you home and that’s it. No weirdness, I promise.” He put his hands up in the universal sign for ‘I’m harmless’.
Saige pursed her lips. As if. He’s about as harmless as a cougar. “Fine.”
He nodded amiably. “Fine.”
Saige headed down the street, thoughts swirling. Foremost in her head was the image of him sweeping her up into his arms. She didn’t know where that idea came from, but she couldn’t shake it, no matter how hard she scowled. She didn’t need saving. She didn’t need an annoying gorgeous man walking her home. She increased her pace as if she could outrun both her imagination and his presence.
Unsurprisingly, Professor Isaac Wilson had no trouble keeping up with her. She walked faster, and Isaac didn’t say a word. Fine. He’s keeping his promise, she thought, but even so, a trickle of worry kept niggling at her. When she paused at the corner, she frowned, then whipped her head around. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. “Did you see that?” she asked, searching the sidewalk. She thought she saw that weird shadow again out of the corner of her eye, but when she looked … nothing.
Isaac was staring down the sidewalk, too, eyes intent.
“Isaac?” Saige touched his arm. The warmth of his arm startled her for a moment. “Do you see something?”
He turned to her. “No,” he said slowly, shaking his head. “I thought I had, for just a moment, but there’s nothing there.”
Saige chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I’m losing my mind,” she muttered. The traffic cleared, and she headed across the street.
“You’re not going crazy. Trust your instincts,” Isaac said, unexpectedly.
Saige gave him a look. “I’m already jumpy. Don’t make it worse.”
He smiled at her. “Sorry.”
She scowled. “Whatevs,” she said, but felt bad almost immediately. He didn’t deserve her rudeness. “Sorry. I’m just cranky today.” She walked a few steps. “I’m cranky everyday,” she muttered guiltily.
“I noticed,” he said, still keeping pace with her.
She glared at him.
He grinned. “We all have days like that.”
Is he making fun of me? she wondered, but after a closer look at the expression on his face, she decided he wasn’t. He was just … nice. Saige nodded warily, not bothering to say anything out loud. The sooner I get home, the sooner I can pretend that I’m not crushing on Professor Hottie, she told herself. When she glanced at him again, the strong lines of his jaw snagged her attention, even under the messy beard. She wanted to cup his cheek and see if he tasted as good as he looked, dammit. Isaac Wilson was ridiculously handsome, and she wanted nothing more than to take him home and go to bed with him, but she knew better than to go there, even in her imagination.
I don’t have time for fantasies. Not now. Not ever.