Defining Us (Rocky Waters)

Chapter 1

1

AINSLEY

SIX YEARS LATER

R unning late to my first class of the day, I stumble over the uneven pavement, just barely catching myself before I fall. Somehow I manage to keep my bag from slipping completely off my arm, but my travel mug of steaming hot coffee suffers a different fate. It falls from my left hand as I not so gracefully save myself from landing on the ground. “Ah, crap. There goes my day,” I stammer aloud to no one but myself, even though there are throngs of people rushing by me. The coffee slowly seeps out through the now open container, staining the sidewalk as it runs down the slight incline.

Realizing I’m going to be even later to class than I originally thought, I grab the mug from the ground, hike my laptop bag up further onto my shoulder and start walking again. Since there were no spots close to my office, I was forced to walk even longer than usual today. It always happens when I’m running late.

“Hey, Professor Bradford,” I hear from behind me, as I make my way across the quad. Knowing I will be even later if I stop and turn around to look, I keep trudging toward Manor Hall, which houses my office and the rest of the English department and classrooms, slowing my pace only slightly.

In a moment, the owner of the voice has caught up to me and is matching me, step for step. I turn to look at one of my sophomore students and give him a small smile as I pick my pace back up. Even though it’s a somewhat warm day for spring, he’s sporting his baseball jacket, the one that advertises that the team was last year’s champions. I don’t follow baseball too much, especially since this is the first year I’ve had some players in my classes. He’s also wearing his fraternity hat. The hat that every time he or one of his brothers wears it, makes me inwardly cringe.

“I’m running a little late,” I start, hoping that he’s not going to want to engage in a conversation now.

“I just wanted to ask you if you’ve had a chance to read through the latest draft of my essay,” he inquires, not bothering to hide his persistence.

I don’t answer him right away; instead, I keep pushing ahead to the building, getting closer with each step I take. Unfortunately, he doesn’t miss a beat and keeps up with me. I know I had to cancel our meeting to discuss his essay, but I politely told him I would email him with alternate dates to meet. Clearly, that wasn’t good enough for Charles McDonald, the third.

I hear him clear his throat next to me, awaiting my reply. Normally, I don’t mind chatting with my students whenever I’m on campus, but on top of being late today, Charles is adding to my irritation of the woes of my life, including a girls’ night out with the queen bitch and her lady-in-waiting later tonight. And well, add in the fact that I’ve been sexually frustrated for months, talking with Charles about the latest draft of his essay that he swindled me into rewriting for about the fifth time now, is not on the top of my priority list. Not that I can let him know this, of course. So, taking in a deep breath, I manage to explain, “As I wrote to you in response to your email earlier this week, I will discuss it with you when we meet. Come by my office on Monday during my office hours, and we can discuss it then.” It comes out in a clipped tone, a little harsher than I mean for it to be delivered. “I’ve really got to get to class now.” I quicken my steps, hoping he will finally get the hint.

“I guess I’ll see you Monday then,” he huffs out. “Have a nice weekend.”

His voice trails off, so I know he’s not still next to me, and I let out a sigh of relief. “Entitled brat,” I mutter under my breath as I finally get to the building. There are a few late students straggling in as I approach the door, one of them kind enough to hold it open for me. Not wanting to seem ungrateful, I smile at the student and toss out a quick “thanks.” She nods her head as I make my way into the building and down the hall to the classroom. Fortunately, it’s my Creative Writing class, a class for only upperclassmen so they are less likely to walk out when I’m not on time.

When I walk into the classroom, I’m not surprised to see all the students in their seats, many typing away on their laptops, most likely working on their assignments that are due at the end of next week.

“Sorry I’m late,” I begin, walking up to the desk in the front of the room. Once I reach it, I allow my bag to slide down my shoulder and plop down onto the desk. From the corner of my eye, I notice a coffee cup sitting on the edge of the desk. I swipe it up, inhale the scent and then take a long drink, savoring the flavor as it coats my throat. As I swallow the magical concoction, I place the cup back on the desk and peer out into the sea of students, seeking the eyes of my TA. She’s sitting in the back row today and when her gaze meets mine, I don’t even bother mouthing the words but speak them aloud. “It’s too bad I can’t give you an A, Maddie. This is just what I needed today.” She gives me a quick smile and a wink. With all eyes of my students on me, I can’t return the wink, but it’s unnecessary at this point. This is her second semester with me, and after finals last semester, we bonded over more than just students’ attempts at “creative” writing.

Taking one more sip of pure liquid gold, I shake off my sweater and put my professor hat on and begin class.

I only teach two classes on Thursdays, and as I head to my office after the second class, I’m in weekend mode since classes have been canceled for tomorrow. Honestly, I’m not even sure for what, but since it means I don’t have to come to campus and teach my Freshman 101 class, I’m ever thankful. Even though there are only a few short weeks left in the semester, I’m ready for it to be over.

Inside my tidy office, I drop my bag onto the floor and slump down into my chair. I lean back, resting my head against the back of the chair and close my eyes. Taking a few deep breaths, I allow myself a few minutes to finally breathe after my nonstop morning. When I finally open my eyes, they scan the few piles on my desk. I knew if I went home, I wouldn’t get anything done, and I’d really like to be able to enjoy the day off tomorrow. It’s with this thought in mind that I grab the top essay off the pile, pull out my red pen from the top drawer, and set to work.

Nearly an hour later, I’ve read through about six essays, all of them surprisingly less crappy than usual. Glancing over at the clock, I realize I should pack it in and call it a day. I need time to shower and get ready and put on my “party face,” as Tara calls it. Already dreading the evening, I sigh as I grab a few essays from the pile of papers and put them into my bag, careful not to let them bend or get crinkled. I’ll give myself tomorrow off, but since I have no plans for the weekend, exciting or otherwise, I can get the essays graded on Saturday or Sunday.

Once I’ve loaded the papers into the bag, I slip my arms back into my sweater that was haphazardly lying on the desk. I hoist the bag up on my shoulder and make my way out of the office, locking the door behind me. In the hall, I’m met with a fellow colleague also leaving for the night.

“Hey, Ainsley, how’s it going?” Byron politely asks me. “Looking forward to the day off?” His expression is kind, but ever since we hooked up that one time a few months ago, he’s somewhat been keeping his distance and his emotions in check.

It happened only once, shortly after the semester started. This semester was his first one here at the college and when we first met, I could tell that he took an immediate liking to me. I’m not usually one to sleep with colleagues, but his persistence eventually wore me down and one night after a few drinks, I gave in to his advances. I was by no means drunk and was fully aware of the choice I made when he invited me back to his house. Unfortunately, he was just another mediocre lay on my ever-growing list of men I’ve slept with once. It sucks that I have to constantly see him, but I truly think the experience was worse for him; I’ve learned how to hide my nonchalance and close off the act of sleeping with someone when there are no emotions on my end.

Not meeting his eyes, I answer, “Yes, I’m thankful for the day off.” I keep my gaze on the floor as we walk down the hallway toward the door. Once we reach the door, he goes ahead of me and holds it open for me, careful to stay out of my way lest I somehow make contact with him.

“Well, have a good weekend,” he meekly calls out as he goes to the left of the quad as I make my way straight across it.

“Same to you,” I mumble. My phone chirps with a text, so I dig it out of my bag. I roll my eyes in disgust at Tara’s name in our group text.

TARA

Be ready at seven tonight. I’ll pick up Kelcie and then Ainsley. Looking forward to it!

Kelcie responds almost immediately.

Can’t wait. See you soon!

I toss my phone back in my bag without even replying. My thoughts drift back to last week when I apparently thought that a girls’ night with them sounded like a good idea. I think it came on the heels of some sort of argument with my mother, and the invitation had caught me off guard at first. I agreed without even thinking.

Kelcie and I always got along well enough; we were roommates in college. Once she befriended Tara, I guess I always felt like a third wheel to their duo. Tara and I don’t have too much in common and well, she’s quite demanding. And controlling. She actually reminds me of a younger version of my mother; she’s always judging my actions and choices, especially in regards to guys. Tara didn’t even include me in her wedding because in her words, “I can’t have you sleeping with one of the groomsmen.” I was shocked at first but then relieved because I didn’t need to participate in all the stupid activities she forced upon everyone. And just to spite her, I slept with her new husband’s brother the night of the wedding. Not going to lie; not my finest moment. I shudder at that memory of him. As far as I know, Tara never found out.

Yesterday, when I realized I truly had no desire to hang out with Tara, because I don’t mind when it’s just me and Kelcie, and tried to back out, Tara saw through my scheme and decided she would drive us, knowing I couldn’t get out of it if she was the designated driver. I’m pretty sure she just tolerates me because I’m friends with Kelcie and Kelcie is always trying to please everyone.

Strolling to the car, I can only hope that wherever we end up, the bartenders will be hot or if I’m really lucky, one of the patrons will be good enough to put an end to my months-long sex dry spell. My lips curl up into a smile at that possibility.

Hey, a girl can dream once in a while, right?