Off the Clock. Roni Loren
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she’d told him about living at home, instead of the normal nosy questions or empty sympathy, he’d simply nodded and said, “That’s cool of you to live at home and help out. Not many people would sacrifice their party years like that.”
Even without him knowing half of what she dealt with at home, the simple acknowledgment of that sacrifice had meant so much more than he’d probably realized. She was so used to people looking at her with pity—therapists, the teachers at Nate’s school, the doctors. Donovan had looked at her with respect. Maybe if he’d known about her mom’s disorder, some of that pity would’ve leaked out, but she had a feeling he wouldn’t be that way. That was the night she’d stopped seeing him as just a really hot guy and had found herself wanting him for altogether new reasons.
But their chats couldn’t last long since they both had work to do. So they’d go their separate ways. He’d give her more recordings—some based on her suggestions, some tweaked with her feedback—and she’d go to the lab.
The rest of the night would be spent wrapped up in his voice, her body growing hot and heavy, the place between her thighs left wet and wanting. She’d never felt so much sexual hunger in her life. She’d fantasized, sure. She’d had crushes on guys. She’d made out with a few when she’d had the chance—satisfying her curiosity more than her desire. But never had she been consumed by need for someone like this. On some level, she now understood why her mom so easily got herself in trouble with men. This rush was a powerful one.
Marin’s world had quickly narrowed to this one thing, this one person, during the stretch of spring break. The stress at home with her mother had faded to a hum in the background. In the mornings when she’d gotten home from the overnight shift, Marin had walked past the obsessively neat kitchen and living room, knowing it could be a sign her mother was bordering on one of her manic states. But she hadn’t let herself fall into anxiety over it like she normally did. She’d checked her mom’s pill supply to make sure she was still taking her meds, made sure food was in the fridge, called her little brother to check on how he was doing at camp, then she’d let everything fall away. She’d go to her room, slide beneath the covers, and replay the copies she’d made of Donovan’s recordings—her hands standing in for his as she brought herself relief in the tell-no-secrets dark of her room.
Then when she’d wake in the afternoon, she’d work on notes for Donovan. He liked her suggestions, and she found herself moving past editing his words and penning her own private fantasies instead, her versions of what she imagined doing with him. She now had a stack of pages with him in the starring role—pages for her eyes only that she’d keep long after this.
She knew it was ridiculous, that she was treading into obsessive territory, that it was dangerous to chase this rabbit down the hole. She’d watched her mother get fixated on projects, on jobs, on men. So many men. She knew that intensity could be an early sign of things going askew. But Marin couldn’t let herself think about it too hard. Her shoulders bowed under the pressure of always wondering if she’d have to face the same monsters her mother fought every day. It was too much to think about. Too big. This interest in Donovan didn’t have to mean that. Girls got crushes on boys. It was okay. She needed this.
Plus, she wasn’t sure when she’d get this kind of chance again. After break, life would go back to her duct-taped version of normal. So maybe it was okay to take this little risk. She was in college now. She craved the same things that other people her age did. Experience. Adventure. Fun. Sex. She knew for Donovan it was just a random meet-up with a random girl in a probably exciting day-to-day life filled with friends and dates and family. Everyone else was on break. She was there. And she was helping him. This was a one-sided fantasy. And she could deal with that.
But on this last Saturday before spring break wrapped up, the end loomed like cold, gray rain clouds, the brief vacation from her life slipping away from her. On Monday, everyone would return to campus. She’d have to go back to class. Donovan would find out who she was. She wouldn’t be some savvy fellow grad student to him. She’d just be one of the students whose paper he graded.
She’d thought about taking a chance tonight, attempting to flirt. A relationship with him wasn’t possible, but imagining things taking an R-rated turn was like staring at some ripe fruit hanging on the vine. She’d listened to the girls around her in school whisper about what they did with their boyfriends. She’d read enough romance novels to know how sexy those things could be. And now she’d spent a week listening to Donovan’s voice and the fantasies he’d penned. She’d never gotten a taste of that kind of physical connection with a guy and now she wanted a big bite.
But she’d be delusional to believe that he looked at her the same way. The guy was a man on a mission. His love was his work, and he was only interested in talking with her because she was helping with his research. She needed to keep that in her head.
She checked her phone for the time as she walked down the hall. Donovan’s door was shut. She was here early. She’d been so ready to get out of the house after the argument with her mother that she hadn’t even noticed. But seeing his door closed, it hit her that he might not even come in tonight. It was Saturday, after all, and they hadn’t made firm plans. Why had she assumed he’d be here? Just because it was a big, exciting event in her mind didn’t mean it’d even hit his radar. He was probably out on a date or at a party or having a beer with friends. Disappointment moved through her like a cold gust of wind. What if she’d gone through that whole drama at home just to sit here alone tonight?
She sighed. Par for the course. She could at least drop off her notes. And maybe he’d come in later.
She gave his door a little tap just in case and then turned the knob when there was no answer. The old heavy door creaked open, and the dark office greeted her. The scent of books and something faintly spicy filled her nose. She felt around for the light switch, but when she flipped it, nothing happened. She let out a frustrated breath and carefully made her way to the desk to find the lamp. When she grabbed hold of the chain and clicked it on, a startled noise sounded behind her.
Her hand flew to her chest and she yelped, banging into the desk and dropping her notebook and everything else she’d been carrying.
A groan. “Jesus, Mari. You scared the hell out of me.”
Marin whirled around to find Donovan stretched out on the worn couch—his dark hair a mess, his eyes puffy, and his chest … bare. Oh. My. She wet her lips, trying not to stare. But that was like expecting the clock on the wall not to tick. He looked like hell. And gorgeous. And very, very male—all sprawled out and sleep rumpled. There was no way she was going to be able to convince her eyes to focus on something else. A bomb could go off behind her and not turn her gaze. “Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were here. I was just dropping off notes.”
He gripped the blanket that covered him from the waist down. “What time is it?”
“I’m early. It’s not quite ten.”
“Fuck.” He ran a hand over his face. “I didn’t think you were coming in tonight.”
Her gaze alighted on the folded clothes on the nearby chair, on the takeout container on top of the fridge, on the opened bottle of whiskey next to it. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up from your … catnap?”
She didn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but what she saw said something very different from a nap caught between too many hours of research. Now the fact that he was always here, always working late when no one else was made sense.
He sat up and reached out to grab his T-shirt without meeting her eyes. He pulled it over his head, covering all that lean, sinewy muscle. “I stay overnight here sometimes. Dr. Paxton knows.”
“I—Okay.” She clamped her lips shut. She wasn’t going to be one of those people who asked questions that weren’t her place to ask. She wasn’t going to ask why he slept here even though he seemed to have money—designer jeans, fancy laptop. And she wasn’t going to ask why it looked like he’d been crying. And drinking. Alone.
Donovan pushed the blanket away, revealing a pair of