Quick Study - By Gretchen Galway Page 0,4

over the carpet and—

His sister had just called him an aging adolescent that morning, and she was right. He hadn’t even considered who he might have been hurting, following his dick around like a GPS. Turn left. Turn right. Take this one all the way to the end.

Out on the crappy suburban street, the early morning haze was burning off, and he scowled at the January sky and strode up the street to his car, his body awash with adrenaline, lust, and self-loathing.

At least it would be spring soon. The woman and her child wouldn’t be freezing to death in their own home—even California got cold at night, especially to a little kid. Hopefully by the time fall came around again the dad would be back home, helping out. If he could find work, if he hadn’t gotten PTSD from serving his country.

Shaking his head with disgust, he tossed his jacket onto the passenger seat next to him before zooming as fast as his Prius would take him out towards 680, away from her suburban gulag apartment building, past the mall and south out of Pleasant Hill to his cozy five-bedroom custom-built house in the hills of Lafayette. Spent a fortune on a castle, he should enjoy it. Alone. No more impoverished, vulnerable, lonely, married women with small children for him—let alone one belonging with a man risking his life overseas.

He knew a warning bell when he heard one. From now on he’d be a goddamn monk, even if it meant never leaving the house, and the only woman he’d touch would be carefully screened for husbands and children and poverty before he so much as shook her hand.

Just as he merged on the freeway, he smelled Bonnie's pussy on his fingers and nearly swerved into a hedge of oleander along the on-ramp.

Bonnie pulled her t-shirt back on and sighed. Guess he wasn’t as shallow as he’d seemed. Her lips were swollen and her hair was falling in her face and she her teeth were chattering—from the sexual arousal, the come-down, and her neighbor’s unheated apartment. And she still wanted him.

Compiling her research was going to be harder than she expected.

She sighed and combed her wild hair with her fingers. That was nice for little Jake, having his dad come home. Hopefully for Shannon, too. Bonnie cleaned up the untouched coffee, barely able to focus on the cups she washed, then locked up and walked next door to her place.

Her roommates wouldn’t have appreciated her having company over so early in the morning.

She should have told him, of course. But now she was too embarrassed, and maybe it would teach him a lesson. Until he’d been confronted with a very possible reality, he’d been willing, even eager, to tune out the implications of what he was doing. They were at a preschool, for God’s sake. He must have assumed she was the mother of one of those children—yet nothing was more important than the promise of quick sex.

At least when he did learn more, or thought he had, he’d made a run for it.

She half-smiled, half-groaned into her hands, imagining what he must have thought of her. Not that Shannon wouldn’t have deserved some action, working two jobs and supporting little Jake all by herself, her husband a serial philanderer, national hero or no. But Bonnie was supposed to be taking care of Jake for two days, not taking over his mother’s identity. She’d have to find that guy and explain or she’d never forgive herself.

She went over to her laptop, hands not quite steady, and tried to write down the events of the morning. Her roommates were still in bed, and she wanted to get it all down before she had to pretend nothing had happened.

“Day One,” she wrote. “Man One. Tall. Broad-shoulders, muscles, shaggy brown hair, probably used to women throwing themselves at him. Wealthy-looking hipster, black leather, silver stud in one ear, dark jeans. Probably over thirty. Didn’t know own nephew’s name. Good, really good, with tongue—”

Here she had to stop. Her nipples were hard again, remembering. She pressed her palms against her breasts and closed her eyes, forcing herself to notice with a clinical detachment the way her heart was pounding.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to continue. She had to finish her degree. Even if a Master’s in Post-Modern Gender Dynamics would be useless in the job market, even detrimental, she was going to finish the damn degree and prove she wasn’t the