Pushing the Limits (3 page)

I never expected to be back in California after the way I left five years ago. I hadn’t even come back to visit my parents, and thinking back on it makes me feel like absolute shit. However, six months ago, I said goodbye to Ohio and moved back to my home state.

Not by choice.

Fortunately, I found a house to rent close to the California School of Liberal Arts where I was able to get a teaching job. I had to leave Ohio without much notice, so once I arrived back home and secured a job, I had four months left until I started at CSLA. Between unpacking and prepping my semester syllabuses, those four months flew by. I did everything I could to ignore the ache in my chest at being back in the same town as
her
—Jennifer—one of the reasons I left in the first place. Everything to ignore the pain and focus on something else—
anything
else.

Natalia is the other reason those months flew by. She’s my high demanding and sarcastic eleven-year-old niece who’s complained about my cooking every night since she moved in with me.

She’s also taught me a lot in the time she’s lived with me.

Eleven-year-old girls do not like when you walk them into the school building. They also don’t like when you kneel down to tie their shoe. They also may possibly scream when you walk into the bathroom—forgetting you, in fact, do not live alone anymore—and they are only in a towel.

Oh, the things I’ve had to quickly learn to accommodate Natalia.

But I love her. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.

And we’re trying to figure it out—even though we’re both grieving.

My heart aches at the memory of getting the call six months ago. My mother was so hysterical that I could barely understand anything she was saying. Once they translated into actual words, the walls began to close in on me. I was in shock. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe.

Six months later, and I still feel that way, except now I’ve learned to ignore it. The pain stings to the point of bitterness. Bitter that it happened. Bitter that I had to come back. Bitter that I have no idea how to raise a child.

Painting is my solace or
was
at least. I haven’t been able to paint a damn thing since then, which is really fucking ironic since I’m an art professor. But what choice do I have? I need a job and it’s the only thing I know. But if there’s one thing I know about the power of painting is when you need it most, it’ll eventually pull you out of whatever shit you’re dealing with—or so that’s what I’m hoping for anyway.

“Knock, knock,” I hear from my doorway. I quickly look up and notice it’s Claire—
again
. She’s been coming to my office every day for two weeks as I’ve been rapidly trying to prepare for my classes that are resuming soon. Since I’m coming in halfway through the year at spring semester, I’ve been looking over students’ art portfolio’s to get ideas of their strong suits so I can coordinate my syllabus to their needs.

“Hi, Claire,” I draw out slowly, the annoyance in my tone going right over her head as she invites herself in. “What’s up?”

She settles in on the chair across from my desk. Her skin-tight pencil skirt nearly rips in two as she crosses her legs and arches her back, pushing her breasts firm against her thin blouse. She flips her blonde hair, exposing the flesh of her neck. I shudder, wondering what’s made this woman so insecure that she feels the need to throw herself at me.

“Well, I thought since you’ve been working nonstop and have hardly taken a break to even eat lunch most days, we could go out for drinks tonight.” Her tongue runs along her lower lip just before pulling it in between her teeth and biting it. “Celebrate your new job and the start of a fresh semester,” she continues with an encouraging smile.

“As much as I’d love that…” She doesn’t hear the condescending tone in my voice by the wide, girly smile that spreads across her face. “I’ll have to take a raincheck. I’m taking Natalia to a movie tonight before I get busy with work again.” It’s a lie, but she doesn’t even as much as flinch on another rejection. She’s only asked me out a dozen times, and I’ve found a way to get out of each of them.

How her brain isn’t connecting the dots to,
I’m not interested
is beyond me. If she were any other woman at a bar or we shared the same mutual friends, I’d have no issues letting her know it was never going to happen. However, to avoid pissing my colleagues off before class even begins, I have to play nice for now.

Truthfully, if it weren’t for a certain portfolio that’s captivated my attention, I’d be doing all this prep work from home. But there’s one specific student—Aspen Evans—that’s grabbed my attention more than the rest. She has high honorable mentions, has excelled in all of her classes, and already has some letters of recommendations for graduate school. She passed into the accelerated art program with flying colors.

Studying her pieces over the last couple of weeks, I feel like I’ve grown to know her already. I realize this sounds crazy, considering I have no idea who she is, but it’s obvious by her paintings that she’s a deeply emotional person. Her dark and dramatic pieces are consistent since her freshmen year. Some are bright and bold abstract paintings, some are watercolor portraits, and some are pastel drawings. Then there are some pencil-drawn and heavily shaded with sadness. She’s definitely drawing from some kind of inner turmoil, and I can’t help but be intrigued by the stories she’s telling.

A part of me connects with them, aches in familiarity. The feeling of losing Ryan only months ago feels like bile in my throat and chokes all the air out of me. My eyes burn with tears that I refuse to shed, considering the way things ended between us. It had been five years since I’d seen him, aside from his funeral, of course, but even though he died a hero, I fear I’ll never have any real closure.

Not because of what he did, but
who
I let come between us.

CHAPTER TWO

ASPEN

After spending the afternoon with Kendall and Zoe, I come home and go straight to my studio. Several hours of staring at the same blank canvas later, I brew myself a pot of coffee. The canvas just sits there on my easel, mocking me as I chastise myself.

I haven’t felt this blocked in months. Everything I start, I end up tossing out or getting so frustrated I throw it across the room. I hate everything I paint or draw, and considering school is starting in less than twelve hours, the pressure to get my shit together is even stronger.

Skinny Love
has been playing on repeat, which is usually my go-to song. It helps me escape into a place where I can create the things I see in my mind. But after five unsuccessful attempts, I give up and sit in the middle of the floor—where I ultimately pass out.

The sound of knocking startles me out of my sleep. The achy feeling in my back and the sun beaming through the blinds indicates I’ve slept here all night. The knocking gets louder and more persistent, so I lazily stand up and walk toward the door. “Coming!” I shout.

When I whip it open, I see Kendall with an amused look on the other side. “I hate you,” I hiss.

She grins, eyeing me up and down with a raised brow. “You’re covered in paint.” I look down and see that she’s right. “Fall asleep in the studio again?”

“Looks that way.” I sigh.

“Well, rise and shine. We’re leaving for school in forty-five minutes.”

I groan and open the door wider for her to step in and wait while I shower. After a half-ass attempt at doing my hair and makeup, I quickly dress in jeans and my favorite heels and pack up all my supplies.

“Are you all right?” she asks, her eyes narrowing at my appearance.

“Ask me after a couple cups of coffee.” The half pot I sucked down the night before did nothing for my energy.

She snorts and leads me out the door and down the hallway.

“What’s your first class?” I ask.

“I have a nine a.m. philosophy lecture.”

“With Professor Hennington?”

“Yup.” She sighs. “I plan to stay in the back and sleep.”

I laugh. “You get a B just for showing up.”

“Then I’ll go once a week and aim for a C.” She looks at me and grins as we walk through the parking lot toward her car.

We chat and make plans to meet up for lunch as we drive to school. Once she finds a parking spot, we head off in separate directions to our first classes.

The first day of school always goes like clockwork. Syllabus and a schedule of assignments are handed out, and I soon find myself feeling overwhelmed with five classes and working three to four shifts at the gallery each week. But when you leave home with hardly any money, you do what’s necessary to survive.

Tuesday starts and ends just as uneventfully. I’ve been looking forward to my night class, Advanced Art, ever since I signed up for it last semester. I’ve had a variety of art classes throughout the years, but painting has always been my passion.

Kendall and I meet up for a quick bite to eat before I head to the Lakin Arts and Behavioral—LAB—building. I don’t recognize the professor’s name on my schedule, so I assume he or she is new this semester.

I walk into the classroom and notice all the chairs are arranged in a large half circle. Only a few other students have arrived and look like they’re about to fall asleep already.

I choose a seat in the middle and start rummaging through my bag of supplies. I look up briefly as a guy sits down next to me. He looks to be in his late twenties or perhaps early thirties. I sneak another glance and notice he has brown hair, nicely trimmed all around, but a tad longer on the top. He’s wearing a dark blue V-neck sweater with just the collar of his white button-up showing underneath it.

His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, accentuating his broad chest and muscular arms. I lower my eyes to his dark wash jeans and admire how well they fit him as if they were custom made just for him. He looks casual but not overdone. I shift my body and lower my eyes just in time to avoid him catching me staring at him.

He turns toward me as if he wants to say something, but before he can, Ellie, a girl I’ve had classes with previously, sits down on the other side of me. “Hey, Aspen! Back to the grind.”

“Yup…another class, another semester closer to graduation!” I say happily.

“What’s with the get-up? You going out after class?” Her eyes scan up and down my body.

“Uh, no.”

Her brows rise. “You look like you’re going on a manhunt while I’m here looking like a poor art student.”

“You are a poor art student.” I deadpan, ignoring her comments about my outfit.

“That’s beside the point.” She laughs.

I shrug. “I just like wearing them. They make me feel good, I guess.” It’s not a lie, but not exactly the full truth.

Ari didn’t like wearing dresses. She was all about the adventure and getting dirty, but I loved dressing up and wearing Mom’s high heels. After her death, my mom and I struggled to find a common ground that connected us. I found any excuse to be out of the house just to get a little bit of clarity.

Once I found my first babysitting job, I saved up enough money to buy my first pair of designer shoes. A whole summer of babysitting toddlers for one pair of heels.

My parents weren’t pleased with me at all, but for the first time in years, I felt good about myself. I had earned something for myself and they couldn’t take that away from me. They’d already taken so much. It represented my independence, something I had fought so hard for—something I still fight for.

“Well, good news for you then, because I hear our professor is a hot piece of ass,” she says with a giddy smile.

I laugh and shake my head at her blunt words. “What? It’s like the university’s way of apologizing for this god awful class.”

I hear a choke of laughter next to me. The guy overheard everything.

“Jesus, Ellie…” I bite my lower lip to keep from bursting out in laughter.

“Oh, come on…” She rolls her eyes and laughs. “Wouldn’t you agree with me?” She leans forward and directs the question to the guy next to me on the other side. “A little eye candy never hurts, am I right?”

Directing my attention toward him, he responds, “Can’t say it would.” He smiles and shifts his eyes to mine. “However, I’d be more for the female eye candy proximity.” He winks.

“Oh!” Her eyes light up as if that surprises her. “Well, the campus has plenty of that.” She smiles and twirls her blonde hair around a finger, batting her eyelashes like a love-struck schoolgirl, but his eyes are fixed on mine.

“This class isn’t going to be so bad,” I defend. “I mean, I guess if the professor has a nice, squeezable ass, then, yeah, it’s a bonus. But most of us—” I scowl. “—are here to learn.”

She snorts and sits back in her chair. “But it sure as hell doesn’t hurt.” She smirks. “Either way, he’ll be off limits anyway,” she says matter-of-factly. “Which is really a tragedy. Hot guys shouldn’t be teachers. It’s a distraction.”

Now I’m the one that snorts. “A distraction? You sound like a cat in heat.”

I notice the other chairs have filled up by now and my anxiety heightens. Professors are usually early, especially for night classes. But I don’t see anyone in the front of the class yet. If they’re late, students take that as a pass and leave class early.

“Well, whatever gives me something to look at for the next four months. I mean, seriously! Night classes are brutal.”

“Remind me to partner up with you on team projects,” I mock, exaggerating my tone as I smile at her scowl. “Unless you want to rescue me and be my partner?” I turn and ask the guy next to me, my eyes glassy as I take in his deep stare. Now that I’m really looking at him, I notice he has deep dimples in both cheeks when he smiles and the brightest green eyes I’ve ever seen. One of his brows arches as he stares amusingly at me.

“As flattering as that is, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He flashes a knowing grin and stands up, walking straight toward the front of the classroom.

My heart sinks into my stomach as the realization hits me.

“Good evening, everyone,” he begins, and I pray to God that I vanish into thin air or something. “I’m Professor Hampton and this is Advanced Art 3. We’ll be meeting every Tuesday and Thursday from six to eight for the next sixteen weeks. If you cannot commit to coming to every class, you should leave now. This isn’t an easy A, and if that’s your hope, you’re in the wrong class.”

I swallow hard as he gives a side glance to Ellie and me.
Oh my God.

“
Oh, fuck my titties,” Ellie leans over and whispers.

I sink lower into my seat and whisper back, “What the hell just happened?”

She looks over at me and grins. “Now that he knows we both have a hard on for him, maybe he’ll give us both an A.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” I mumble back, covering my face with one hand.
I can’t believe that just happened.
I sink as low as I can into my seat, hoping to make myself invisible, but then he announces we’re going around the room to introduce ourselves.

I’m not sure this class could get any worse.

“Aspen Evans…” I hear him say as if he’s reading from the attendance list.
Perhaps it can.
I look up and he’s looking right at me, directing everyone else’s eyes to me. I feel my cheeks heat and reddening to the color of a tomato, I’m sure.

I swallow and answer, “Yes?”

“Would you like to begin? Tell us a bit about yourself. Something interesting. Something embarrassing, perhaps.” He crosses his arms over his chest, his feet parted shoulder-length. He looks highly amused with his lips curled up in a smart-ass smirk.

I want to die.

Literally die.

I clear my throat and stand up. “Um, sure,” I respond with a fake smile plastered on my face. “My name’s Aspen. I’m a third-year student double majoring in art history and studio arts. I started drawing and painting in high school. So um…basically, I just focus on art.” I smile nervously. I want to kick myself in the shin for sounding so stupid.

“It’s nice to have you in class, Aspen,” Professor Hampton responds, flashing me a knowing grin. He then nods his head to Ellie, motioning for her to begin.

“Hi, y’all! I’m Ellie. I’m from Louisiana. I’m a theater major with a minor in art, hence having to take this god-awful night class.” She laughs, getting a few of the other students to chuckle right along with her. “I’m just messing with you, Professor H.” She winks before leaning back into the chair.

His shoulders cave in as he rubs his eye, hiding his amusement by Ellie’s too honest response. I find it mildly entertaining, but I try to hold it in. I need this class to graduate and at least a 3.5 GPA to continue getting my scholarship. I wouldn’t be surprised if he flunks me based on my first impression alone.

“Thanks, Ellie,” he breathes out, motioning to the next student.

“I can’t believe you said that,” I whisper, leaning into her.

She shrugs unapologetically as the rest of the students continued their introductions. I try to sneak glances at Professor Hampton, but he isn’t making it easy. He catches me every time I look up to see if he’s looking at me.

Shit
, I mutter to myself. I was so looking forward to this class, but now I can’t even look my professor in the eye. Every time he turns his head toward me, my traitorous body shivers in return. I pull my lower lip in between my teeth to hide my smile, but I feel the nerves and tension all over my body.

Professor Hampton is looking at me like he wants to do more than just look at me…

Once introductions are over, he hands out the syllabus and supplies sheet. He instructs us to look over it closely.

It’s fifteen pages.

“The next sixteen weeks are going to be fast-paced. You want to pass my class, you better make sure you pay attention and get your assignments completed on time. For most of you, this class is required for graduation. So I expect full participation.”

“I’d like to participate in takin’ off his pants…” Ellie whispers into my ear, making me choke on my own tongue as I try to hold in a laugh.

“Do you have a question, ladies?” My eyes widen as I hear Professor Hampton’s stern voice and see him looking straight at us.

“Well, not an appropriate one…” Ellie giggles, and I blush crimson. I’ve got to find a new place to sit.

“Perhaps we should separate into groups now,” he responds, rubbing a hand along his jawline and shaking his head. Ellie’s over the top teasing makes me feel just as flustered and flushed as he looks.

Between the stress of a new class and the added attention from Ellie’s outrageous comments, I can feel the anxiety bubbling up inside me. My hands are shaky and my chest feels tight. It always starts this way and there’s nothing I can do but ride it out.

Professor Hampton is on the other side of the classroom, grouping students together, so I take the opportunity to slip out before he can stop me.