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Stella was hunched over her excessively highlighted Evidence book, while Professor Lightman started his lecture on hearsay within hearsay. It was all so confusing. She had taken to drawing diagrams. Her head popped up when she heard her name, “Stella Murphy.”
Fuck.
She looked up and saw her professor looking around for her. “A good Irish name.”

Stella bounced out of her seat, “Yes sir.”

“Okay so, hearsay within hearsay, pretty easy right?” he asked, grinning at her.

“If you say so,” Stella muttered.

“Tell us a little about this case, Ms. Murphy.”

Stella recited the fact pattern and then went into detail about the hearsay problem. The prosecutor wanted to submit a business record with handwritten notes from another employee containing statements the defendant made, admitting to the criminal act. She was grilled by Professor Lightman, but had an answer for every question. After what felt like thirty minutes in the spotlight she finally sat down.

Professor Lightman walked over to the lectern and pointed at Stella. “You see, class, you must watch out for Southern women. They may sound sweet and innocent, but they’ll kick your ass in court. Good job, Ms. Murphy.”

A smile slowly spread across her face as she stared down into her book.

The next week Stella, Millie, and Davis sat in their reserved room in the back of the library to schedule study sessions and share the outlines they had completed. It was necessary for all the members in a study group to have confidence in each other. If they didn’t there was no point in having each other draft outlines for studying. Davis had taken the Evidence outline he received before the semester started and updated it to reflect the new cases they covered and information he believed was important. Stella was actually impressed. Davis was pretty smart.

“This outline is awesome, Davis, thanks.” Stella paged through it and caught sight of a picture of her attempting to kiss the professor’s ass, literally. “Very cute.” She laughed.

“Okay, so here’s the schedule. I have color coded the next two weeks of us getting together to study and what classes we will cover that day. Blue is Administrative, red is Evidence, and yellow is Tax,” Millie said, throwing the calendar on the table in front of each of them. “Oh yeah, the black bar on the day of our last exam is Finnegan’s.”

“Millie, you’re a freak,” Stella scratched her head and looked at all the time allotted for studying over the next two weeks. “Did you schedule in time for me to vomit and workout?”

“I left that for you to fit in yourself,” Millie looked at Davis. “El has a really weak stomach, you might as well know now. It comes up from time to time during finals.”

“Oh, you made a funny,” Stella looked over at Davis, who was trying to stifle a laugh. “You won’t be laughing if I throw up on you. It’s the real deal.” Davis held his hands up in surrender. “You should also know that Millie goes insane.”

“It’s to be expected, ladies. I won’t bore you with how awesome I am around finals, you’ll just have to see the magic happen.”

Stella stepped inside Finnegan’s and took in the scores of people gathered and talking jovially. George stepped through the crowd, making his way over to hug Stella. “Merry Christmas, El.”

His dimples were on display. “Merry Christmas,” she replied. Looking down at her dress and boots, she was glad she had put a little effort into her appearance. George was wearing a red v-neck sweater, a green and white checkered button-down underneath, and khaki corduroys. She was wearing a tight black sweater dress with tights and her black knee-high boots.

“I’m glad you came. You hungry?”

“Of course.” Stella followed him to the buffet. “This looks fantastic.”

They made their way down the vast line of food to the dessert table. “Look,” George pointed. “I made a chocolate pecan pie, just for you. To remind you of home.”

Stella was dumbstruck. “Why would you do that for me?” She stared into George’s eyes, the green sparkling.

George smiled wildly, again drawing her eyes to his dimples, then to his lips. “Why not?”

They sat at the same table as last year and had a comfortable conversation, steering clear of anything heavy. George had not been hitting the bottle as much this Christmas Eve as last, she could tell. “Let me get drinks. I’ll be right back.” George got up and walked behind the bar.

An older woman, maybe in her early fifties, made her way over to Stella’s table. Stella had taken a big bite of pie, when the woman sat down and scrutinized her. After a few awkward moments, Stella swallowed and asked, “Can I help you with something?”

“You seeing him?”

“Excuse me?”

“You two dating,” the woman gestured to George behind the bar.

“Uh, no ma’am.” Stella replied, glancing at George hoping he would hurry back.

“He’s a good boy,” the woman said. “You better be good to him.”

George emerged from behind the bar wearing an amused expression, “Ms. Hershel, I see you met my friend Stella. Let me help you back to your seat.” He put down the beers and guided Ms. Hershel back to her table.

When he sat back down Stella was already halfway done with her dinner. She had eaten her piece of chocolate pecan pie first. They ate without chatting for a while. When she was done with her beer, she stood up to get another, “I’ll be right back.”

Waiting at the bar, she glanced back at George. He was staring at her. She met his eyes and smiled. She kept her eyes locked on his until she sat down across from him. It was several seconds before Stella tore her eyes from those green speckles. They turned up their drinks. George reached over and ran his thumb over her knuckles. Her breath caught. Buzzing started at her knuckles and traveled through her body. She looked at her hand.

Reluctantly, Stella looked into his eyes again. “I guess I better go, George. Thank you so much for inviting me. I enjoyed it.”

He responded, staring back, “Let me walk you home, El.”

He walked her all the way to her house, told her Merry Christmas, and again turned on his heel to leave. She called out to his back, “You know, Ms. Hershel was right.”

George looked over his shoulder, inquisitive. “About what?”

“You’re one of the good ones.”

Thanks to the study sessions, Stella aced all her finals the first semester of her second year. It was true what they said about law school. The first year they scare you to death. The second year they work you to death. It is said the third year they bore you to death, but she hadn’t experienced that yet. She was just a few weeks into the second semester, but she was already behind in her reading.

Stella and Millie met to complain over beer, fish and chips at Finnegan’s, which had turned into a drunken bitch fest. They’d sat at a two-top table instead of the bar and complained all night. Millie got a cab back to her place and Stella walked home. She began her walk home, but turned around and went back into Finnegan’s. She sat back down at the bar.

George sauntered over to her and leaned on his forearms, his face inches from hers. “You came back.”

Stella’s breath caught in her throat for a second, then she nodded and managed to stutter. “Yes.”

“You need something?” George’s eyebrow raised, he never broke their eye contact.

“Just one more beer, I think.” He blinked at her and then stood up.

“That I can do.” He walked over and poured her another Bass, while smiling at another customer. It was a blonde. A pretty blonde. Stella felt something bloom inside her, it was jealousy. She was jealous of the blonde flirting with George.
Fuck her
, she thought. She quickly looked away and wondered where that had come from.

“El?” George sat her beer down in front of her and again leaned on his forearms position his face so close to hers. She closed her eyes inhaled deeply, his scent of mint and beer filling her nose. “El?”

“Oh, yes?” Her eyes popped open and she was instantly mortified that she’d just done that, smelled him so obviously.

“I asked if I can do anything else for you?” He touched her hand gently. “You okay?”

She pulled her hand back, embarrassed that she felt his touch throughout her body. “When do you get off work?”

His head tilted in a question. “I close.” He answered. “Why?”

“Oh, I was just wondering.” She was horrible at doing whatever it was she was trying to do. Stella turned up her beer and finished it in two gulps. She laid cash on the table and smiled. “I should get going.” Stella took off down the bar and George followed her.

“You’re not going to say goodnight?” he teased.

“Night,” she waved without looking at him as she raced out of the door.

“Be careful,” he called as his eyes never left her back, until she was out the door.

Sometime later that night, she walked back upstairs and grabbed a bottle of water and guzzled it while standing at the sink. Stella stared at her reflection in the window and didn’t recognize herself. She ran her hand through her hair and sighed. Stella looked in the pantry to see if there was anything she wanted to eat. She wasn’t hungry, but her body was buzzing with an unfamiliar feeling. Stella went back downstairs and peeled off her clothes, snuggled into her bed, and fell asleep. She dreamed of George and not Jamie for the first time since he’d died.

Stella hadn’t noticed exactly when, but sometime within the last year George had begun calling her El. She liked it.

During the winter semester, Stella had been on several interviews for her internship this summer. Finally, right before spring break she heard back from the General Counsel’s Office for the U.S. Marshals Service. They offered her an internship for an entire year, not just for the summer. The amount of work that her second year of law school had required had taken up so much time, she really felt like the year was over in the blink of an eye.

Along with her internship this summer, she was taking one seminar class that covered Administrative Law in more depth. She was working for a government agency and wanted to know as much as possible about how the agencies worked together and the applicable laws.

She’d continued to run, Cooper mandated it. Because Stella was so busy and hardly home, Cooper had taken to sitting in her lap and sleeping on her pillow with her at night. Stella missed Cooper too, but she knew he wouldn’t be neglected with Billy and Patrick in the house.

Patrick and Billy had both gotten girlfriends, and both girls gave Stella the evil eye when introduced. Stella had a visceral dislike for Patrick’s girlfriend, Lisa, immediately. Lisa was very possessive and she was obnoxious. The last time Stella had gone in Patrick’s bedroom she noticed that Lisa had replaced a picture of Stella and Patrick from last summer with one of him and Lisa. She was often snarky for no reason. Stella didn’t understand why Patrick even liked her, let alone was dating her.

Millie was devastated. When Stella told her about Lisa she immediately went to Finnegan’s and hooked up with some random dude in a bowtie. Stella was still making fun of her for that.

During their break from school in the spring, Millie and Stella decided they needed to dance it out. They went to one of their favorite dance clubs and danced with each other and with many guys over the course of the night. Stella was wearing a light blue racer-back tank top that hung low on each side exposing her back and her purple bra. She was slick with sweat from hours of dancing. Millie was wearing a strapless dress and heels, which looked very uncomfortable. Stella threw her hands up and pulsed to the music and a new faceless man pumped to the beat behind her. She needed another drink and leaned into Millie yelling, “Drink?”

Millie nodded and continued to dance. Stella made her way past the throng of people on the dance floor to the bar and ordered drinks. When she turned around she ran directly into a guy. “Shit,” she yelled as she spilled her drinks on herself. “Fuck,” she turned around and put her drinks down on the bar and grabbed a bunch of cocktail napkins.

“Sorry,” the guy breathed in her ear. She was stilled by his proximity

“Excuse me, can you back away from my personal space?” Stella said as she continued to attempt to mop up her spilled cranberry and vodka drink off her light blue tank top. “Fuck,” she sighed, resigned she might as well throw this shirt in the trash.

“Looks like you could use a little help.” The guy took a napkin and started wiping off drink from Stella’s shirt touching her breasts.

“Fucker...” Stella hissed. “Stop touching me now.” Stella took a step back, her voice getting louder. Millie was just making her way over the bar and took in the scene.

Millie acted drunk and took her drink, fake tripping into the guy and spilling the rest of the drink on his shirt. “Oh MY SHIT, I’m so sorry.” She looked at Stella and tried not to laugh. “I’m so drunk.” She fell into Stella and then whispered, “This is a good time to go.”

The guy was cussing and wiping off his shirt, he didn’t even notice them leave.

“Millie, that was perfect. Perfect timing and perfect aim.” They locked arms together and walked out into the early spring night.

Millie pulled her phone out of her purse; she had a message. “Patrick wants us to meet him at Finnegan’s.”

“Why?” Stella whined.

“Your guess is a good as mine.”

“My shirt has cranberry all over it.”

“You wear T-shirts with holes in them to Finnegan’s.” Millie said as she flagged down a cab.

“Fine.” Stella got into the cab first and slid across the seat.

Once they got to Finnegan’s it was obvious why they had been summoned. Patrick and a bunch of other patrons were playing beer pong in the back part of the bar. She smiled and was genuinely amused by the sight. Then she looked over to the bar and waved at George. He motioned her over.

“I’ll be right there,” she told Millie who headed to the beer pong tables, her heels clicking on the hard wood floor of the bar.

“Beer pong? I like it.” She said as she shimmied her way up to the bar near George.

“Glad you approve.” He smiled at her. “You look like you got a little something on your shirt there, miss. Would you like a free Finnegan’s shirt to wear?”

“Really?” Stella asked enthusiastically looking down at her shirt. “That’d be great. This jerk bumped into me at this club Millie and I went to and...,” Stella pointed to her shirt, “it’s obvious what happened next.”

“Sure, come with me. There are shirts in the office.” Stella followed him to the end of the bar and then around to the office, across from the bathrooms. He opened the door and then started rummaging around the boxes. “Here’s one.” He was about to throw it to her when he noticed her tattoo on her left shoulder blade. “Holy fuck, that’s a tattoo.”

She turned around and watched his expression. “Yep, it is.”

“Tell me about it.” George’s eyes were full of curiosity.

Stella took a deep breath and then took a step closer to him. She pulled off her shirt and stood there. George took in her body in very slowly.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

“Shirt,” she held out her hand.

“Oh... yeah,” George stammered as if he had forgotten why they were in there. He held it up to her.

“Thanks,” she pulled the white shirt on with the Finnegan’s logo on over her purple bra.

“Go to dinner with me,” George said.

“I don’t date.” Stella said matter-of-factly, and then turned to walk out the door.

“You don’t date?” he called to her back. Stella turned back to face him.

“Nope. In my effort to make the world a better place I have precluded myself from dating.” Stella walked over to where George was standing. “Let me be clear, George, I like you, but I don’t date. If you want to date someone you can get that somewhere else.” Stella leaned into him and whispered in his ear, “If you’d be interested in something else. That, I do.” That statement wasn’t entirely true since she hadn’t had sex with anyone since Jamie, but she was about as sexually frustrated as one human could get.

The alarm on his face was priceless; then his lips turned up at the edges.