Vindicated
Authors: eliza_000
Other books by Jeana E. Mann
Felony Romance Series
Intoxicated
Unexpected (Novella)
Vindicated
Impulsive (Coming in 2015)
This book may be read as a standalone, but you will find it more enjoyable if you read the series in order.
Intoxicated
is the story of Jack and Ally’s romance.
Unexpected
is the novella with all the details about Randy and Karly’s one-night stand. I hope you enjoy the ride!
Chapter 1
With grinding gears and the squeal of tires, Karly screamed her 1979 Trans Am into the parking lot of the English Studies building at Laurel College. She leaped out of the car, backpack in hand, and sprinted toward the lecture hall. A fellow student watched her bound like a steeple-chaser over the landscape bed and run full out across the lawn.
"You can't park there," he shouted.
She streaked past, waving him off, aware of the penalty for parking in a faculty space. Behind her, the Trans Am rattled and shuddered before it died with a dramatic bang. Pigeons rocketed into the brilliant blue January sky, scattering feathers and dead leaves in their wake.
Late twice in one week. This is so not good. Professor Marks is going to kill me.
Professor Marks was the toughest teacher on campus with a strict code of conduct for his classes. With two part-time jobs, she barely got any sleep. He wouldn’t be interested in her excuses, or the fact that she’d worked a double shift the day before.
Two hallways and one set of doors stood between her and her destination. The ancient walls reverberated with her rapid footsteps. The scent of polished wood and austerity hung heavy in the air. She rallied her flagging energy, jogged the last ten yards, and threw open the lecture hall door. She paused at the threshold, blowing and puffing like a winded horse, and scanned the room.
Silence.
Twenty-five pairs of eyes swiveled and fixed on her. One open seat. Bottom row.
Shit.
"Late again, Ms. Eriksson?" Professor Marks's nasal voice dripped with sarcasm. The gray goatee on his chin waggled when he spoke. He peered over the top of his reading glasses. “Nice of you to join us. Are you in or are you out?”
Double shit.
“Please, by all means, take your time. We’ll wait while you decide.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the table.
Whispers rippled through the auditorium. Accustomed to the hushed voices, blatant stares, and condescending comments of her peers, she lifted her chin a notch. By the expressions on the faces of her classmates, she might as well have a big scarlet
A
emblazoned on her breast.
"I'm in. Thank you." She swallowed hard and squared her shoulders. With her brightest smile, she let the door swing shut behind her. Tuition cost big money. It would be a cold day in hell before she let a bunch of judgmental hypocrites deprive her of an education.
"Then perhaps you'd like to take a seat?" The professor nodded to the empty seat in the front row. “I saved a place for you in case you decided to grace us with your presence today.” His attention snagged on a gum-chewing student across the room. He veered like a hound scenting blood to chastise the unfortunate young man.
With an inward sigh and an outward smile, she hefted the backpack to her shoulder and trotted down the steps to the first row. One person sat in the aisle seat, blocking her path to the proffered seat beside him, his long muscular legs and heavy boots extended into the aisle. At her arrival, he stood, towering over her. Intent upon her destination, she kept her head down and squeezed past, her bottom brushing against his hips. The heavy backpack shifted on her shoulder and caught him squarely in the chest. He grunted and pushed it aside. She turned to apologize and found her nose level with an imposing set of pecs beneath a tight brown Henley shirt.
Oh, my.
This was not your typical college boy. This was a man full-grown and then some.
With large, long-fingered hands, he pushed his shirtsleeves up sinewy forearms. Her eyes followed the lines of a tribal tattoo from his left wrist to where they disappeared beneath his sleeve. Bulging biceps stretched against the fabric. The tattoo emerged on the north side of wide shoulders, escaping his shirt collar and curling around the back of his neck. She’d seen that tattoo before—up close and personal.
Randy Mackenzie, bouncer at the notorious Felony Bar and all-around bad boy, blocked the aisle to the only free seat in the house. Unwilling to believe her bad luck, she bit her bottom lip and lifted her eyes to a stubborn jaw and lean cheeks covered with stubble. The sensitive mouth above his dimpled chin, a mouth capable of taking a girl to ecstasy with its talented lips and tongue, ghosted a smile.
Their gazes connected. Curiosity flickered in his eyes. Flashes of their one night together blazed through her memory. Tangled legs. Fingers clutched in bed sheets. The brush of male chest hair over her breasts. Calloused hands ripping off her panties. All culminating in the empty mattress beside her the next morning.
Heat flooded her cheeks at the recollection of the way he slipped out while she was asleep. How embarrassing. But it had been months ago. Maybe he didn’t remember. A second more horrific thought rushed in. Oh God, what if he really
didn’t
remember? Wouldn’t that be worse in a way? To be totally forgotten?
The corners of Randy’s mouth curled into a knowing smirk.
I’ve seen you naked
, his smile said. Her belly dipped in reply.
Oh, yes. He definitely remembered.
Professor Marks’s annoyed throat clearing released her from paranoia and nostalgia and hurtled her into the present. How long had she been standing there gaping like an idiot? Seconds? Minutes? It felt like hours. The backpack turned into a two-ton weight. The strap bit into her shoulder.
Just sit down, you idiot
,
and act cool. It’s not that big of a deal.
She sank into the hard theater seat with a whoosh of exhaled breath and let her hair swing forward to shelter her expression from the hunk of sin sitting next to her.
"Is it me, or is this awkward?" Randy’s voice rasped into her ear. The deep and throaty voice, rich with bass and roughened by life experience, reverberated in her ear while she struggled to remove her coat. He tugged on the sleeve and slid it from her shoulders.
“Little bit,” she replied.
“Is that why you never called me?” The heat of his body warmed her shoulder. “I waited by the phone for weeks.”
She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Right. You practically left a vapor trail on your way out.”
“There were extenuating circumstances,” he said. “I left a note on the coffee table. Didn’t you see it?”
“No.” Uncertain, she flicked her gaze to his, assessing his sincerity and trying to remember the events of the morning. A lot had happened in the last six months. Most of the finer details of their night together had blurred or disappeared entirely, blocked by too many cocktails and the humiliation of being fucked and forgotten.
The chair creaked under his weight. He leaned into her ear again, his nose brushing her hair. “But you could have. Called me, that is.”
“Phone works both ways,” she replied.
“You never gave me your number.”
“You see my best friend every day. All you had to do was ask her.”
“Maybe I did. Ever think of that?”
No, in fact, she hadn’t, and made a mental note to ask Ally at the next opportunity. She bit her lower lip and studied his face, unsure exactly what to make of this guy. He returned the scrutiny with unusual gray eyes, dark and brimming with secrets. Engrossed by the gravity of his stare, she didn’t notice Professor Marks. He’d been pacing the stage during his lecture on gothic horror in the Victorian era, and stopped in front of her, his lined face purple with indignation.
"Ms. Eriksson. Mr. Mackenzie. Is there something you would like to share with us?"
“Not really,” she replied. “But thank you for asking.”
Snorts of amusement twittered through the room. The hard wooden back of the theater seat bit into her spine as she shifted to meet his stare.
"Please. I insist. Enlighten us with whatever is so very entertaining.” Karly shook her head. “No? And how about you, Mr. Mackenzie? Care to share?”
“We were discussing the underlying themes of homoeroticism found throughout Bram Stoker’s
Dracula
,” he said without missing a beat.
“Were you now?” Professor Marks lifted a wooly eyebrow in surprise. “I see you’ve done your homework, Mr. Mackenzie.” He shifted his gaze back to the students at large. “Would anyone else care to chime in on this topic?”
"Nice save,” Karly whispered. Randy shrugged. One corner of his mouth quirked. "It's not funny," she chided and bit her lip to hold back her own smile. "He doesn’t like me. I don’t need to give him any more reason."
“Have you been a bad girl, Ms. Eriksson?” The dark eyes glittered with mischief.
“I have been a paragon of virtue, Mr. Mackenzie.” Their eyes met, and they shared a smile. Despite the sour ending of their previous encounter, she felt the pull of attraction, an instant reminder of why they hooked up in the first place. The warm feeling turned ice cold when his gaze flicked down to her chest, and his face flushed. He frowned and looked away before pointing a finger at his own massive chest.
"Uh, I think you’re having a wardrobe malfunction." He lowered his eyes to his desktop. She glanced down. The front of her blouse gaped open, the center button set free from its closure during the struggle with her coat, baring her breasts and the neon green bikini top serving double duty as a bra. She groaned and buttoned up the blouse.
“Going swimming later?” Randy kept his eyes averted. “It’s a little cold out, don’t you think?”
"Laundry day," she replied.
They both chuckled.
Professor Marks scowled and slammed his hand on the podium. "Ms. Eriksson. Mr. Mackenzie. I will not ask you again. If you cannot be quiet, please leave my lecture."
“Sorry,” they both replied in unison and lowered their gazes to their desktops.
Randy twisted in the seat, looking for a more comfortable position, the snug fabric of his brown shirt bunching and stretching over his chest and abs. The lazy tension in his movements, like a spring coiled for release, flustered her composure and ruined any chance of concentrating on the lecture. From beneath her lashes, she stole an admiring glance. Did memory fail her, or was he better looking now? Dark auburn hair in need of a trim curled softly over the collar of his shirt. Her fingers twitched with the urge to touch the glossy locks. As if sensing her scrutiny, he cast a self-conscious sideways glance in her direction.
