Don't Go by L.J. Breedlove (series like harry potter txt) 📕

“The green room.” McShane said, trying, unsuccessfully not to laugh.

“I always thought you might have been the complainant on that,” Ryan said.

“No, wasn’t me.” McShane tried to look serious, although his eyes were still crinkled. He was a good-looking man, Ryan acknowledged. “But ah, you might want to watch it a bit. My granddaughter’s blonde hair is quite distinctive. And her best friend is never far from her. Me? I’d worry more about you than my granddaughter. Her best friend’s godfather is a bit more conservative and uh, blinded to his goddaughter’s behavior.”

Ryan snorted. The BFF’s godfather was the university president. “Been there, done that. And got slapped. Deservedly. Those days are done, I think. I want to find Teresa. And bring her home.”

“I hope you have a plan to make that happen.”

“Dr. McShane, I always have a plan,” Ryan said, with an unamused laugh. “Lousy ones sometimes, but I always have a plan.”

McShane stood to go. “I’ll take care of Black. Just don’t sign up for his classes next term. Avoid him. He’s been in Mexico on state-department-funded research for the last three years. His book just came out. There are other universities that might be interested in him. And he might become very interested in pursuing that.”

Ryan rolled his eyes as he stood up to see the man out. “I’ll be graduated and done before your plans get started,” he said. “Things happen at different speeds within the university administration and faculty than the world us students live in.”

The Provost snorted but didn’t deny it. “Speaking of which, when will you graduate? Spring?”

“Probably,” Ryan said. “I could now, if I wasn’t committed to being EIC for the year, and if I didn’t have an honors thesis to write.”

McShane turned back to Ryan. “Do up the paperwork for winter graduation. Too late for fall term. And finish your thesis. Have those both on my desk by Monday. And figure out where you want to go to grad school. Start those applications too.”

“Excuse me?” Ryan said.

McShane stared at him. “Just do it,” he said.

Ryan glanced away, and said “sir”, a submissive to his dom.

And then glared at McShane when he heard him laugh. It had been a while since a dom had tried that with him. He met McShane’s eyes. And something settled in him. It wasn’t that he stood taller, they were both of a height. It was more that Ryan let himself feel rooted. This was his place, his office, and he would not look away twice.

McShane met his eyes and smiled. “You can’t take me,” he said matter-of-factly. “In part, because there is no reason why you should. In five years? Maybe 10? When you’re coming into your prime? And I’ll be aging out of mine? I’ll be too smart to let you try then. I hope I will,” he said, the last a mutter under his breath. “But this isn’t about that. This is about your well-being, and you know that. And your son’s well-being. You need the flexibility that comes with being ready to graduate if that’s what’s necessary.

“So, get it done.”

Ryan nodded, and this time, said “Sir,” as a form of respect between equals.

“Stay safe,” McShane said as he walked out. “You have my phone numbers. Use them. His knowledge of Teresa and her — your — child worries me.”

Worries me too, Ryan thought. Worries me too.

“He gone?” a voice said from his computer.

Ryan rolled his eyes. “You listen to all of that?” he said dryly to his best friend. He had figured Cage was sitting upstairs listening the whole time.

“Bro, that was the hottest stuff I’ve heard,” Cage said, dryly. “Hotter than any X rated movie and no nudity. There was no nudity, right?”

“No nudity,” Ryan said laughing. “But you know more about me than you might feel comfortable with.”

“Nah. More about the old man, maybe,” Cage said. “But I’ve been to your parties. That you’d done much more than them doesn’t surprise me. Too bad you don’t drink anymore. I’d get you drunk and get you telling stories. BDSM and shit? Really?”

“Or you could just ask,” Ryan suggested. “I don’t have to be drunk to tell you those stories.”

“No, but I might have to be to listen to them,” Cage said. “I think I’ll stick to my plain vanilla R&B bars you know?”

“I’m good with that,” Ryan said. “I prefer the R&B bars myself.” And he meant it. He wasn’t going back to BDSM. He didn’t think he was going back to frolicking in the green room with the provost’s granddaughter. Which made him older than he acted, or he had started a family young. Whatever.

No, Ryan decided, he’d already played too long. He was going to find Teresa, marry her and bring her home. Although, he would get all that paperwork done this weekend just in case. He wondered if he could really write the thesis in a weekend.

Probably.

Chapter 15

Noon, Friday, Oct. 23, 2020, Nampa, Idaho — Teresa Valdez had been with these three families for two days as they picked what remained of the fall fruit harvest in Idaho. Teresa’s attorney had made the arrangements for her to join them. She was looking after the children while the adults and older teens picked fruit. She had a curriculum pack a school farther north had given them, but none of the adults had the written language skills — in English or in Spanish — to use it. They’d been happy to trade out her meals for her abilities to teach the children.

It was eye-opening for Teresa. She was two generations — 1.5 really — away from the fields. Her father had worked in the orchards as migrant laborer as a teenager. But when he returned as a young adult, he came back with grafting skills that were in high demand and allowed him to find work in central Washington and to settle down in Yakima. She’d only recently learned