Parking Lot Privileges

Goldie adjusted her reading glasses and flipped another page of the contracts textbook she'd been marking up for tomorrow's lecture. The faculty lounge was quiet for a Tuesday afternoon — just the hum of the vending machine and the distant echo of footsteps in the hallway. She liked this window of time between her last class and Prince's office hours, when she could catch up on prep work without interruption.

She heard him before she saw him. Prince had a way of filling a room without trying — his laugh carried, warm and unrestrained, and it bounced off the lounge walls like it owned the place. Goldie looked up from her textbook, expecting to find him walking through the door with his usual coffee and a kiss on her forehead.

Instead, she saw him through the glass partition that separated the lounge from the corridor. He wasn't alone.

A young woman stood beside him, clutching a legal pad to her chest. She was striking — tall, dark-skinned, with cheekbones that could cut glass and a smile that suggested she knew it. Her hair fell in loose curls past her shoulders, and she wore a fitted blazer over a silk blouse that probably cost more than Goldie's entire outfit. She leaned toward Prince as she spoke, her body angled in a way that was either casual friendliness or something more deliberate.

Goldie watched Prince gesture animatedly, explaining something — probably evidence procedure, given the way he moved his hands like he was presenting to a jury. The student laughed at whatever he said, tilting her head, and touched his arm lightly with her fingertips.

Goldie's jaw tightened.

It was nothing. She knew it was nothing. Prince touched everyone when he talked — students, colleagues, the barista at the campus coffee cart. He was tactile and warm and completely oblivious to how it looked. But the student didn't seem oblivious. The student seemed very aware of exactly where her hand was resting on Prince's forearm, and she left it there a beat longer than Goldie considered necessary.

She returned her attention to the textbook. The words blurred. She blinked and refocused, but her concentration had evaporated like spilled water on a hot sidewalk.

The lounge door opened. Prince walked in smelling like sandalwood and coffee, his tie loosened at the collar, a stack of bluebooks tucked under one arm.

"There's my favorite professor," he said, dropping into the chair across from her.

"You say that to all the faculty."

"Only the ones I married." He grinned, reaching across the table to tug playfully at the corner of her textbook. "How's the contracts prep coming?"

"Slow," Goldie said, not looking up.

Prince paused. He knew her silences the way a sailor knows weather — he could read the pressure change before the storm arrived. He leaned back in his chair and studied her.

"Something wrong?"

"No."

"Goldie."

"I said no, Prince."

He held up both hands in surrender. "Alright. I'll just sit here and grade these torts essays and pretend I'm not terrified."

Good, she thought. He should be.

She peeked over her glasses as he pulled out a red pen and began marking papers. His brow furrowed in concentration, and he bit the inside of his cheek — a habit she'd found endearing since the first week they'd met at a legal ethics conference seven years ago. He was handsome in a way that sneaked up on you: not immediately arresting, but the kind of face you kept noticing, kept wanting to look at again. Strong jaw. Warm brown eyes that crinkled when he laughed, which was often.

The student walked past the glass partition, glancing into the lounge as she passed. Her eyes found Prince, and she waved with a little flutter of her fingers. Prince waved back without looking up from his grading.

Goldie looked down at her textbook again. The margins of her notes had become a battlefield of aggressive underlining.

"Who was that?" she asked, keeping her tone neutral.

Prince glanced up. "Who was who?"

"The student. Outside. The one who was talking to you in the hallway."

"Oh — Selena? She's in my advanced litigation seminar. Brilliant kid. She's drafting a mock appellate brief that's actually impressive. Why?"

"Just asking."

Prince set down his red pen. He folded his hands on the table and regarded her with the same expression he used when cross-examining a witness who thought they were being clever.

"You're jealous," he said. Not a question.

"I am not jealous. I'm a lawyer. I deal in facts, not feelings."

"You're a professor now, actually. And you're definitely jealous."

Goldie snapped her textbook shut. "I don't get jealous. I get... observant."

"Of what?"

"Of twenty-something law students who touch my husband's arm like they're testing the firmness of a mattress."

Prince burst out laughing, and Goldie shot him a look that could have frozen lava. He raised both hands again but couldn't wipe the grin off his face.

"She was asking about the appellate brief, Goldie. Standard office hours stuff. She's not interested in me."

"You don't know that."

"I've been teaching for eight years. I can tell the difference between a student who wants extra credit and one who wants—"

"Who wants what?" Goldie's eyes narrowed.

Prince's grin widened. "You're proving my point right now."

"I'm proving nothing. I'm simply stating that the young woman was standing unnecessarily close to you, and you — in your typical oblivious fashion — didn't notice."

"I noticed."

That stopped her. "You noticed?"

"Of course I noticed. I notice everything. I just don't assume the worst." He leaned forward, elbows on the table. "And even if she was flirting — which she wasn't — so what? I go home with you. I wake up next to you. I cook you terrible eggs every Sunday morning because you refuse to admit you actually like them."

"I don't like them."

"You eat three of them."

Goldie fought the smile threatening to break across her face. She lost.

"You're insufferable," she said.

"And you're gorgeous when you're territorial." He stood, gathering his bluebooks. "I've got office hours in ten. Walk me out?"

She shouldn't. She had prep work. She had a chapter on consideration doctrine that needed reviewing. She had a perfectly good reason to stay in this chair and maintain her dignity.

She stood up. "Fine."

They walked together through the corridor, past the moot courtroom and the rows of lockers, toward the east parking lot. The late afternoon sun slanted through the windows, painting everything in amber. A few students lingered in the hallway, but the building was emptying as the day wound down.

Goldie walked slightly ahead of him, her heels clicking against the tile. She could feel his gaze on her back — on the curve of her waist, the way her pencil skirt moved when she walked. She'd worn the burgundy one today, the one he'd once said made her look like she could argue a case and ruin a man's concentration simultaneously.

"You're strutting," Prince observed.

"I'm walking."

"You're strutting and you know it."

She allowed herself a small, private smile. "Maybe I'm making a point."

"What point?"

"That you don't need a student's attention. You've got mine."

Prince caught her wrist gently, pulling her to a stop near the side exit. The hallway was empty now. Just the two of them and the hum of the building's ventilation.

"You've always had mine," he said, his voice dropping. "Since the ethics conference. Since you argued that legal professionals have a moral duty that supersedes billing hours. Since you made half the room furious and the other half fall in love with you."

"I didn't make anyone fall in love with me."

"You made me." He tugged her closer, his hand sliding from her wrist to her waist. "And you've been making me ever since."

Goldie looked up at him. This close, she could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, the tiny scar above his left eyebrow from a childhood bicycle accident he'd told her about on their third date. His thumb traced a slow circle on her hip through the fabric of her skirt.

"Someone could walk by," she murmured.

"It's nearly six. Building's clearing out."

"Nearly isn't the same as completely."

"Lawyer's distinction."

"I'm a lawyer. I get to make those."

He smiled against her temple as he pressed a kiss there. Then another, slower, at the edge of her hairline. His lips were warm, and his breath carried the faint sweetness of the coffee he'd been drinking. Goldie closed her eyes and felt the tension in her shoulders begin to unspool.

She turned her face toward his, and their lips met — soft, unhurried, familiar but electric. His hand pressed against the small of her back, drawing her nearer. She could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat through his shirt, steady and sure.

"We should stop," she said, without stopping.

"We should," he agreed, kissing the corner of her mouth.

"This is a hallway."

"It's a very nice hallway."

She laughed against his lips, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue brushing hers with a tenderness that made her stomach flip. Her fingers found the back of his neck, curling into the short hair at his nape.

"Walk me to my car," she whispered.

They separated just enough to move, his arm around her waist, her hip brushing his as they walked. He pushed open the side door, and the evening air hit them — warm for early fall, carrying the scent of cut grass from the campus quad. The parking lot was nearly empty. Just a handful of cars scattered across the asphalt, and Goldie's dark sedan near the back, tucked between a van and a row of hedges that screened it from the main road.

She fished her keys from her bag, and Prince took them from her hand.

"Allow me," he said.

"You're not opening my car door."

"I'm a gentleman."

"You're a law professor."

"Those aren't mutually exclusive."

He unlocked the car with the fob but didn't open the door. Instead, he leaned against it, pulling her toward him by the lapel of her blazer. She went willingly, fitting herself against him, her thighs pressing his. The car's metal was warm against his back, and the hedges cast long shadows over them, creating a pocket of privacy in the open air.

"You're still jealous," he said, his voice low and teasing.

"I told you. I don't get jealous."

"Then why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you want to remind me who I belong to."

Goldie's breath caught. She hated that he could read her so easily. She hated that after seven years, he still knew exactly which words to use to make her pulse quicken.

"Maybe I do," she said.

He smiled slowly. "Then remind me."

She kissed him hard, her hands gripping the open collar of his shirt. The buttons were already loosened, and she pulled them wider, her palms flattening against his chest. His skin was warm, and she could feel the definition beneath — the result of his morning runs and the occasional push-up routine he did in their living room while she pretended not to watch.

Prince's hands slid down her sides, following the shape of her waist, her hips, the hem of her skirt. His fingers brushed the bare skin just above her knee, and a shiver ran through her despite the warm air.

"Someone could see us," she said again, but her voice had lost its conviction.

"Lot's empty. Hedges block the view." His fingers traveled higher, tracing the outside of her thigh. "And I locked the car."

"You locked the car?"

"Habit."

She laughed, and the sound dissolved into a soft gasp as his hand curved over her hip, his thumb drawing slow arcs against the fabric stretched across her backside. He pulled her tighter against him, and she could feel the evidence of his arousal through his slacks — a firmness that made her own body respond in kind, heat pooling low in her belly.

"You drove today," she murmured against his jaw, pressing kisses along the bone.

"We drove together. You insisted."

"Because you were late."

"I was seven minutes late."

"In the legal profession, seven minutes is an eternity."

He laughed, and the vibration of it traveled through his chest into hers. His hand moved to the small of her back, pressing her closer, while his other hand found the zipper at the back of her skirt. He paused, fingers resting on the small metal tab.

"Can I?" he asked.

Goldie glanced around the parking lot. The nearest building was the law library, its windows glowing with the light of students who hadn't yet given up on the evening. But the angle was wrong — no one inside could see behind the hedges. The lot was empty. The sun was sinking behind the campus chapel, turning the sky into a wash of coral and gold.

She met his eyes. "Yes."

He drew the zipper down slowly, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet lot. Her skirt loosened around her waist, and she felt the evening air slip beneath the fabric, cool against her skin. Prince's palms flattened against her lower back, warm and steady, and he leaned forward to press his mouth to the curve of her neck.

She tilted her head, giving him access, and his lips traveled down to her collarbone, kissing the exposed skin above the neckline of her blouse. His breath was hot, and each press of his mouth left a tingling wake that spread across her chest.

Goldie's fingers worked at the remaining buttons of his shirt, pushing the fabric aside. She ran her hands up his torso, feeling the planes of muscle, the ridge of his ribs, the way his stomach tightened under her touch. He inhaled sharply when her nails traced a path along his side.

"You're going to be the death of me," he breathed.

"That's quite an opening statement, counselor."

"I'll refine it in closing arguments."

She smiled and pushed his shirt off his shoulders. It caught on his elbows, and he shrugged it the rest of the way off, letting it drape over the side mirror of her car. The evening air moved across his bare chest, and goosebumps rose on his skin. Goldie leaned in and pressed her mouth to his sternum, tasting salt and warmth.

His hands found the hem of her blouse, tugging it free from the loosened skirt. His fingers slid beneath the fabric, gliding up her ribcage, his thumbs tracing the underwire of her bra. She arched into his touch, her breath coming faster now.

"Goldie," he said, her name rough in his throat.

"What?"

"That student doesn't hold a candle to you."

She looked up at him through her lashes. "You think flattery will get you everywhere?"

"I think honesty will." He cupped her face in both hands, thumbs brushing her cheekbones. "You're the most brilliant, most beautiful, most terrifying woman I've ever met. And I've never wanted anyone the way I want you. Not once. Not in seven years."

She kissed him before he could say more — a deep, searching kiss that tasted like want and certainty and the particular sweetness of being chosen. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her flush against him, and she could feel every line of his body through the thin barriers of their remaining clothes.

Her skirt slipped lower, gravity and the unzipped back conspiring against it. She stepped out of it, leaving it pooled on the asphalt beside his discarded shirt. Her blouse was next — Prince's fingers made quick work of the buttons, parting the fabric and pressing his palms against her bare stomach. She shuddered at the contact.

"Here?" she whispered, a last vestige of rationality surfacing.

"Here," he confirmed.

"You're sure no one—"

"The only person who parks back here is Henderson, and he leaves at four-thirty on Tuesdays for his pottery class."

"You know his schedule?"

"I know everyone's schedule. I'm observant." He kissed her shoulder. "Unlike what you may have heard."

Goldie laughed, the sound dissolving into a moan as his mouth found the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. He knew that spot intimately, had mapped it years ago and returned to it often, and each time it sent a jolt through her that landed somewhere deep and warm.

She leaned back against the car, the metal cool against her bare legs. Prince followed, his body pressing hers, one hand braced on the roof of the car, the other tracing the strap of her bra down her arm. He kissed the hollow of her throat, then lower, his lips following the line of her collarbone to the swell of her chest.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close. The sky above them darkened from coral to violet, the first stars beginning to prick through the dusk. Somewhere across campus, a bell chimed the hour. Neither of them counted it.

Prince's hand cupped her through the lace of her bra, his thumb brushing across her in a slow, deliberate stroke. She gasped, her hips pressing forward against him. He groaned in response, the sound vibrating against her skin.

"You're impossible," she breathed.

"You married me."

"Temporary insanity."

"Seven years of temporary insanity?"

"In the legal field, we call that a pattern."

He laughed again, and she loved him for it — for the way humor threaded through even their most intimate moments, for the way he never let her take herself too seriously, for the way he saw her jealousy and answered it not with defensiveness but with devotion.

She reached for his belt, and his hand covered hers, stilling it.

"Not yet," he said.

"Why?"

"Because I'm not done with you." His voice was low, almost a whisper. "Because I want to take my time. Because this—" he kissed her again, slow and deep— "is the only argument I ever want to lose."

She let her hand fall, surrendering to the pace he set. His mouth traveled down her body, kissing the space between her ribs, the soft skin of her stomach, the curve of her hip. He knelt on the asphalt, and she felt the cool evening air wash over her exposed skin as he pressed his lips to the front of her thigh.

Her head fell back. The stars were out now, scattered across the sky like evidence of something vast and unknowable. She closed her eyes and let sensation take over — the warmth of his mouth, the coolness of the air, the solid support of the car behind her, the impossible tenderness of this man who had chosen her and kept choosing her every single day.

Prince rose slowly, his hands gliding up her sides, and pulled her into another kiss. She could taste herself on his lips, and the intimacy of it made her dizzy. She clutched at his shoulders, her nails pressing crescents into his skin.

"I love you," he said against her mouth. "Not Selena. Not anyone. You."

"I know," she whispered. "I know."

They stood there in the fading light, tangled together behind the hedges, the law school rising behind them like a cathedral of arguments and objections. Goldie's heart hammered in her chest. Prince's breath was ragged against her neck. The world was quiet, and they were the only two people in it.

Then — headlights.

A car turned into the parking lot, its beams sweeping across the asphalt like a searchlight. Goldie's eyes flew open. Prince spun around, shielding her with his body.

The car rolled slowly through the lot, heading toward the far row. Goldie held her breath. The hedges cast a deep shadow over them, and their clothes lay scattered at their feet.

The car passed. It pulled into a spot near the library and killed its lights. The door opened, and a figure stepped out — tall, dark-haired, carrying a legal pad.

Goldie's stomach dropped.

It was Selena.