Chapter 8

"So what do we do now?" I dared to ask.

Melanie and I were still curled up in bed. Our flight would be leaving in a couple of hours. For the second time in three days, I woke up to the smell of Melanie's pretty dark hair. Only this time, we were both naked.

We both reeked of sex. She absently ran her hand across my chest. Her fingernails made my skin crawl.

"I don't know, Kevin," she replied. "I don't even know what I'm going to do now."

"Things will work out," I was trying my best not to let her slip back into her old, worried self.

"That's easy for you to say," she sighed. "You've got a job."

"Can I call you later this week?" I probed.

"How long are you going to be in town?" she asked. "Don't you have to be back to work on Monday?"

Oh, shit, I thought. My lie is unraveling.

"Actually, Mel," I said sheepishly. I hoped she wouldn't mind one little white lie. "I don't have to be anywhere. I'm not really employed either."

"What?!?!" her eyes got wide.

"I, uh ... I'm not really a community college professor, although I teach sometimes at the local community college. Not this semester, though," my palms began to sweat. "I do have a Ph.D. in history."

"Then what do you do?" she asked. I couldn't tell if she was more curious about the truth or ticked off at me for lying to her.

Nervously, I licked my lips before continuing. "When I was a senior at Guildford, me and my roommate wrote a computer program that became the Citadel game engine. The early version wasn't a very good program, but after graduation, we sold it to one of the premier game developers in Silicon Valley. They tweaked it and made it better; there are versions still in use today in some of the first-person shooters played on computers and consoles. I'm still collecting residuals."

Melanie's jaw hung open in disbelief.

"With some of the money, me and another classmate started one of those mid-90s dot-coms and made a killing on our IPO," I continued. "We wrote a couple of database programs and were living it up for about three years. I sold my half of the company at just the right time; it folded when the market bottomed out, but I did pretty well. I decided to use some of the money to help other people."

Still unable to speak, Melanie continued to stare at me dumbfounded.

"Now, I run a foundation that gives cars to kids who want to go to college or venture capital to people who want to start a small business," I said. "If a kid—regardless of their financial situation—gets a free ride scholarship to any college, from the local state school to Columbia U., I buy them a pretty nice car. As long as they keep the scholarship, they keep the car. If a kid gets out of high school and doesn't want to go to college, I have them submit a business plan; if I like it, I loan the kid some start-up cash. If he or she shows a progressively increasing profit for five years, I forgive the loan."

The cross look was fading from her face. "So why make up that other story?"

"Because when women find out what I really do, I worry that they'll be after me only for my money," I confessed. "Nobody thinks community college teachers are rich."

"Is that what you thought about me?" she looked hurt, and I couldn't blame her.

"I didn't know what to think," I said, realising I was going to have to dig myself out of a hole. "We hadn't seen each other since graduation. You were voted 'most likely to succeed'—"

That drew a scoff from her.

"—And I just didn't want you to think ... I hoped you liked me for me." I steeled myself for her to launch into an angry tirade about how I didn't trust her enough with the truth or thinking that she was some kind of golddigger. To her credit, she never asked how much I was worth.

"I do like you, Kevin," she said softly. There was a dejected tone in her voice. She rolled out of my arms on to her back. We lay side by side for what seemed like an eternity before she finally spoke. "You have become quite a catch. And not because of your money. It's just..."

"It's just what?" I asked as her voice trailed off.

She sighed bitterly. "It's not you—"

Oh, crap! I thought, Not the "It's not you, it's me" speech.

"I'm not in a good place right now," she said. "And it's not about the money for me, either. Being unemployed has actually been a blessing in disguise. I'm spending time with my family and my children. I'm actually talking to my ex-husband again. Getting canned from my job hurt my pride; it's humiliating to apply for unemployment and lose your house and have to move back in with your folks ... but I know that I'll land on my feet. The economy may be in the dumps now, but it will come back around; it always does."

I wanted to interrupt her, but this was something she needed to say.

"You don't want me right now, Kev," Melanie reached over and took my hand. "I'm divorced with two kids. I'm not the same girl I was when we saw each other the last time. I'm—"

"No, Melanie," I interrupted; I couldn't help it. "You're more beautiful now. And you're still the girl of my dreams. You always were. We could—"

"Kevin," her tone was unmistakably firm. She was back in control. My heart started to pound. I knew she was slipping away from me. "I'm not ready. Not now."

My hands were shaking. I was grateful that she was letting me down gently.

"Tell me something," a sultry tone had crept back into her voice. She rolled over on her side and caressed my cheek. "If I told you that I wanted to wake up next to you every day, what would you do?"