Pleasure Principle: Off The Clock Part 4

There was rustling behind the door, hurried voices as the boys apparently got themselves together, and Marin slipped back into her room to give them s.p.a.ce. She'd need to address this with Nathan. He knew he wasn't supposed to have guys in his room. But she'd give him a minute to get Henry out the door and put himself back together. h.e.l.l, she needed a minute. Maybe a week. A year might be good.

But her brother didn't give her that long. After the front door slammed shut, Nate stormed back down the hallway and pushed her door open. It hit the wall with a bang. "What the h.e.l.l, Marin?"

He looked so tall in the doorway, so adult. How was this the same kid who used to make her turn on four different night-lights in his room so he could go to sleep? At seventeen, he could pa.s.s for a grown man with those long limbs and broad shoulders-but he still had those innocent green eyes. His age showed there. And right now, those eyes were burning with annoyance.

"I thought you were having an asthma attack," she said. "I heard-"

His face flushed to his hairline.

"Well, never mind what I heard, but I thought you needed help. I wouldn't have been checking on you at all if you had been in by curfew and not broken the rules about bringing someone into your room," she said, forcing righteous indignation into her voice and trying to sound like she meant it.

"Okay, I broke the rules. I'm sorry. But you can't just walk into my room. I need privacy."

She held up a hand. "I know, I know. I'm sorry. I would've never walked in for any other reason."

He blew out a breath, his eyes flicking to the piles of books and paperwork on her bed. "And you don't need to wait up for me. I'm fine. I'm not out drinking or getting high or doing anything dangerous."

"Just having unprotected s.e.x in your room."

He groaned and raked a hand over his face. "I'm not . . . We're not. I haven't. We were just fooling around. It wasn't going to go beyond that. And if it did, believe me, I know to be safe. You've already made us get tested. And it's not like I'm going to get him pregnant."

She stared at him for a moment and then picked up a pillow to throw at him.

He caught it and grinned as he dropped it to the floor. "Look, I know if I contracted some horrible STD that the irony of that would literally make your head explode. I wouldn't do that to you, Mar."

Marin sighed. The irony would be deadly. She'd spent the last two years of her Ph.D. program and this past year in her postdoc position creating and testing a s.e.x education program for gay youth. If her own brother didn't know how to take care of his s.e.xual health, she really would be a serious fail. "You wouldn't have to worry about the STD because I would kill you."

"I know. And I'm sorry you saw what you saw. But I wanted to celebrate tonight, so me and Henry went to a party. When it started getting kind of crazy, we bailed and came here instead. We weren't doing anything we haven't before. I just forgot how noisy . . . things can get."

Marin lifted a hand. "I really don't need to know the details. And don't want to hear about your noises. Believe me, I heard enough."

"Wait. Are you blus.h.i.+ng?" He laughed. "Dude, I'm the one who got walked in on."

"And I'm the one who had to see."

He smirked. "Aw, Mar, how is it possible you're such a prude? You're like a doctor of s.e.x, and you get all red at the thought that people are actually out there doing it. You realize how screwed up that is, right?"

"I'm not a s.e.x doctor. I'm a researcher. And I don't get red over people doing it. I get red at the thought of my baby brother doing it. You're still supposed to be wearing Underoos and those caped pajamas you used to live in."

He tucked his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Those Superman pajamas were pretty kicka.s.s, but I'm not a kid anymore, Mar. You're gonna have to learn to trust me at some point."

She sighed. "I know that. Of course I know that."

"Especially since I'm going to be living in New Orleans in the fall."

Marin stilled, the words a record scratch to her train of thought. "What?"

His smile went wide. "See. That's what I was celebrating. The Duplais Art College called me today. I got in."

She blinked, the words taking a second to register. "Duplais? Are you serious? You got in?"

He nodded and rocked onto his toes, his excitement bubbling out of him. "Totally did."

"Nate!" She hopped to her feet and went over to hug him. "They said it was next to impossible to get in there."

He squeezed her back. "Right? But they loved that I used street art style in the portraits and that I do mixed-media stuff, said I show a lot of potential."

Her head was whirling. "That's amazing. I'm so freaking proud of you!"

He leaned back, his smile going goofy and lopsided, making him look like the kid she loved. "Thanks. I can't even believe it. I'm sure I sounded like an idiot on the phone because I kept asking them to repeat themselves. It sounded too good to be true. But they said they'd send me an intro packet and email you the info about the financial package."

She released him. "You mean the scholars.h.i.+p?"

He shook his head. "No, they only award four of those and I didn't get one. But they said there's some financial aid available."

Marin's stomach flipped over. She'd already looked into financial aid for Nathan. There were loans and some help, but only enough to cover a state school-and that was already going to be a stretch. The exclusive private art college in Louisiana was painfully expensive. She hadn't worried about it too much when Nathan had said he wanted to apply there because she'd heard it was like getting into Juilliard or Harvard-near impossible. And she figured if he did manage to get in, he'd land a scholars.h.i.+p. But without that, there was no way. She'd been losing sleep over how she was going to pay for a state college, but now . . .

She needed to tell Nate that this wasn't going to happen, needed to be honest about the reality. But seeing his face lit up like this-all that hope and promise-she couldn't bear it. This was the kid who'd needed therapy since elementary school because of all he'd been through with their mother. A kid who still had scars on his body to remind him of it. A kid who'd been so depressed before he'd come out freshman year that she'd worried for his safety. And now he was here-proud, brilliantly talented, and confident. She couldn't tell him his dream school wasn't possible.

She'd barely been keeping them afloat with her modest postdoc pay, but they had made it work. h.e.l.l, she'd managed to keep a roof over their heads while she raised him, went to college, and worked night jobs for all those years. Maybe there was a way to figure this out, too.

She wouldn't break the news to him until she'd looked at every possibility. Maybe she could get a raise, apply for additional grants to help supplement her salary. Maybe there were extra resources that she hadn't tapped into when she'd gotten her own financial aid for school. She knew they were all long shots, but for now she was going to let him have his happy moment. She'd figure out the rest later.

She put her hands to his face, which required reaching up these days, and smiled. "I'm really proud of you, Nate. Seriously. No matter where you land, you're going to bring beautiful things to this world."

His smile went crooked. "Aw, don't get sappy on me now."

She lowered her hands and waved him off. "I can't help it."

But he gave her another quick hug. "Hey, this is good news for both of us. I know you've given up a lot all these years, having me here. Once I leave, you can get your life back, do your own thing. Act like a twenty-seven-year-old for a change. Maybe you can be the one sneaking guys in at two in the morning. Or girls. Whatever you're into. Just don't tell me about it."

He scrunched his face up in a grossed-out expression.

She laughed. Her brother didn't even know if she was gay or straight. That's how pathetic her love life was. Nice. "I like guys, for the record. And you're not out of the house yet, so rules still apply. Until that diploma's in your hand, midnight curfew, understood? I don't want to be up worrying."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, Marin."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "And if you and Henry need alone time, and you swear you're going to be safe about it, then he can be in your room. But not on a school night. And make sure you have your inhaler in there, so I don't have to bust in and be traumatized again."

Nathan's eyebrows went up. "Yeah?"

"You're almost eighteen, and you and Henry have been together awhile. I trust you to make smart decisions. I'd rather you both be in a safe place than hooking up in the corner at some drunken party."

He looked down and rubbed the back of his head. Despite his earlier teasing about her prudishness, he was obviously just as uncomfortable discussing this with her. "All right. Cool."

"And learn how to put on the radio and lock your d.a.m.n door. I'm going to need therapy now."

He snorted. "You and me both. Henry, too. He may never show his face around here again."

"I'm sure he'll get over it to see you and to eat my food." She put her hand on his shoulder and steered him toward the door. "Now get some sleep. I'm glad you had great news to celebrate tonight. But your punishment for getting in late is that you're making the weekly grocery run tomorrow and was.h.i.+ng the car."

He groaned. "I hate you."

"Love you, too."

He dragged his feet as he headed to his room, but then stopped in the doorway and turned back to her, his eyes serious. "Thanks, Mar."

"For what?"

He gave a tight shrug. "You know why. For all of it. I'm not dumb. I know how bad things could've ended up if you hadn't fought to keep me when everything happened with Mom. You kept it all together. My dream is happening because of you."

Her ribs tightened, heavy weight descending on her chest. "Honey . . ."

"Night." He slipped into his room and shut the door, never one to stick around when things got emotional, and left her standing there.

She stood in the hallway, tears threatening, and then slunk back in her room and fell onto the bed, the unpaid bills littered around her. She grabbed her laptop and woke up the screen. She could do this. She just needed to figure out how to make three times her salary immediately. Easy peasy.

That left winning the lottery, selling organs on the black market, and . . .

Hmm, maybe she could become a stripper. She glanced down at her faded, oversized sweats.h.i.+rt, the empty bag of M&M's, and the yoga pants she had yet to use for actual exercise. Yeah, probably not.

She was so d.a.m.n screwed.

5.

The frustrated look on Dr. Paxton's face told Marin everything she needed to know. He was in his office, which was neat as a pin as always, but his gray hair was sticking up on one side. His hair only got like that when a study wasn't coming together or a student had done something stupid . . . or he had bad news to deliver. She'd emailed him over the weekend, requesting this meeting and letting him know what was going on with Nathan. But she'd known it'd been a long shot.

When he saw her standing in the doorway, he waved her in. "Come on in, Marin. I've got Clint bringing us some coffee."

She stepped inside the small but stately room and took a seat. The ceilings arched high and a tall window that looked out onto the big trees in the quad let in a flood of dappled light. It was the most coveted office in the psych building, and Professor Paxton, head of the department, said he wasn't giving it up until they dragged his cold, dead body out of it. He also joked that Professor Englebreit in the neuropsychology department was plotting his demise to make that happen.

Marin's office, on the other hand, was tiny and windowless. She didn't mind it much since she spent most of her time in the university's library or in one of the bigger labs, but some days she did feel like the walls of that tiny room were closing in on her. She'd been hoping to stay here long enough to get a tenured position at the university so that she could work her way up, maybe teach a few courses in between her research. But she may not have time for that dream to come to fruition. She needed a raise now. Not in three years.

Dr. Pax folded his hands atop his desk. They were good hands, solid ones. During her Ph.D. program and this postdoc, she'd relished those times when his big paw had landed atop her shoulder to congratulate her or to convey how pleased he was with her work. She'd never known her real father, and in a lot of ways, Dr. Pax had filled some idolized version of that role for her. A mentor. A person she'd been able to go to when all the stress of raising Nathan on her own had gotten just a little too heavy to bear. He had a therapist's soul and a researcher's mind. She'd learned a lot from him. She'd also learned how to read him.

"There's no room for a raise, is there?" she asked, getting the hard part out of the way first. "I'm going to need to pick up a second job."

He frowned. "It's a little worse than that, I'm afraid."

Marin tensed, but before she could say anything Dr. Pax's student worker, Clint, tapped on the door and carried in two cups of coffee. He set one on the desk and handed Marin the other.

The paper cup seared her cold fingers. "Worse, sir?"

He sighed and leaned back in his creaking chair. "When I got your email, I decided to call and check on the grant status. I thought maybe if we had an idea how much we were going to get this year, then I could find some room to adjust your salary. But the news wasn't good. We landed two smaller grants, but we're not getting the Filmore this year."

The words didn't register in Marin's head for a second. "Wait, what?"

He wrapped his fingers around his coffee cup but didn't take a sip. "Apparently, they have a new board in charge of the foundation, and they didn't think your research warranted new funds. They said they are excited about the program you've created but that they feel it's ready to go. Now the challenge will be getting it into schools, not doing more research."

"But there's so much still to do, components we haven't tested and-" Panic was tapping her shoulder, ready to tackle her.

"I know, Marin. I understand where you're coming from. I always think more research can only lead to a better product. But I see their point, too. You've developed an amazing online program for an underserved population. The sooner we get it out there, the better. If we turn over your work to a company that can streamline the program, we can get kids access to it all the sooner. Start helping people now. And if all goes well, you'll eventually make money on it."

Eventually. That was the key word. Eventually didn't help her right now. Plus, she didn't have it in her to charge some exorbitant price to nonprofits and schools for that kind of program. She sat back in her chair and set her coffee to the side, her heart like thunder in her chest. The grant had fallen through. No more study. "But if I don't continue that project, what does it mean for me? What am I going to do without that grant?"

Dr. Pax swiped a hand over his mustache and beard, his expression sympathetic. "Marin, without the Filmore grant, we don't have the funds to keep you on for another year at the salary you're at. You'd have to take a significant cut in pay, and I know that's the opposite of what you need right now."

Her breakfast threatened to come up. No money? There was no money. And that meant no position. She couldn't work for less than she was already. She'd starve. Nathan would have nothing to live on. She put a hand to her forehead. "Oh, G.o.d."

Dr. Pax leaned forward on his forearms. "Take a breath, Marin. I know this is a shock, and I'm sorry for that. But I've been thinking through this over the last day or two, and I may have an option that could work out for you."

She lifted her head. "What do you mean?"

"I know you've expressed that you're not interested in a clinical career. I get that research is your pa.s.sion. But the truth of the matter is, you need money and clinical work is where you can find it. If you can get yourself set up in a private practice one day, you won't ever have to have this type of conversation again."

She blinked. "Clinical work? Like actually be a s.e.x therapist? I don't know how to do that. And I can't do private practice. I'd need to get licensed and that takes at least a year of supervised work, right?"

He gave her a small smile. "You do know how to provide therapy. You've done an interns.h.i.+p. Your training has given you all the tools you need."

She shook her head. All she could think about was her disastrous interns.h.i.+p at a local mental health center. She'd had to do it as part of her program. But she'd been awful at it-awkward and b.u.mbling, never knowing what was the right or wrong thing to say. What if she said the wrong thing and messed someone up? What if she was as bad as some of the therapists who had failed her mom? Then, in her first week, a client had stormed out mid-session, threatening suicide. Marin had promptly had a panic attack. She'd had to pull the fire alarm to get the staff to catch up with him and stop him. It'd been a G.o.dd.a.m.ned nightmare. After that, she'd asked to transfer to a school position where she'd be able to focus more on educating students on mental health topics rather than actually providing one-on-one therapy.

"I'm good in a lab. I'm not good with people."

He chuckled. "You're just fine with people. You work with your research volunteers well, and you're a good listener. But you're right, though you have the tools and the smarts, more experience is needed. You would need to work under a supervising psychologist for a year to qualify for your license. But after that, you could do what you want."

She took in a deep breath and tried to process his words. He was trying to help. She didn't have a lot of options right now and couldn't dismiss one out of hand. "I don't even know where I'd start looking. I can't imagine those types of positions pay much before you're licensed."

"Typically, no. But since your brother will be attending art school in New Orleans and I figured you might be open to moving there with him, I took the liberty of reaching out to Dr. a.n.a.la Suri at The Grove, a private inst.i.tute in Louisiana. She'd called me recently, letting me know that she was down one clinician in their s.e.x therapy department and wondered if I had any recommendations. They're a very exclusive operation and only grant interviews through direct referrals. I've had a couple of students do well there. So I called her yesterday and told her you might be interested."

"Exclusive? What do you mean?" She s.h.i.+fted in her chair, trying to keep her nerves from showing on her face.

He considered her as he took a sip of coffee. "Expensive. And experimental. Most insurance companies won't cover the services there because they do some cutting-edge treatments."

She frowned. "Who can afford treatment with no insurance help?"

"The wealthy. The famous. It's very private, tucked away right off the bayou, and clients can stay on the grounds when there for treatment or can drop in. It's off the beaten path, but it's popular with celebrities because they can avoid the press. Plus, from what Dr. Suri tells me, New Orleans is becoming Hollywood South with so many movies and TV shows filming there now. So there's a need to have something high-end and private nearby."

"There's that high of a demand for s.e.x therapy?"

"They don't just do s.e.x therapy. It's a complete operation-rehab facility, family counseling, individual and group therapy. It would give you lots of opportunities to work with professionals from all different kinds of specialties, and the salaries they offer will knock your socks off. I've been tempted more than once to leave all this tenure behind and take over a department out there."

Marin's nerves curled in her belly. "Why haven't you?"