An incredulous scoff escapes him. “You speak of industry professionals. Not some... overpaid athlete.”
I’m so shocked my skin prickles. I can only stare as he goes on with scathing vehemence.
“The next thing you know, they’ll be arguing about who’s going to win what game and spitting out inconsequential stats, when they should be concentrating on film.” He slaps his palms on his desk. “No, I won’t have it.”
There’re many things I could say. I’m not sure where to begin. Or if it even matters. He’s not rational here. Prejudice rarely is.
Hauling my bag higher on my shoulder, I strive for calm when I’m anything but. “Are you asking me to drop this class, Professor?”
He pauses, mouth open, then snaps it closed with a befuddled frown. “That would be extreme.”
I nod in agreement. “I’ve taken three other courses with you in the past. Have you found me to be a disruptive student?”
“No . . .”
“A poor student, then?”
“That’s hardly the point.”
When I stare him down, he sits up straighter in his chair and links his hands on his desk.
“You are an excellent student, Ms. Morrow.”
I nod again. “Iaman excellent student. Which means your line of questioning is not only unwarranted, it is inappropriate.”
It’s his turn to color. Before he can say a word, I forge on.
“I’m going to leave now and pretend this never happened. I look forward to your lectures, as I’ve enjoyed them in the past. Good day, Professor.”
I stride out, head held high. But on the inside I’m shaking. August had warned me. I hadn’t taken him seriously. It’s time I do.
Fifteen
Pen
So far, being a fiancée is lonely. I haven’t seen August for over a week and a half. He’s been busy with game prep, practice, and travel, and I’ve been settling into my new semester, each class basically starting like the first—lots of gawking, a few brave questions, then subtle stares. Thankfully, no other professor seems to care about my personal life or makes inappropriate remarks about August. We text a lot. And have fallen into an easy friendship. Still, I miss his face. His voice.Him.
“You’re going to have to move out.”
Sarah’s announcement catches me mid-sip of my morning coffee. I bobble the cup but thankfully don’t spill.
“I’m sorry?”
“Yeah,” she drawls, before sucking her teeth. “Me too.”
“No, I meant, what?”
With an impatient sigh, she perches on the end of the sofa. In a rare instance, Edward is not around. Maybe she thought I’d go into tantrums and throw things. Hardly. But I guess it’s nice to imagine her at least having enough self-awareness to know she might deserve a little anger coming her way.
“It’s like this,” she says. “Daniel and Priti are moving back in.”
The news is shocking for many reasons. “Okay. But there’s three bedrooms.” Not that sharing living space with all of them would be remotely pleasant.
“You know very well they’re not a couple anymore.”
And just who’s fault is that? I think darkly. Unfortunately, I have the worst poker face ever.
Sarah bristles. “We’re going to attempt to give it another go. However, to maintain a healthy relationship standard, we figured we’d each have our own room.”
