one
TALLY
“I dislike you the worst of anybody in the world.”
— CHARLOTTE BONTË
Ashton—ahem, in this setting,ProfessorDupree—must’ve gargled a thesaurus before class. Either that or he had a secret GRE bingo card and was trying for a full house in the next twenty minutes. I needed a distraction before I was forced to cough jabs at him under my breath.
There were twenty-two of us in this class, limping through our last semester of the Creative Writing master’s program here at James River College. All we wanted was to make it across the finish line without having our brains atrophy. And for a class called Fiction Thesis Writing, there was entirely too much lecturing and not nearly enough story-telling.
Ashton sat on the edge of his desk. “When you craft your narratives, think about how this technique can add layers of complexity to your characters. Ishiguro doesn't just tell usStevens is repressed; he shows us through Stevens' own words, allowing…”
I jerked and my eyes flew open.
Ashley, the fellow grad student sitting next to me, snickered. “How can you fall asleep with that eye candy in front of you?” She flicked her brows up, inclining her head toward Ashton.
Eye candy? M-kay. I picked my phone back up, trying anything to make it through the last twenty minutes.
Me: Did you read the new chapter yet?
Madden’s texting indicator didn’t appear. I checked the time. 2:14 pm. And it was…Wednesday. Shoot. He was at hockey practice right now. My boyfriend of the past four years was the starting goalie for the Richmond Rockets, our state capitol’s AHL team.
“Let's turn our attention to Woolf’s,To the Lighthouse,” Ashton said. He was wearing one of those fitted dress shirts again. The ones that strained over his back muscles and dipped in to hug his waist. The ones that made all his female students swoon. This one was black and it caused his light blue eyes to pop like glow sticks at a rave. “Notice how she employs the stream of consciousness technique not just as a stylistic flourish, but as a means of dismantling the traditional narrative structure.”
“Do you have any idea what that means?” Ashley asked.
I grunted. “Sometimes I think he uses big words just to sound smart. They need to make a Google Translate for Pretentious Professors.”
Ashley giggled and tapped a pen against her thigh.
I caught Ashton’s eye and unleashed a fake yawn, patting my mouth. His gaze narrowed ever so slightly. I leaned forward, chin on my fists, and batted my eyelashes,trying to see if I could get him to scorch me with his electric irises. Anything to liven things up.
My phone buzzed with a response from Madden. Oh, thank goodness.
Madden: I haven’t had a chance to read it yet. Sorry.
I slumped in my chair. That did not smack of a man in love with a book. The newSpy vs Sighchapter had dropped three days ago.
After months of arm-twisting, I’d finally coaxed Madden into reading the kick-butt series about CIA agents Jack Steele and Raven Nightshade, whose chemistry was so hot it threatened to detonate every mission. The anonymous co-authors, Leggolas1012 and Austentacious119, drip-fed new chapters each week on Incognito, a free site where masked writers and readers mingled. The espionage romance was hitting its stride, gathering quite the following. Madden had made it through book one—Flirting With Danger—fine, but I felt him waning in this second installment,Licensed to Swoon.
Madden: I can’t take another week of build-up. How much longer can they string the reader along? It feels like bad writing. Get ’em together already.
There was an undertone in his words that said he was on his way out if they didn’t.
My chest cinched in frustration.
Me: They’ll get there soon. I bet it’ll happen next week.
I flexed my fingers, trying to ward off the desperation that crept over me. Our relationshipneededthis. How could he notfeel that? Over the last year, our FaceTimes had become uncomfortably dull and full of pregnant pauses. Like we’d run out of things to talk about.
Madden: Practice just ended. I’ll read it right now. Call me as soon as class is over?
The coil of anxiety loosened a bit and I smiled.
Me: Yay! Yes! That?—
I yelped when my phone was yanked from my hand. I looked up to see Ashton slipping it into his pocket as he walked away. The entire class was looking at me.
