He repeated his question. “Can you tell us about the symbolism of Olga’s apartment?”
“Yes, tell us, Tally,” Ashley whispered in a breathy voice reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe singing Happy Birthday to JFK.
“Uh, okay,” my voice trembled, half flustered from Ashley’s seductress impression, and half flustered at the way Ash’s blue eyes were searching me like they always did.
I slowly tore the perforated edge of my notebook paper as I responded. “Olga’s apartment becomes a prison and a battlefield.”
“How so?” Ashton prodded.
I inhaled, trying to focus on the story. But I hated this book. Hated every man who used a woman and broke their heart the way Olga’s husband, Mario, did. “It’s a prisonbecause she falls apart there. She caves in and doubts everything about herself.”
Ash held my stare and I could see the questions in his eyes. Was that what I was doing? Doubting everything about myself? And if so, would I ever be able to move past it?
My gaze skittered away, back to my perforated edge. “But it’s a battlefield because that’s where she realizes she can do this. So what if her piece of crap husband left her for another woman? Who needs a man like that anyway?Shesaves her son when he’s sick and she didn’t need a man to help her do it.”
Ashton watched me for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then he cleared his throat and asked another question to Garrett across the room and the relief leaked out of me.
“Careful, girl. Those words smack of a man-hater.” Ashley sent yet another TikTok off into the universe.
I tore the page the rest of the way. “I just answered the question.”
“It was your tone.” She swayed her pen in the air like a metronome. “How do you think he broke his hand?”
I winced at the question. I now knew exactly how he’d broken it. He’d punched something when he left his office. Right after he found out I was Austen. That was obvious.
She flicked her hair off her shoulder. “Do you have a Sharpie? Maybe he’ll let me be the first to sign it.”
I pretended not to hear.
She giggled. “Maybe he high-fived his reflection in the mirror too enthusiastically. If I looked like that I’d high five myself too.”
“Ashley,” I whisper-shouted as I pinched my fingers in a zen yoga pose. “Did you take a Viagra before you came to class?”
“Looking at him is all the Viagra I will ever need.”
Oh, good grief. This class couldn’t end quickly enough.
She practically licked her lips. “You said his niece is your best friend? So you’ve probably spent a fair bit of time around himnoton campus. Have you ever seen him without his shirt on?”
An image of Ashton at the Dupree’s lake filled my mind. Shirtless, his chest bedazzled with water droplets, grinning after doing a killer backflip off the dock. Abs, pecs, biceps. I felt faint at the mere memory.
“No,” I blurted.
“Ashley,” Ashton called. He shoved his hand into the pocket of his slacks. “Could you tell us how the novel grapples with themes of guilt and redemption?”
I let myself watch him. He was so comfortable in his skin. The opposite of me. I faked every second of my life. We were so unequally matched.It’s just a fact, the same way the sun rises every morning. It’s like God made my heart for one purpose and one purpose only. To love Tallulah Hawkins.How could that be true? Why would he wantme?
When Ashley was done and he’d moved on to someone else, she leaned over. “Seriously, though. Do you think you could put in a word with him for me?”
“He’s our professor,” I said, with too much bite in my tone.
“For thirty two more days. The minute I have that diploma in my hot little hand, it’s no holds barred, baby. Maybe I’ll lay one on him as soon as they hand it to me, right there in front of everybody.” She grunted. “You better believe I am going to beallover that.”
I choked on my own spit. And choked and choked. Ashley pounded me on the back. My eyes watered and I coughed, wishing I had a water bottle. Everyone went quiet. No paper rustling. No whispering about the paper that was due. Even Ashton stopped talking and looked at me.
I gulped and waved him on. Thankfully he started back up, but there was a tentative edge to his voice, and a sidelongglance, like he was ready to sprint over and do the Heimlich if need be. Like he could save me from my own traitorous saliva.
Once I found air again, and everyone had forgotten about my near death experience, I shifted in my seat, my stomach coiled like a sparking live wire. “Has he given you any reason to think he’d be interested?”
