“I still can’t believe they didn’t make you retake Fiction Writing I this year,” she says, grabbing her coffee from the counter. The sleeve of her beige blazer slides up her arm and I can’t help but notice we’re in almost the exact same outfit. She had asked me what I was wearing today, and I sent her a picture of my clothes laid out. Not expecting she’d put on the same thing.
I grab mine too. “You say that like you wish they did.”
“Of course not. I’m just surprised.” She sips her coffee before she adds, “You know I’d never make it through these classes without you.”
We share an umbrella as we step out into the rain and walkto our first class. It was a big deal when I went to the dean and revealed the affair I was having with Miles Holland. They debated having me retake his course, which would have put me behind on graduating. The other professors in the department read through my work to be sure it was satisfactory enough to move forward. In other words, making sure I wasn’t trading sex for grades. Not that that was ever my intention in the first place.
“Do you think this Renner guy will be tough?” Annica asks, talking about our senior seminar professor. We’re both English majors with minors in creative writing, and it’s been nothing but somewhat friendly competition between us for three years.
“If he is, I guess I could just fuck him?” I joke, but she doesn’t laugh.
Our class is full of the same group of kids from last year’s Creative Writing I, with maybe one or two others that I don’t recognize. I smile and nod at a few as we file in. Lochlan Renner is a short and stout older man with gray hair and bifocals. He clears his throat from his desk in the front of the classroom, adjusting his glasses as he gets ready to read off the list of names in his hand. We raise our hands in attendance as he rattles them off. When he gets to my name he pauses, getting a good look at me. Likely confirming that, yes, I am the girl whose work he had to review in order to move on to this course. He continues down the list.
“This is senior seminar,” Renner says as he writes it in black marker on the board. “This is a two-semester course. We will read and analyze three books during this course and your midterm and final will be a short story that you will work on and submit at the end of the year. I will choose the best one to send to the Boston short-story competition. Any questions?”
Chapter 4
Tuesday nights are called Ladies Night at Water Street Tavern, one of the campus bars, where well drinks are all a dollar for girls. I stand at the busy bar with my debit card in one hand and my empty glass in the other. Wes and Marissa are at the other end of the square-shaped bar and from here I have the perfect view of her twirling her ash-blond ponytail through her fingers as she smiles up at him. Wes leans on the counter, his white quarter sleeve tightening on muscled arms. He turns to whisper something in her ear, exposing his cut jawline, and Marissa laughs. The grip on my glass tightens.
“Jealous?” Asher leans back on the bar beside me, his head cocked to the side.
I look over at him with a tight smile. “Jealous of what?”
He turns around and leans down, propping his elbows on the counter so that we’re side by side. His bare arm brushes against mine and I tuck it closer to my side. “My cousin, over there with his girlfriend.” The emphasized word is like a punch to the gut.
“Not at all.”
“Then why are you standing here staring at them with a white-knuckled grip on your glass?”
I loosen my hold, flexing my fingers. “I’m just waiting for a drink.”
Asher smirks, and it’s hard to deny that he’d be just as attractive as Wes if he wasn’t such a prick.
“I’m also seeing someone, so,” I lie.
“Another professor?” he muses. “What does this one teach? Anatomy?”
I turn my gaze back to him. “Do you have a reason to be over here other than to be a dick?”
“I do, actually.” He stands, and with our height difference I have to look up at him. “I’m conducting a little experiment.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I say under my breath, rolling my eyes.
“Last night I asked Wes if he’d mind if I asked you out.”
My eyes practically pop out of my head. “You did what?”
“And you know what he said?” Asher goes on. “‘Why would I care?’” The words are another knife that strikes hard and true. “He doesn’t know that I know what you two did. But you know what I think?” I only stare ahead, my teeth grinding together. “I think he would care.” Asher leans down again, this time getting so close that his mouth practically touches my ear as he whispers, “Very much.”
I lean away, giving him a hateful glare. “And your experiment is what exactly?”
He remains close enough to whisper, this time tucking a piece of my hair back, slowly tracing his fingers over the strands. “Working,” he says, moving just his eyes to where Wes and Marissa still stand. Marissa is talking to the bartender, but Wes is staring right at us, his jaw clenched. He looks away when our eyes meet.
Asher walks away, no doubt feeling satisfied with whateverfucked-up game he is playing, and I order two vodka sodas, both doubles, and both for me.
I walk back to the tables that our group occupies and take my seat in between Annica and Dani.
“What was Asher whispering to you about?” Annica asks when I sit down.
