“That’s because I am!” he replied with a grin, hurrying down to the other end of the bar to help a new customer.
I was bored, so I texted Jace to see if he was coming over tonight.
Jace: I’m out with my Army buddy. He got into a fight with his wife about the nursery decorations. It might be a long night.
Me: BOO!
Jace: This is probably for the best. I want to save my energy for tomorrow night.
Me: Describe what you and Brock are going to do to me.
Jace: I don’t think so. You’ll just have to wait to find out!
Me: DOUBLE-BOO!
Brock made his drinks strong, and I found myself with a healthy buzz when I eventually winked at him and said goodbye. I was in that weird middle ground where I didn’t trust myself to drive, but I wasn’t downrightdrunk.
Rather than calling an Uber, I decided to take a walk around campus to give myself a little time to sober up. It was a cool February evening, and the wind was pleasant rather than biting.
The University had released a statement that it took revenge porn very seriously, and that Davenport would be suspended while they investigated further. On the edge of campus, I passed by a few sorority houses. They were all throwing parties tonight—it seemed like everyone was celebrating the demise of Joshua Davenport.
I had never been a victim of revenge porn, but I’d known women who were. It was so terribly unfair that women were judged harshly for having sex with someone, while men were lauded for it. Seeing Davenport ridiculed for what he had done was such a pleasant turn of events. Like Galloway had said, students like Davenport were usually bulletproof.
Eventually, I realized I was walking past the Gershwin Dormitory. That’s where Cam lived, according to the student information I’d looked up earlier. Room 204, which I happenedto remember because it was the same number as the class he was in: Criminology 204, Computer Crime.
Some students were walking inside, scanning their student IDs at the door to get in.
I wonder what Cam’s doing right now.
Indulging in a rare impulse, I jogged forward and followed them inside.
34
Lila
The dorm smelled like detergent, cheap ramen, and teenage boy cologne. A nostalgic, chaotic mix that made me instantly aware of one thing:
That I was too old to be in here.
I ignored that feeling and took the stairs up to the second floor. There was a cluster of guys standing in the hallway, arguing over where to go tonight and who was the least likely to notice their fake IDs.
Down the hall I went, feeling more and more out of place. The dress code here was sweatpants and flip flops, and I was wearing a pencil skirt and heels. But I didn’t want to wait until Monday to know the truth, and I still wanted to see his reaction in person rather than via text.
The next hall over was quieter. I stopped in front of Room 204, took a deep breath, then knocked.
There was no answer.
I knocked a second time.
“Jackson’s not here!” Cam shouted from deep inside the room. “He’s at a lacrosse game!”
“I’m not here for Jackson,” I yelled through the door.
There was a stumbling sound inside the room. A shadow passed across the peephole, and then the door opened.
“Professor?” Cam asked.
He looked so adorably surprised to see me there. He was wearing a T-shirt that framed his slender body well, and baggy sweatpants. His eyes took me in, lingering on my heels and bare legs before locking onto my eyes.
