I school an annoyed expression, as the inside of my eyeballs do an internal roll at her question. Still, I can’t help but shift my gaze over to the two people I can’t seem to stop focusing on.
Even now, I’m drawn to them and I hate how easily my stomach flips when our eyes meet.
His dark orbs are burning with the same fury I saw when he would try to hold himself back from how much he wanted me and it feeds my desire to want to push him even more. Her gorgeous ocean blue eyes publicize every single one of her emotions and I see them flash by in an instant. Confusion, adoration, need.
I quickly turn away, my gaze back on the girl desperately waiting for an answer and as I skim the room I can see a few others are just as curious. I don’t want my relationship status to distract everyone and hell, maybe if I lie it’ll get a few of the non-serious ones to drop.
“I’m…taken.” I fake a kind smile to the room, regretting it immediately.
Ethan flinches.
“What?”Hannah mouths as she signs to no one specifically, looking very perplexed.
“Oh,” Tight Dress Girl says with disappointment, sitting back down.
I’m taken?
Who even says that?
Although, it’s not a complete lie. I am emotionally predisposed by two people who ran away from me after finally giving into everything we ever wanted in a hot hotel room in Paris.
Soo, yeah. I suppose I am taken.
I can practically feel the rage radiating from the left corner of the room where Ethan is sitting without even looking that way. I muster the courage to glance that direction anyway and, if looks could kill, I would most definitely be dead.
Pointing to another girl in the opposite corner of the room, far away from death eyes, I say, “Yes?”
“Is it true, you’re a millionaire?” she asks with the same curiosity as the girl in the front row.
“Millionaire?”Hannah signs.
Ethan shakes his head, tossing his hands up in a defeated, annoyed motion.
Billionaire sweetheart.
I say to myself but provide a PC answer instead, “Don’t believe everything you read in the paper.” Perusing the room again, I announce, “Yes, last one,” then point at a young guy dressed in a pink polo and beige shorts.
He stands and waves to the class, his hand trembling with nerves.
“Hi everyone, I’m Spencer. I just wanted to ask Professor Campbell. Um…” He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you really know Christian Ford as well as the tabloids say you do?”
Ah…yes. I was waiting for this. Ever since Christian announced the opening of his lifestyle club there’s been a lot more in the paper about him and his relationship with Jake and Elena.
However, before my Paris trip, I was spotted at the club, arriving only with Christian after an unexpectedly long day of competitive golfing—with my fellow billionaire—and the paparazzi had a field day with that one.
“Christian is a great friend of mine. He’s in a committed relationship and very public about it.”
“You mean, the threeway he’s in with that married couple?” Someone, I can’t tell who, says with disgust laced in his tone, loud enough for the class to hear.
Without turning my head, I shift my eyes in Hannah’s direction. She’s looking away as if she feels guilty and Ethan shifts uncomfortably in his chair.
And now I’m pissed. I hate when anyone speaks negatively about other people’s choices or sexuality. Especially people I know and love.
I still don’t know who said that, but I reply anyway, addressing the entire class.
“It’s called a polyamorous relationship and it’s completely normal and acceptable. I suggest you do your own research before you make assumptions or judgments on what it looks like.” I walk around my desk, exposing myself to the class.
My sexuality has been blasted in different newspapers and articles, some of what is said a complete fabrication, some of it true. But confirming it face-to-face with people whose respect you’re trying to gain is always difficult, regardless of how comfortable you are with it.
