Behind her, Ian scoffed. She looked at him, almost against her will.
“He’s been like this since his wife passed,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Prickly. Sad how grief changes people.”
Fuck you, she wanted to say.
Get a fucking life, she wanted to say.
“I guess so,” she said instead. “Nice meeting you.”
“You too. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
He did something with his eyes that wasn’t quite winking, then left.
There wasn’t space in her brain for much besideshe fucks his grad students, but there was space enough to hate herself for not being the first one to walk away.
Chapter Fourteen
“Where’s Merritt?”
Whit looked up from the pot of mulled wine. Willa was leaning on the counter in her impeccable Whitney Houston costume. Behind her, a woman in a devil suit chatted with a man who was dressed as either Jennifer Lopez or someone fromDrag Race, or perhaps both.
“She’s on the porch, recovering from an Ian Hoult encounter.”
He set his jaw to keep from elaborating on his suspicions.
Willa made a not-surprised face, then said, “It’s pretty cold out there.”
“I’m bringing her a hot beverage.”
He looked at Willa, who nodded and then waited.
Whit set two full mugs on the white countertop.
Willa was still waiting.
“What?” he said with an impatient sigh.
She raised her eyebrows. Whit lowered his.
“What are you trying to say?”
“I’m not saying anything.”
“But you are.”
“Whit, you’ve been grinning like the Cheshire Cat from the time you opened my front door all the way until you had to speak with my worst-ever party guest.”
He bit his lip now at what felt like a smile threatening to return. Willa was right. He’d been grinning since he got here, but his brain hadn’t yet worked out why. With some effort, he forced his face into something neutral.
“Oh, Whit,” Willa said. She shrugged. “You should probably go check on her.”
Willa gave him a closed-mouth smile, and as she turned to speak to the man with enormous fake breasts, something happened in Whit’s brain. It was like ice shifting in a cocktail glass or a log settling in the fireplace.
Oh, Whit.
Merritt was sitting on the steps, her coat tucked beneath her to form a barrier between the frigid stone and her body. The cold front was blowing in at full force, making her hair whiz around her head. Who knew where the top hat had gone. Her breath puffed out before her, making her yearn for a cigarette, a feeling she immediately found repulsive because she had only ever smoked with Graydon.
He fucks his grad students.
