Page 2 of Pack Baby for the Silver Foxes

“He did text me.” I shifted the bag onto my shoulder. “With a lie, it turns out. Now I have to find out why.”

Nina touched my arm. “Marli. Are you sure you’re okay?”

I hated that name but Mary McCarthy belonged to my father. Marli belonged to Boston.

“I’m fine,” I said.

“You’re normally grand.”

“I don’t feel grand today, just fine.”

“You’ve been off since Wednesday.”

“I’ve been off since birth. Ask my father.”

“Your dad thinks you’re off?”

“My father thinks I’m a traitor. He had a plan for me. He wanted me to marry someone I didn’t love. Instead, I got on a plane to Boston to paint.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re studying business management and pre-law.”

“I’m painting in private while I do something grown-up in public.”

Nina considered that. “Are you sure you’re okay? You really are weird today.”

“I just need to see Damien.” I hitched the backpack higher. “Give him his book and go lie down.”

“I can give him the book. Go back to the dorm.”

“I’m fine and I need the fresh air.”

“Okay.” She started to walk away, then she turned back to me. “Text me if you need anything.”

“An ice bath would be lovely at that fancy spa in town,” I said.

“I’d love to treat you but I can’t afford it.”

“Neither can I.”

Her laugh followed me as I turned and walked down the corridor. I pushed on the door and the cold hit my face. Slush banked along the edges of the path, and the sky sat low and overcast as I walked to the quad. Students walked past with their heads down, freezing in their puffers.

For me, it was such a relief to not feel so hot.

But it didn’t take long for the heat to build again. Not enough to frighten me, but enough to make my sweater feel two sizes too small and my bra feel like a medieval torture device.

Then I gagged as the smell of coffee mixed with somebody’s cheap cologne.

I should have turned around and gone home, but Damien would take me back to the dorms in his car.

When I reached the quad, he was easy to find. He was only five foot eight, but he carried it like he was six feet two. One of his more annoying qualities. Some men disappeared into the crowd. Damien stood out as he waited near the wall outside the athletic center in a gray hoodie and his team jacket. His sandy hair curled at the temples. His bag sat at his feet, one hand resting on the strap. His other hand was on the wall beside a girl in a cropped cheer jacket and a skirt so short that suggested she was not worried about getting hypothermia.

She laughed at something he said.

He leaned closer.

I stopped at the bike rack and gripped the cold metal. My hand froze as she touched his chest and smiled.

Tears would have been the correct response. Screaming, maybe, or running away. But I was calmer than I’d expected as I grabbed the book and walked over.