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“I don’t think she quit. She’s not like the others. She was even in the middle of a paper for submission to Folklore.”

Evan shrugs. “Ah well. She owed me notes on my Gawain paper, but I’ll figure it out somehow. Maybe she’ll save my ass in the nick of time, hey?” He looks at me looking at him, taking him in. His not-quite-a-man body under slacks and an ill-fitting shirt. Ne’er-do-well son of a rich man, I suppose. “Are you in Classics?”

“Technically folklore, Old Norse, but”—I open my hands like a fan—“seems like I have some competition for that esoteric little spot, don’t I?”

He huffs a laugh. “Lacie’s pretty tough. Good luck.”

“I can defend myself, thanks,” Lacie clips. She’s not smiling. “Let me know if you hear from Laurel. C’mon, Marcella. I’ll show you inside after all.”

“See you around,” I say, my voice a velvet purr.

Evan just goggles at me, and I let my lips pull wider.

“Does he live on our hall?”

“Yeah. Room 218. Women on one side, men on the other.”

This is quite fun. Maybe being on the faculty hall will be a gas. Between Little Lamb Lacie and Evan, I already have two snacks in my back pocket.

“What was that you said about people who quit?”

“Nothing.” Lacie orders herself a black coffee.

“Really?” I order a latte. I didn’t expect her to be a black coffee girl, but she takes several quick swallows, then hesitates.

“I mean, I guess we’ve had our fair share. It’s probably why you could transfer in the middle of the semester, right?” Her ears redden. “I mean—”

“No, no, I’m not offended. I could have waited, but I didn’t.” Had I not been pushed out, anyway. “I’m glad there was a spot.”

“Right.” She rubs her forehead and I nearly giggle. I love making people off-balance.

“I hear Preston is a challenge.” We turn from the counter and walk toward the academic quad.

“Well, Laurel … she’s up for it, usually. But we’ve had to take on a huge amount of coursework to cover for the people who left.”

“I see. Well, I don’t tire easily, so you won’t get rid of me.” Lacie’s shoulders tense up and I grin. We stop at a divergence in the path. “I’m off to the library. Thanks for the tour. I don’t forget much, either.” I wink at her, and she goes pink.

“O-oh, no big deal. Um. See you!” She hurries away from me, her pleated skirt kicking up as she runs toward Crowell.

I wait until she’s in the building, watching her toned legs disappear behind the door.

Tapping a nail against my lips, I drift toward the library. All the students in the quad are looking at me; I can feel their gazes running like fingers over my body. I shudder with delight. Yes, this move was exactly what I needed. A puppy of an undergrad nearly walks into a lamppost, her dark eyes popping wide as I pass her.

“Careful,” I say, my words a breath of sound as I touch her shoulder. “Wouldn’t want to bruise that pretty head of yours. Too many thoughts at risk.”

She gawps at me as I smile and walk away.

I settle myself in the library at an empty carrel in the Classics section and get to work. My gut says Dean Shea will approve whatever class proposal I throw his way, so I start in on something titillating.

Sex and Blood: The Viking Sagas

I smile at the title. This one was a hit back at Seattle. All the freshmen scrambled for it. I had a fifty-person waitlist only thirty minutes after registration opened.

“Knock knock.” A fist raps against the side of my carrel and I whip my head around, ready to snap at the intrusion.

But it’s just a man. A little older than Evan, perhaps—a newly minted adjunct, perhaps a more senior assistant professor? He has short-cropped hair and bright amber eyes set gorgeously against deep skin. He shoves his hands in his jeans pockets, troubling the lines of his navy blazer.

“You the new tenure track?”