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“Why, I didn’t take you for a jealous man.”

His eyes rove my face, searching for an answer to his sudden desires. “I’m not.”

I pluck my arm from his. This is part of it: trick a man into the trap, wind the web tight so he has no recourse but to become jealous. Petty, always letting their cocks lead, whether it’s a dick-measuring contest or actually using said dicks.

“Then don’t hold me so tight.” His lips thin and in turn I wink. “No fun in being kept in a corner.” My teeth gleam in the twisting candlelight. “Come, show me around.”

Arjun introduces me to a nervous pair of young professors. There’s a white man named Lyle, has his hand wrapped around a sweating bottle of beer. His suit is rumpled at the lapels but well-fitted, and despite the shadows beneath his eyes, his gaze is sharp, hyperaware. A dark blue tie and brass clip wink from his chest; a conservative outfit. Nothing to rock the boat, draw attention. It’s almost painful, in fact, in its precision. A choice, to fit in. Next to him is a Korean woman in a blue dress, whose name I learn is Therese. Whereas Lyle has done his best to fit in, her dress, despite its dowdy cut, is made noticeable by its fabric: taffeta that shifts to violet when she turns. She has an undercut, visible tattoos. They make an interesting pair: inconspicuous and conspicuous, holding tight to each other. Therese pours me a generous glass of bottom-shelf wine I won’t drink.

“How’s your faculty showcase problem, Ly?” Arjun asks, all teeth. He slugs a sip of bourbon, neat, in a fingerprinted glass.

Lyle takes a shaky sip of ale, glancing in Dean Shea’s direction. “Don’t talk so loud.”

“You think the old man doesn’t know we’re struggling?” Therese scoffs, her voice low. “He’s been on me for my topic choice since last semester. Says it’s not enough.”

My eyes flick between the two of them, the same deep-carved purple circles beneath their eyes, a world-weariness that makes my skin crawl. Interesting.

“Really?” I ask, swirling the swill in my glass. “Doesn’t the dean offer you support?”

Therese looks into her drink and shakes her head. “No. He views it as a competitive situation.” She clears her throat, glancing at Lyle, who motions at her to continue. “Not to scare you from the start, Marcella, but Dean Shea isn’t particularly warm if you start to slip or if the Classics committee takes issue with your work. He and I had another meeting last week that was vaguely threatening.”

Arjun shrugs. “T, you’ve gotta be smart. A paper on the appearances of embroidery in literature is not gonna keep readers focused. It’s just dull.”

“These topics are important,” Therese bites, with more vigor than I thought she had in her. “There are enough medieval lais about—”

“Snooooze,” Arjun drones. “C’mon. Do better than that.”

Therese’s eyes blaze, though she says nothing. A bitter spark of resentment clings to the underside of my tongue.

Gross. Men are fucking gross. This is her life’s work, I gather, something she really cares about, and Arjun is behaving exactly like every other man I’ve ever met: dismissive and rude. I place a hand on Therese’s wrist and she looks up at me, her eyes darting.

“If you’re talking about Marie de France, I think that’s all quite cool. Arjun doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

It might lose me the mark, but damn, I hate to see a woman like Therese turn miserable and cowed. It’s not fair.

Arjun’s lips twist into a frown. “You‘ve been designing a hell of a course, Marcella. You know what sells. I’m sure your showcase paper will be just as compelling.”

“And I’ve read many papers like Therese’s,” I hit back.

But Arjun only smirks. “Didn’t take you as a feminist, Marcie.”

I start to snarl, but Lyle cuts in, his eyes flicking between the three of us.

“Listen, it’s not only that. There’s worse going on, I think. Tenure tracks are leaving Preston alarmingly often.”

“Junie last semester. Laurel this?” Therese takes a sip of her wine, extracting herself from my chilled touch. “I appreciate the kind words, Marcella, but Preston seems to be losing promising professors by the droves.”

“It’s a shame,” Arjun says, but his chest is all puffed out like a fucking pigeon on a strut. “But can’t you see how this is better for us?”

“More coursework is destroying my research schedule,” Therese says, her voice pitching to a whine. “I can’t cover two extra yearlong courses and make something compelling for a faculty showcase.”

“Maybe you can’t,” Arjun says, “and that should be communicated to the dean.”

“Have you followed up with the people who leave?” I ask, ignoring my date. Man, the sooner I drain him, the better.

Therese shakes her head. “That’s the thing. I did. But they never even answer me.”

“Hm.”