by J. L. White
“I’m here to pick up the lecture notes from yesterday,” I say holding them up. My hands are shaking, so I put them back down. “I missed class because we had that field trip to Carson Laboratories.”
“Oh, that’s right. I heard that went well.”
I nod.
“Isabella’s taking a high class load this year,” Dean Jennings says to Professor Brooks, by way of explanation apparently. “How’s she holding up in your class?”
“Um, good,” Professor Brooks says simply, looking like he’s trying to get his feet under him as well.
Maybe I’m not the only one terrified to think what would’ve happened if the Dean had come in two minutes sooner.
I mean, not that it was anything. Was it?
It just would’ve looked bad.
Right?
But as I excuse myself so they can talk without me, I have a bad feeling about the look on Professor Brook’s face.
He looks as guilty as I feel.
Chapter 6
A day later, I’m swimming at the school pool close to midnight, having missed my morning swim yet again. I’m pushing myself even more than usual, trying to wear myself out too much to think about things—and people—I should not be thinking about. The fact that I saw him here the last time I came at night only pushes me more.
It’s during a hard, backstroke stretch to the far side of the pool that I notice the glass door swinging shut. But rather than someone coming in, I see Professor Brooks’ back retreating before he disappears completely. He must have seen me and turned right back around to leave.
I stop my stroke abruptly, treading water and staring at the empty doorway, willing him to come back.
But he doesn’t.
“You’re going to the frat party, right?” Sam’s at my doorway, wearing her I’m-here-to-party-and-probably-get-laid outfit. I’m sitting cross-legged on my bed, wearing my jeans and an old Crest Academy Diving Team tee, holding the Biochemistry GRE Study Book on my lap.
I heard Jack was getting us into another frat party—though he’s not the kind of guy to join a frat, he’s so friendly he’s practically an honorary member of most of them—but I wasn’t planning on going. Partying with my girls is usually a welcome balance to my otherwise studious life, but not tonight.
“Eh,” I say. “I’m not really in the mood.”
“Oh, come on,” she says, coming in and plopping down on the foot of my bed. “You need to get out and have a little fun. I can see it.”
Ashley appears in the doorway and leans against the jamb.
“Ashley’s going,” Sam says.
“Just for a bit,” Ashley says. She doesn’t need to explain why. She has a big performance tomorrow. We all know she won’t be out late or drinking much tonight.
“Is Chloe going?” I ask.
Sam makes a face. “Brad has a thing he wants her at. So see? You have to go. It can’t be just Ashley and me.”
“Thanks a lot,” Ashley says easily.
“I don’t know,” I say.
I should probably go and try to... I don’t know... have fun I guess. I know I’m being stupid about Professor Shane Brooks. I can’t seem to stop myself.
“I have studying to do,” I say.
Sam rolls her eyes and shuts my book. “You probably have that stupid book memorized by now. Come on, Isabella. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
“What? Who?”
“Tony’s friend. He’s completely fuckable and I’d say you could use a good fuck.”
“Nice, Sam. What about Ashley?” I gesture to Ashley, who’s still standing in the doorway wearing an amused grin. “Why don’t you pick on her for once?”
“Ashley’s got her piano.”
“You want me to go fuck some random guy but Ashley has her piano?”
“Have you seen the way she plays that thing when she thinks no one’s looking?”
“Shut up, Sam,” Ashley says from the doorway.
“Come on,” Sam says, putting both hands on the mattress next to me and bouncing up and down. “Come on, come on, come on. It’ll be fun!”
I can’t help but smile. “Oh fine. I’ll go.” Ashley smiles and disappears.
“Hooray!” Sam says, hopping off my bed and heading for my closet.
“But I’m not sleeping with anyone,” I say, climbing off the bed.
“You haven’t even seen him yet,” she says, rummaging through my tops. She tosses me a low-cut red number that I am not wearing. If I were in the mood for flirting with boys, sure, but not tonight.
“Not relevant,” I say, catching it and throwing it back at her. I grab a black top that’s cute enough for a party but not too suggestive.
Sam rolls her eyes. “What are you, in mourning? How about this one?” She holds up a purple top that shows off my cleavage.
I take off my tee and throw on the black top.
“Wait!” Sam says. “You need to change your bra.”
“Why? There’s nothing wrong with this one.” I don’t exactly wear lingerie all the time, but I’m a fan of pretty bras and wear them as a matter of routine.
“Get the see-through one,” Sam says. “What underwear are you wearing?”
“Sam, if you say one more word I’m not going,” I say, leaving my closet.
By the time we get to the party—the bass of the music is pounding through the entire house—I’ve given myself a stern talking to. I don’t have a relationship with Shane Brooks. I never will have a relationship with Shane Brooks. This is my senior year in college and I should be having some fun. Maybe a party and a hot guy is exactly what I need to snap myself out of this Professor-Brooks-induced funk.
I’m even grateful Sam made me wear jewelry to add some “sexy” to my outfit.
The guy Sam wanted me to meet is cute enough, she was right about that. He’s the kind of guy I would normally go for. But, an hour into the party I still can’t get myself worked up about him. Not even a little.
I even try the whole flirty thing, really diving into my resolution to have fun and engage with people my own age like a normal person. Like someone who’s not hung up on her professor. But when the guy responds to my flirtations by putting his arm around my waist and leaning in close to say something in my ear—the volume of the music demanding it—I have to resist the urge to cringe away from him.
At this point I know I need to put the brakes on the whole thing.
It’s not his fault. He’s nice and charming and hot and completely fuckable and all that. I just don’t want any of it. Time to cut him loose so he can go wow a girl who’s actually interested and I can go back to pathetically dreaming about a guy I can’t have.
Ugh. How did I get into this mess?
I glance to the couch where Sam is thoroughly absorbed in Tony, her latest boy toy. My guess is they’ll be on the hunt for a dark corner or private room pretty soon, which means I can leave without any flak from her. I’ll just go home with Ashley.
As if on cue, Ashley comes up to say goodbye. I extricate myself from Tony and say I have to go as well but it was very nice to meet you and enjoy the party. Grabbing Ashley’s arm, I steer her toward the door and away from the poor guy’s stunned face.
I feel badly, but he looks like the kind of guy who knows how to bounce back. I’m sure he’ll be fine.
We catch Sam’s eye, wave our goodbyes, and scan for Jack and his latest girl to say goodbye to them as well. When we find them, I say to Jack, “Will you make sure Sam gets home okay?”
“Sure,” he says, giving me a goodbye kiss on the cheek. “Tony’s a good guy. I think he’ll take care of her, but I’ll make sure.”
“Thanks Jack.”
He gives Ashley a kiss goodbye too. “See you tomorrow,” he says.
I glance at Jack’s girl. She has that scrutinizing look girls get when they’re first exposed to Jack’s little harem. I don’t have the energy to reassure her though. She’ll have to figure things out on her own.
; Ashley and I finally leave the raucousness of the house behind us and escape into the quiet of the night.
I let out a big exhalation.
“You just didn’t want to be there tonight, did you?” Ashley asks.
“Not really.”
“Well,” she says as we climb into her little Civic hatchback, “you did just get out of a long relationship. Maybe you’re not ready yet.”
I consider fessing up. Maybe if I tell her what’s going on, Ashley can help me get my thinking straight.
Instead I say, “Yeah,” and we drive the rest of the way home in silence.
Chapter 7
The next evening we’re in Hartman’s Performance Center for the Arts. Here the girls and I have seen Broadway plays, a few travelling dance performances (Riverdance!), and countless musical recitals. Hartman has a distinguished music program and so the recitals are always excellent, but as far as we’re concerned, our Ashley’s the star of them all.
We’re a dozen rows back and off to the right. The curtain is down and the auditorium is buzzing as the crowd slowly fills in. Sam, Chloe, Jack, and I are in our theatre-going best. I’m wearing a black velvet, form-fitting gown and a necklace with a teardrop diamond that I only wear on special occasions. Sam’s wearing a short, sleeveless cream dress with a pretty lace bodice. Chloe’s wearing a beautiful sapphire gown that sets off her red hair, clear blue eyes, and delicate blue nose piercing. Even Jack is wearing a suit jacket and black silk tie. He’s sitting to my left and Chloe and Sam are on my right.
Chloe’s examining the program. “Ashley’s at the end,” she says.
“Saving the best for last, as usual,” Sam says.
“Oh hey,” Jack says, sitting up straighter in his seat and craning his neck to look at the rows in the front of the auditorium. “Is that Gary? I’ll be right back,” he says, hopping up.
“Did you hear about that freelance job Jack got?” Chloe asks, watching him go.
“Custom designing software for some company in town,” I say nodding. Apparently they hired him freelance since it’s a temporary project. I’m not even clear how he landed it to start with.
“They’re paying him serious money for that job,” Sam says. “Like, serious money. Our Jack.”
“Jack knows his shit,” Chloe says.
I nod, but I’m kind of with Sam on this one. “I once heard him talking with a professor about... I don’t know some computer thing. I didn’t understand it. But I hardly recognized him, he was acting so professional.”
As if on cue, Jack comes bounding up the aisle and plops into the seat next to me wearing his big, goofy Jack grin. “Did you miss me?”
We all start laughing.
The old lady in front of us turns back and gives Jack the evil eye.
Sam notices and grabs her purse. “Better calm this kid down.”
She pulls out a giant-sized Snickers and passes it to Jack. “Oh baby, you are beautiful,” he says taking it.
He eats and settles into the chair, happy as a clam. He starts unconsciously loosening his tie. I reach over to tighten it back up for him.
“I hate these things,” he complains. “This is why I need to just work from home or something.”
“So you can wear your pajamas all day?” I ask.
“Hell no. I’ll be going commando, baby.”
The lady in front of us purses her lips, clearly disapproving of our conversation. I can’t help but laugh.
Finished with Jack’s tie, but before I remove my hands from the knot, my eyes flit to the seats across the auditorium from us. I freeze.
There’s Professor Brooks. He’s staring right at me, a serious expression on his face. He looks down immediately and I sit back in my seat, facing forward.
My heart’s pounding. I grip my beaded clutch with both hands, the little beads cutting into my skin.
Turning my head as little as possible, I look back toward Professor Brooks. My chest heats up as I take him in with hungry eyes. He’s looking particularly classy and yummy in his dark suit coat and red tie. His face is turned in my direction, but he’s talking to the woman sitting next to him.
She is, I hate to report, an absolutely stunning blonde wearing a stunning emerald gown and giving him a positively stunning smile. Bitch.
He either said something hilarious or she’s into him enough that she thinks anything he says is hilarious, for she throws her gorgeous head back and gives what I imagine to be a perfectly melodious laugh.
He’s smiling at her, but his eyes dart in my direction, catching me watching him. I look forward, then down to my purse, then over to Jack’s lap. He’s smoothing out his empty Snickers wrapper on his knee and making entirely too much noise.
The lady in front of us lets out a passive-aggressive sigh loud enough for all of us to hear.
“Give me that,” I say, snatching it out of his hand and tucking it inside my purse.
“Sor-ry,” he says. He leans closer to me. “Got any more?”
I glance at his little boy grin and take a deep breath, settling myself. It’s not Jack’s fault. “Sorry,” I say.
He furrows his brow slightly but he’s still grinning. “Sorry for what, sweetheart?” He pats my knee. “I think I can make it through without more snacks.”
He winks and I smile at him.
I’m trying very hard not to look where I know I shouldn’t be looking, but eventually I give in. Shane Brooks is smiling at the stunning blonde again when the lights go down.
We all clap with the audience as the curtain goes up. I keep my eyes fixed on the first group of musicians, a string quartet, and somehow manage to get all the way through their piece before looking at Professor Brooks again.
I’m surprised to find him looking at me too, but he glances away as soon as our eyes meet.
I look down at my hands, clutching my purse. Was he watching me? I take a slow, measured breath.
I steal another glance. This time his eyes are on the musician on stage—a violinist now—but it’s not long before his eyes swing back to mine. He looks down and away, but I don’t.
My skin starts to tingle. He’s watching me too. I know it.
The audience is clapping again and I clap with them, my heart pounding my chest.
My excitement turns to agony, however, when we go through four more numbers without Professor Brooks looking at me once. Was I imagining things? Maybe he had noticed me watching him and kept checking to see if I’d stopped. Maybe he was purposely not looking at me now as a way to make a point. And after all, it’s not like he’s here alone. I look at the beautiful blonde’s profile and frown.
When the lights go up for intermission, the two get up and head toward the lobby exit nearest them. I watch his retreating back with longing. He disappears without looking back.
The four of us head for the lobby in the other direction. Sam and Chloe are consigned to wait in the long line for the ladies room. I made a point to use the restroom when we first got here so I linger in the hall. Jack is in and out of the men’s room in a flash—why are men’s lines always so much shorter?—and brings me a flute of champagne.
“My lady,” he says, toasting me and giving me quite a dashing grin.
I smile at him, wondering not for the first time what kind of person Jack will be if he ever decides to grow up.
“You look so handsome in your suit, Jack,” I say in a sisterly tone, taking a sip of my champagne and letting it fizz through my body. I’m a bit frazzled from the whole thing with the professor and I’m finding Jack’s presence a comfort. He’s the big brother I’ve always wanted.
“I should’ve worn a tux, standing next to you. You look like a queen, Isabella.”
I reward his compliment with a smile, but I’m thinking about the beautiful blonde. I fear she’s queen for the night.
God, I’m pitiful. I’m tempted to confess my stupidity to Jack so he can talk me out of it. Instead I ask him to tell me how he found his new job.
While li
stening to his story, I take another sip. Over the rim of my raised glass, just down the hall, I see Shane Brooks watching me.
And he’s alone.
He doesn’t seem to know I’ve spotted him, for his eyes are traveling down the length of my body, wrapped in form-fitting velvet, and back up again. He looks hungry, and slightly stunned.
I slowly lower my glass, granting him full view of my cleavage, which he lingers on for a moment before finally, slowly, meeting my eyes.
This time neither one of us look away.
One heartbeat. Two.
I lose count as the moment lingers on.
“Ah!” Jack says suddenly, snapping me out of my trance. “Here comes our brigade.”
I glance toward the ladies room exit to see Chloe and Ashley emerge.
Jack offers me his arm and I take it automatically, my eyes darting back to Professor Brooks, who’s still watching me.
A soft ding sounds through the hall, indicating we have only two minutes remaining of the intermission.
“Fair ladies,” Jack says, putting on a grand persona, “may I escort you back to your seats?”
“Only if I can have the rest of your champagne,” Sam says, taking Jack’s glass and downing it. He smiles easily, leading us away.
Still gripping Jack’s arm, I glance back over my shoulder.
Shane Brooks is watching my every move.
I’ve decided women must have a primitive instinct that tells us when to chase, and when to be chased.
Whereas I couldn’t keep myself from looking at Shane Brooks during the first half of the evening, no matter how hard I tried, I’ve now gone to the other extreme. We’re almost to the end of the program and I haven’t glanced at him once.
Maybe it’s because I have a sense that he’s watching me. I can feel it.
Or maybe it’s all in my head.
Either way, the idea gives me a strangely calm sort of exhilaration. I’m going to enjoy it while it lasts.
When Ashley finally comes on stage. I break into a huge smile and enthusiastic applause. She’s wearing a black, beaded dress with a full skirt that reaches the floor. Her long blonde hair is braid free, coming to her waist in gentle, elegant curls.
