“I almost don’t want to tell you.”
“Well, you gotta now.”
“You’re going to feel really bad. So bad you’ll want to make it up to me.”
Elizabeth snorted. “I cannot be guilted, good knight. I challenge you to do your worst.”
Wickham paused suddenly and hung his head. “Coffee.”
“What?”
“You’re keeping me from coffee.”
Her eyes widened. “I stand corrected.”
He raised his head and grinned, his eyes twinkling. “Coffee is what makes the campus go ‘round. I usually head out to chug a cup or twelve before my first class.”
“A solid game plan.”
“Thus far, it hasn’t let me down.”
They continued navigating the corridors until the air began to break with chatter and thicken with other students. Apparently, Elizabeth had chosen the entrance that took her along the scenic route. Yet she couldn’t say she was disappointed at the moment, her spirits lighter. Flirting with Wickham was a nice palate cleanser, even if he was a walking cliché. Not all clichés warranted avoidance.
“Here we are,” Wickham said, drawing to a halt outside Room 127. “Your classroom awaits.”
Elizabeth held out her arms. “My books, if you would?”
“A true gentleman would escort you to your seat.”
“Then let’s be thankful there are no true gentlemen here,” she retorted.
Wickham grinned and slid her books into her waiting arms. “I’ve learned something new about myself today.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Apparently I have a thing for pain. Would you like to grab coffee with me after your class?”
“Coffee. With you.”
“I’m going to be at the Meryton Mudhouse all day,” he said, then rounded his eyes in an imitation of a puppy dog look. “All alone.”
“You don’t have classes?”
“Not on Fridays. Fridays are my official get-the-jump-on-homework day. Best way to enjoy the weekend is to not have a deadline looming.”
She could definitely see the wisdom in that. “You’ll have to teach me your secret.”
“You know what they say about great magicians.” Wickham smiled broader and edged nearer, bordering on the personal-bubble line without quite stepping over it. “Allow me to buy you a cup of coffee. You know, as a repayment for knocking you on your butt this morning.”
“Here I thought the classroom escort had us squared.”
“No. This was all for me.”
Elizabeth found herself fighting a grin. This was good. A nice non-threatening guy to get her mind off a certain someone else. Odds were her senses would return to her by the time Monday rolled around where Will was concerned, anyway, but in case they didn’t, it didn’t hurt to have a back-up plan. And while she wasn’t up for a relationship, she certainly wasn’t going to cross off the possibility of sex.
“I might be tempted to…meander toward Meryton Mudhouse following class,” she replied at last.
“Oooh. Suspense. I love it.” And from the sparkle in Wickham’s warm green eyes, he was telling the truth. “I’ll leave you to it then.”
“See you,” she replied, taking a step into the classroom. “Or not.”
“Or not,” he agreed, then turned and disappeared into a throng of bustling students.
By the time Elizabeth had claimed a seat, she was smiling broadly and earning suspicious looks from her classmates. She couldn’t blame their curiosity. After all, no one got that jazzed about calculus.
Except people who had coffee dates to look forward to afterward.
* * *
George Wickham was definitely not difficult to pick out in a crowd. It wasn’t until Elizabeth met his eyes across the coffee house that she appreciated just how tall he was. He dwarfed the space he had claimed, making everything around him—from the tables and chairs to the bustling baristas—look teeny in comparison. He was also—she had to say—a Grade A Hottie. Massive shoulders gave way to muscular arms that looked like they ought to be registered as official weapons. A firm, broad chest led to an almost too-perfectly tapered waist. He had a strong jaw and prominent chin, and was saved by being too pretty by a nose that had been broken at least once. His deep brown hair was short and neat, and seemingly cut in such a way as to accentuate the angular lines of his face.
He was Will’s physical opposite. Well, that wasn’t fair. She’d seen firsthand how Will looked without a shirt on and it was definitely nothing to sneeze at, and even she could admit he had a nice face. The difference boiled down to body type, really—Will just had a leaner build than Wickham. Also, he was a few inches shorter, though given Wickham’s near giant-like status, that wasn’t saying much.
Also, she needed to stop comparing this guy to Will right the hell now.
It occurred to Elizabeth, after Wickham took it upon himself to start waving, that coffee dates were usually better when both parties were at the same table and not separated by the length of the café. A twinge of heat touched her cheeks, but she ignored it and started making her way through the crowd.
“Calculus,” Wickham said by way of greeting. “Long time no see!”
“Apparently long enough for you to forget my name,” Elizabeth retorted as she claimed her seat. “How goes the homework?”
He cast a mournful eye to the notebook on the table. “Well, it’s hard to tell at the moment. The morning’s been a little tense. It gets mouthy with me, I get mouthy with it, we both say things we regret, and getting back on track just seems to take longer the more often we fight.”
She snorted. “You often anthropomorphize your work?”
“That was an impressive word, that. Really impressive.”
“It means to give inanimate objects feelings.”
Wickham’s eyes went wide. “Shh,” he rasped, bracing his hands over the notebook. “It’ll hear you.”
Elizabeth shook her head, trying to hide a grin. “So, what’s the subject?”
“I didn’t have any talking points prepared. Should I have?”
“I mean, what are you taking?” She waved at the notebook. “If I’m going to make your homework cry, I’d like to at least know if it deserved it.”
“Homework always deserves it,” Wickham replied. “And religious studies, actually. This class is on the historicity of Jesus Christ.”
Well. That was heavy. Elizabeth blinked. “Are you going into that field?”
“Leaning more toward teaching, myself. Religious studies. It’s fascinating.”
“That’s…” She didn’t know what to say.
“A waste of time,” Wickham supplied, “an expensive nap, a nice way to end up unemployed?”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“It’s okay. Seriously.” He shrugged. “I’ve always been taken with it—religious studies, that is. When I first got here I didn’t know what I wanted to be when I grew up, so I started taking classes that appealed to my interests. Seven religious studies courses later, and this better be my major or I’m in a lot of trouble.”
Elizabeth laughed. “So I guess the look I was giving you…”
“The patented what the hell are you thinking look of judgment. I can spot it a mile away.”
“I’m not judging you! I think it’s great that you know what you want to do.”
He raised his coffee mug to his lips. “Do you? Is it calculus? Because that’d be…dull. And full of math.”
“You know, you’d think I would, but the thing I wanted to be when I first came to college is very different than it is now.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You know you have to give me more than that, don’t you?”
“You’re awfully demanding.”
“And you know how to build suspense. Wait. Is that it? Are you going to write mysteries?” He brightened. “I love mysteries!”
Another laugh bubbled off her lips, and she felt her skin going even warme
r. “Psychologist,” she corrected. “This is up from going into business school. I think my life’s ambition once upon a time was to become a CPA. How dull can you get?”
“Not much,” Wickham agreed sagely.
“Hey!”
“What? I was agreeing with you.” He took another sip of coffee. “So when did you have this aha moment? Hopefully before you spent too much money on boring accounting classes.”
“They could be interesting,” she protested.
“Yeah, they could if they weren’t about accounting.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway.” She waved a hand. “I’m a freshman this year.”
Wickham’s eyes bugged. “Get out.”
“Afraid it’s true.”
“What happened? Are you a very mature eighteen or—”
“It’s a long story.” That she didn’t want to get into out of fear of chasing him off. “And are you saying I look old?”
“Yes, because that’s exactly the way I meant for you to take that.” He shook his head. “Are you saying I should be attracted to teenagers? What does that say about me?”
Elizabeth preened, straightening her shoulders. “You are very smooth.”
“Kind of you to notice. And even if it is a long story—why you’re just getting started—I’d like to hear it.”
“I took a break that I thought would be short. It wasn’t, so I’m just now getting back.”
“That’s not what I’d call a long story. How old are you now?”
“That’s one of those questions you’re not supposed to ask.”
“I like to live dangerously.”
She chuckled again. “Twenty-four.”
“And you got into Meryton?” He blinked, visibly impressed.
“Enrollment exams, scholarship applications, and one painfully large student loan later, yes.”
“Why here? There are tons of schools—”
“But there’s only one Meryton. And the psych program here is supposed to be the best in the country. They also have a good English department, if I decide to write mysteries on the side.”
Wickham nodded absently, staring at her in wonder. “So…you’re kind of like a superhero.”
“What?”
“You got in to Meryton like that? I’ve heard nightmares about people trying to get accepted and being asked to do pretty much everything, including but not limited to sacrificing a virgin, and still being turned down.” He gave himself a shake. “Starting like that…with student loans…”
She wiggled, the pleasant warmth morphing slowly into something that was anything but. “I’m not the only finely aged freshman here,” she argued. “There’s Will Darcy.”
Had she not been looking right at him, she might have missed it. As it was, the darkening of Wickham’s face was obvious, as was the intense dislike that flashed in his eyes.
He looked over her shoulder and, if possible, stiffened even further. “You’re right. There’s Will Darcy.”
Elizabeth frowned and twisted in her seat. Sure enough, Will was standing by the door, looking rumpled in a sexy way that annoyed her for reasons she couldn’t say. Maybe she’d hoped that the next time she saw him, he wouldn’t appear nearly as lickable as he had that morning. But even the shirt he wore accentuated his lean, muscular physique in ways yesterday’s wardrobe hadn’t.
He met her eyes over the crowd as though he’d sensed her near. Then his gaze shifted to Wickham, and a shadow fell across his face.
So that dislike was mutual. Noted.
Elizabeth looked at him a moment longer—likely too long to be polite—before turning back to her companion. “You know it’s going to be obvious that we’re talking about him now, don’t you?”
Wickham was still glowering, though at her voice, he at least attempted a smile. “Sorry,” he said, waving in Will’s direction. “I wasn’t expecting to… Well, I wasn’t expecting that.”
The part of Elizabeth that didn’t want to be nosy declared war on the part of her that hungered for information. She’d never considered herself a gossip, but she was human—if there was a story about someone she knew, she wanted to hear it.
“So…you obviously know each other,” she blurted before she could help it. “Either that or… Well, I don’t have a good analogy here.”
This time, the smile that crossed Wickham’s face was genuine. “Yes,” he replied, though his tone was clipped in such a way that didn’t invite questions, “I guess you can say that.”
Too bad. Elizabeth was going to ask anyway.
“I take it this story doesn’t end with a secret handshake and the pledge to remain best friends forever.”
“No,” Wickham agreed. “But that’s how it starts.”
She blinked and waited for him to continue.
He cleared his throat and leaned forward. “How, ah, do you know Will?”
“My roomie-slash-bestie is dating his friend.”
“Charlie?”
Her eyebrows rose. Wickham knew Charlie too. This was interesting.
“Yes.” She paused. “Does Charlie also warrant cross-room stare downs? If so, I need to know. I have a shovel with his name on it if he hurts Jane.”
At that, the smile on Wickham’s face grew. “You’re not one to cross, are you?”
“Just try me.”
“No, thank you.” He held his hands up. “To put your mind at ease, Charlie’s a really good guy. He’s possibly the happiest person I’ve ever met.”
“Happiest?”
“Well, it’s what he puts out there, being so chipper all the time. I swear, you could run over that guy’s dog and he’d apologize for having such a fragile animal. He’s like a walking Xanax advertisement.”
Elizabeth snorted. “Yeah. I can see that. He’s seemed like a good guy, but it’s good to hear it from someone else.”
Wickham nodded. “Understandable. Considering…” He peered over Elizabeth’s shoulder, and from the look on his face, more silent eye-wars were occurring behind her. “Well, things.”
She leaned back and crossed her arms. “You know you’re going to have to tell me more, right?”
Particularly since she was starving for information that would make Will less attractive to her.
“As much as I’d love to go into all the ways Will Darcy is a shitty human being, I don’t want to make things awkward for you.” He pulled a face. “I hate coming between friends. It’ll make it really weird when I ask you out.”
“You’re going to ask me out?”
He gave her a look that said duh and soldiered on. “It’ll make things especially weird after we’ve been together long enough to do the merging.”
“Merging.”
“Of friends. You know, you can’t be with a guy who hates your friends, and I want to show you off to all of my friends because none of them would believe a girl like you could go for a guy like me without witchcraft involved.”
Elizabeth crossed her arms. “We’ve known each other two hours and you already have our relationship mapped out?”
Wickham shrugged. “I said I was coming here to work, but thinking about you was so much more fun.”
“I can’t decide if I’m flattered or creeped out.”
“Go for option A. Looks much better on me.”
She fought a grin. “Well, seeing as you’ve decided you’re my future boyfriend, I can assure you that Will and I aren’t friends.”
That technically wasn’t a lie. They weren’t really anything.
“Oh?”
“I’ve known him for less than a week. My first impression was he’s a condescending jerk.” Also not a lie. “Not going to be making him a friendship bracelet anytime soon.”
Wickham seemed to consider this, his brow furrowed. Then he released a long sigh, sat back, tossed another look over Elizabeth’s shoulder, and nodded.
“I try not to be mad about it,” he started. “It’s been a long time, but it still…”
It suddenly occu
rred to her that this might be more than just a petty grudge. The pain on Wickham’s face was real and intense, and she suddenly felt like the world’s biggest asshole. Pain like that shouldn’t be forced to the forefront, especially if it had taken time to…
Well, anything.
“Hey,” she said softly. “You don’t need to tell me. I shouldn’t have pried.”
“No,” Wickham replied, shaking his head. “No, it’s okay. I’m apparently going to have to see him around campus, so I might as well get this off my chest now.”
She pressed her lips together and waited.
“We grew up in Derbyshire. Have you heard of it?”
“Not ringing any bells.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. It’s this small town in North Carolina, where all the wealthy cotton planters built their fancy townhouses before the Civil War.”
“You’re from North Carolina?”
He nodded. “We both are.”
“But you…”
“Don’t have an accent?” He smiled. “Yeah. Well, I ended up moving away after…after this and I’m very easily suggestible.”
“Will doesn’t have one, either.”
“That’s because he worked very hard to get rid of it when we were kids,” Wickham said. “He never thought anyone would take him seriously if he sounded like he came from where he came from. And if there’s one thing about Will Darcy, it’s image is everything.”
Elizabeth’s throat tightened, her mind dragging her back a week to the pre-semester party. Yeah, she could believe that about Will.
“The Darcys are old money,” Wickham continued. “The only kind that mattered after the war. They were one of the only families in the area that didn’t lose their fortune during the War Between the States. Many planters in that time made deals with the Union army to avoid having their crops burned, and Derbyshire was always home to Union sympathizers. The Emancipation didn’t hit Pemberley like it hit other homes, either. Namely because they didn’t rely on slave labor.”
“Convenient.”
“Yeah, well… I think the story goes that Fitzwilliam Darcy the First fell head over heels for a northern girl who happened to be a devout abolitionist. She refused to marry him unless he freed his slaves, thinking he never would because that would’ve been insane at the time.” Wickham shrugged. “If the story’s to be believed, he did.”
A Higher Education Page 11
