As my hand hits the doorknob, he calls out in a hushed voice, “Tenebris invicti.”
Darkness is invincible… Now,whywould he say that?
Befuddled, I tilt my head for a moment and consider him as he leans over the papers on his desk. The only change on his face is a grin, hidden as he shuffles a wooden puzzle on his desk.
I don’t second-guess myself. I don’t revisit choices. Once I decide something, it’s done. Final. That certainty has been one of my defining traits.
Except now there’s a slip of paper in my pocket that feels heavier than it should. Proof that I was wrong about one thing.
I thought I wouldn’t care who I was appointed to. I told myself it wouldn’t matter. That I wouldn’t feel anything at all.
As I step into the white light outside, the certainty I walked in with doesn’t follow me. The president. The process. My own indifference. None of it sits right anymore.
My thoughts splinter—images and memories I didn’t invite clawing their way in. An ache settles deep in my chest when a flash of freckles and gold crosses my mind. I don’t understand it.
But I know this:There’s no fucking way I’m staying appointed to Hailey Twinston.
eight
It’s notthat I don’tlikeclasswork. I’m just above it.
I didoneset of problems for College Algebra, and now I get it. Done.Whydo they insist that I do twelve thousand more? On a Sunday. The weekends should be protected from having to do any work.
Also, the fact that I even have totakealgebra sets my brain on fire. I’m an interior design major. The university is trying to scam us out of more money by forcing us all to take classes we don’t need and keeping us here longer.
Could I have skipped it and selected another math course if I were on schedule with mypeers? Yes. Missing that year of high school was traumatic in more ways than one.
And I’ll never stop paying for it.
Nonetheless, here I am. A good student, sitting in the library…doing math problemsand not even the kind I can use a computer to help me with.No! I had to get one of those granola teaching assistants who insisted we all use a pencil and show our work.
I did the first five and have a hand cramp. I should sue.
“Will you quit making that sound?” Julien snaps at me in a harsh whisper.
“What sound?”
“That…thatsiiighyou do.”
I suck in my cheeks. Do I do that all the time now? Probably. I bat my lashes at him as he trails a hand through his dirty-blond hair. He wears it a mess when we’re not at a party, apparently.
“Jules?”
He doesn’t look up from some architecture textbook. “What?”
“Will you do some algebra problems for me?”
Slowly, his gaze travels up my body with a flirty half-grin. “Ash?”
“What?”
“You can use those fuck-me eyes. That cute little pout you got. Your incredible tits and ass… And I’m still uninterested.”
I toss my napkin from our coffee break at him with a snort, but he snatches it out of the air.
“But no. There’s no way I’m doing your homework. We’re not even really friends,remember?” he says, taking a sip of his cold brew with an arched, pointed eyebrow.
I straighten my shoulders. “Isupposeif Iwereto have a friend, you’d be it. But that doesn’t mean we do stuff together.”