“Gwen, stop,” I rolled my eyes in exasperation. “I shouldn’t date anyone right now. I always seem to choose the worst guys.”
Gwen’s lips twisted into a devious smile. “Yeah, I know,” she said with a shrug. “That’s why I stick to women.”
I gave a snort but couldn’t stop myself from returning her ribbing with a grin. “My father taught Sappho, you know.”
Gwen gave a wistful sigh.
My boots crunchedover the frosted grounds the next morning as I trudged toward the west side of campus, where the faculty offices and lounge were located. Students weren’t strictly allowed access to the lounge, but it was early enough that I could sneak in and grab a coffee without fearing detection.
The door to the lounge creaked on its hinges as it swung open, revealing a richly decorated room with warm, walnut walls and built-in bookshelves that reminded me of my father’s office at Portland College. It even smelled a bit like his office—like old parchment and pipe smoke. I smiled in spite of myself. One of the professors had left an old folio sitting on the counter. It was one of my father’s favorites,Henry IV Part I.I felt the smile slip from my lips. Malcolm Flynch had moved through life with a hurricane-like intensity that was unstoppable and enthralling to behold. His students were bewitched by his magnetic personality and booming voice, which he brandished like a weapon. His passion for Shakespeare and the classics—the way he rendered characters likeFalstaff and Hercules to life—was sorely lacking among the rest of the college’s dusty, dried-up faculty. But when he was denied tenure, everything came to a halt. The school board members had cited his “mercurial” temperament and “unreliability” in their committee report. They had decided that my father’s eccentricity was more trouble than his popularity was worth.
Without his teaching and research to provide him structure, he unraveled at the seams. I shuddered at my last memory of him, gray-haired and languishing in his chaise longue, ashes strewn across the floor, on his desk, between the keys of his typewriter. When I left home, he’d been living in his study following an explosive argument with my mother, who had finally had enough of his drinking and moping. It pained me to imagine him sleeping on the sofa in that drafty office, surrounded by the scattered pages of his unpublished manuscript. In the ensuing weeks, my father’s publisher had finally given up on him, too.
Abandoning the shelves, I moved toward the espresso machine and began my illicit use of it. I added coffee grounds to the tamper before placing my cup beneath the spout. Soon, the smell of brewing coffee filled the room, and I inhaled deeply before taking a sip.
“What are you doing?”
I jolted, and the cup fell from my hands and shattered on the floor. I looked up, expecting to see an irate professor. “Casimir!” I exclaimed as my stomach did a somersault. I clutched my chest, trying to still my hammering heart. “What the hell are you doing here?”
His lips curled into an infuriating smirk, and I bent to clean the mess left by the broken cup.
Casimir clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “My, my, Farrow. Here I was, thinking you were such a stickler for rules. Then you go and break into the faculty lounge, steal coffee?—”
“I didn’t break in,” I said, a little defensively, glowering up at him from the floor. “The door was unlocked.”
Casimir replied with an amused snort.
To my dismay, his attractiveness had not diminished overnight. This morning, he wore black jeans and a charcoal wool sweater beneath his leather jacket. His dark curls appeared tousled from the wind, his chestnut eyes rendered brighter by the morning light.
When he spoke again, I realized I’d been staring. I looked away, feeling my cheeks burning.
Casimir drawled, “You ran away so quickly last night that I didn’t get the chance to ask you something.”
I chucked the ceramic pieces into the trash and then sliced my gaze back to his. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?” I demanded.
Casimir merely stood there, wearing that arrogant, lazy smirk that was starting to irk me.
Gritting my teeth, I relented. “Okay, I’ll bite. What did you want to ask me?”
“Last night when I—” he began.
“Eavesdropped?”
“Overheard your conversation with August, he mentioned something about joining a secret society on campus.”
“So?” I gave an irritated huff and began making another cup of coffee.
His eyes burned with curiosity. “Do you remember the name of the one he was rushing?”
I frowned. “I’m not sure. Why does it matter? You don’t even know August.”
He hesitated. “I was just curious.” He gave a shrug that seemed intentionally casual.
I tamped down the coffee grounds harder than necessary. “If you want the information, you’ll have to tell me why you want to know.”
It was Casimir’s turn to look annoyed. “I don’t want anyone else getting involved.”
Too late, I thought. My curiosity was officially piqued. “Involved with what?” I asked innocently, my lips curving into a saccharine smile.