Eight
Denise
“What?” I finally snap when Sarah has done nothing but watch me, instead of focusing on what Professor Crooke is talking about. She doesn’t even bother to pretend she was doing literally anything else. Instead, her grin widens.
She shifts closer, pen tapping against her desk. “You know as your friend, I feel like I should remind you that it’s not good to keep things bottled up.”
I keep my attention on the front of the classroom. “I’m not bottling anything up. I’m trying to listen.”
I don’t really give a shit about whatever Professor Crooke is saying. After leaving Joffrey, I decided then that I no longer wanted to attend NJCU for my fine arts degrees. Somehow I let Mom talk me into majoring in sports psychology.
Professor Crooke is lucky if I don’t call him out on his toupee that is way lighter than his natural hair.
But avoiding Sarah is more important than my boredom in this class.
Sarah pokes me with her pen and I swat her hand away. A few students look over at us but once I narrow my eyes at them, they go back to pretending we don’t exist.
“Since when do you care about research methodology?” Sarah whispers.
“Since now.”
She waits for me to give her something more but I remain with my legs crossed, laptop open in front of me and typing down whatever random shit is being taught.
I promise I don’t care about the differences between research designs.
I really don’t know why my mom thought psychology would be a good fit for me. I don’t even like talking about my own problems, so why would I want to hear about anyone else’s? The only reason I agreed was because Sarah went on about how we could have a lot of the same classes.
Now I’m starting to regret my decision.
Thankfully, Sarah doesn’t stare at me anymore, busying herself with stealing notes from the guy sitting next to her. She giggles like she doesn’t have a long-distance boyfriend back home in Philadelphia but once class is dismissed, she’s right on my heels despite my attempts to weave through classmates and make it outside before she can catch up with me.
“Come on, D,” she whines. “Were you with Lucas last night or not?”
I keep walking down the hallway, now in a hurry to get to my next class despite also not caring about clinical psychology. I don’t look back at Sarah as I weave through the small crowd of students walking by.
“No,” I say.
“Liar.”
She finally catches up with me so now we’re walking side by side. “Why ask if you’re so confident you know the answer?”
Sarah gasps, yanking my arm and pulling me off to the side so we’re out of the way. I shift my tote onto my other shoulder,crossing my arms and preparing for whatever bullshit is about to come out of her mouth.
She’s one of my best friends but I don’t need to tell her and Bethany about last night. They’ll get way too ahead of themselves and start planning our wedding or some shit. That’s not what last night with Lucas was.
He wanted sex.
I wanted sex.
Mission accomplished.
I’ve scratched the itch. Or at least, I’m trying to convince my body of that but my mind keeps replaying the thrust of his hips and the taste of him in my mouth. I almost put myself in time-out this morning when my hand went to slip past the fabric of my sleep shorts at the memory of Lucas’s skin on mine.
I was supposed to be content with a night with him, goddamn it. Which is why I avoided the gym this morning. And my coffee run to Metric’s. I can’t bump into Lucas right now. Not when my body isn’t quite getting the memo. I’ve found myself wanting a little more of him and wanting things is usually what sets me up for disappointment.
I’m not a good person so why would I deserve good things?
Happily married parents? Not anymore.