What happened in his office? Well, they already agreed that was a mistake. Therefore, it stands to reason that what they’re doing now is wholly innocent.
Just as innocent as her panties in the back of his drawer.
Ramona waits until he’s finished talking with another student, a freshman who wanted some clarification on that week’s assignment, before approaching his desk. “Big Halloween plans?” she asks. In artfully ripped jeans and a soft flannel, she looks absurdly cute. Like an ad for autumn.
He’s not sure where acknowledging that falls in the faculty code of conduct.
“I thought you were going to come up here demanding extra credit for all your participation today.”
A wave of her hand. “I’m sure it’ll be reflected on my next test.”
“I’m going trick-or-treating with my niece,” he says. “What about you?”
“My friend Betty always throws this party. She’s my personal trainer—well, she started out that way, and now she’s probably my closest friend.” She shifts her bag to her other shoulder. “Would you…want to come? After trick-or-treating?”
He considers this. Audrey will probably conk out earlier than she wants to, after the sugar high, and since they canceled pub trivia because of the holiday, he’ll have a free Friday night. This potentially UCLA handbook–approved friendship of theirs was supposed to be about helping Ramona feel normal—but maybe going to a party would help him feel that way, too.
“I could do that,” he finds himself saying.
“Betty’s people are good people,” Ramona adds. And with a lift of her eyebrows: “Maybe you could even meet someone.”
Once she leaves, there’s a knock on the classroom door. Amid-twenties guy in a pumpkin-patterned sweater steps inside, giving Nick a wave. Hunter Page: one of the psychology TAs. Nick taught him as an undergrad, and he was thrilled when he decided to stay on for a master’s. He’s not TA’ing any of Nick’s courses this quarter, but he teaches a section in this room after Behavior in the Brain, so their paths cross a few times a week.
“Hey there,” Hunter says.
“Hunter. Happy Friday,” Nick says as he zips up his messenger bag. “How’s the quarter treating you?”
“Good. Really good.” Hunter awkwardly rubs at a loose orange thread on his sleeve, then glances out the door, down the hallway. “So…Ramona Wilder seems to really like your class.”
The silence that follows makes the room feel cavernous.
Nick hopes he’s not visibly sweating. “I like to hope most students do,” he says, forcing a laugh. He and Ramona didn’t seem overly friendly, did they? And the door was closed. Hunter couldn’t have heard the party invite…at least, Nick doesn’t think so.
Hunter doesn’t smile. “I just…couldn’t help noticing that she sticks around afterward a lot of the time. More than any of the others. And my mom’s a producer, so I know a little about that world.”
Nick has to fight a roll of his eyes. People in LA like to consider themselves experts just because they know someone who works in the industry, when the reality is that just abouteveryoneknows someone who works in the industry.
“Right. She’s had some great questions.” He gets to his feet, shouldering his bag. “She’s been doing really well. Participating a lot in class, too.”
“Just—be careful.” Hunter gives the desk a friendly tap. “Those people know exactly how to get what they want from you.”
—
“I think this is ourbest work,” Audrey says as she draws a final whisker on Nick’s cheek with an eyeliner pencil. She’s dressed all in white, curly red hair peeking out from beneath a chef’s hat. Nick adjusts the gray felt ears on top of his head.
She is Alfredo Linguini; he is Remy the rat.
He loves trick-or-treating with her—he’s gone every year since she was five. It might be the sugar rush, but Audrey’s in particularly good spirits tonight, and they spend the whole evening rating candy selections at each house, marveling at other kids’ costumes, and posing for photos with neighbors. When they get home, Audrey begins meticulously sorting her haul while Lexi finishes up work at the kitchen table.
In the guesthouse, Nick scrubs off the whiskers and changes his costume, because while he loved matching with Audrey and truthfully doesn’t consider himselfthatvain, he’s not sure he wants Ramona to see him dressed as a rodent.
“You going back out?” Lexi asks around a yawn when Nick comes through the main house again, pulling out his car keys.
Sheepishly, he rubs at the back of his neck. “Uh—yeah. Going to a party, actually.”
“Oh? Whose?”
“Someone from school.” Not a lie, exactly, but it settles uncomfortably in his stomach nonetheless. Because what could he tell her—that he’s going to a celebrity party with a former pop star? She’d still be doubled over laughing by the time he got home.
