Page 9 of Stranger to Love

She raised a questioning eyebrow at me, clearly asking: Are you glaring at me?

I held her gaze, but subtly shifted my chin, making it abundantly clear that the fury in my eyes was directed entirely at the man still standing beside her.

Ms. Davies looked momentarily confused, processing the redirection. Then, a slow, genuine smirk touched her lips, and the inevitable blush started to rise on her neck. She turned to leave the room, carrying that secret, playful acknowledgement with her.

I enjoyed that thoroughly. I wasn’t interested in Blondie for anything more than a bit of fun—a welcome, intrusive thrill—but I didn't think any woman deserved to be pursued by the sheer ick that was Mr. Hubbard.

Business Management finally scraped to a halt. The moment Mr. Hubbard released us, I was out the door and heading straight for the International Business lecture.

It wasn't bad. The lecturer, Dr. Sinclair, was an interesting woman—a bit older with elegant streaks of silver in her dark hair, but she had a genuine air of youthfulness that kept me engaged. She talked about international supply chains like they were something more exciting than pure tax benefits, which was enough to make the hour fly by.

Then came the absolute curse of the timetable: an immediate dash across two university buildings to make it to the Economics seminar. I rushed through the crowded staircases, feeling the residual heat from the blazer against my back, pushing myself not to be late—especially not for Dr. Carter.

I reached the Economics hallway, slightly winded but not visibly sweating, with only two minutes to spare. I paused just outside the classroom door, quickly running a hand over my hair and smoothing out my shirt, trying my best not to look too flustered before making my entrance.

Fuck my actual life.

As I walked in, Ms. Davies and Dr. Carter were both standing at the front of the classroom, huddled in a quiet conversation. They looked up as I entered, clearly catching my slightly flushed state. Dr. Carter’s expression suggested I’d just walked in and personally insulted her face. Ms. Davies, conversely, was visibly trying to suppress a laugh at my expense.

I slumped into my seat next to Holly, who gave me a sympathetic look.

I exhaled hard. “I have a lecture right before this seminar.”

She grimaced. “Shit, that sucks.”

I pressed my lips together and offered a tight, knowing smile.

Mo and Abdul sauntered in a few minutes later. The door barely closed before Dr. Carter’s voice, icy cold, broke the silence of the room. She didn’t look up from flicking to the next slide on the PowerPoint.

“Out.”

She said it calmly, but sternly enough to make them both halt mid-step.

They stared at her, wide-eyed, but she didn’t repeat herself. She simply waited, the silence growing heavy. They exchanged a quick, defeated look. As they turned to leave, Mo muttered loudly enough for the front row to hear, “Bitch.”

Jeez.

She was harsh, but it was their fault for being late; she had made the rules crystal clear on day one. They were in the same lecture as me, and I rushed but didn't run, so they must have dawdled or stopped on the way. If this had been any other place, I would have immediately barked back at him for that comment. I hate it when men call women a bitch. They only ever deploy that word when a woman is being authoritative or opinionated—qualities a man would be commended for.

The temperature in the room felt as if it had dropped ten degrees. I could see the tension in Dr. Carter’s posture; she obviously heard him, but she was choosing to ignore it completely as she carried on with the seminar.

Dr. Carter tapped the board, flipping to a slide with the next set of basic principles—more definitions, more concepts to tackle. Her voice, still laced with that underlying frostiness, instructed us to begin table work immediately.

Holly and I were suddenly a pair instead of a group of four. Great. The permanent seating arrangement just became a lot tighter, and the twins were already on thin ice. We leaned in, trying to dissect the information just the two of us.

Holly’s eyes flicked to me, eyes wide. "Can you believe that? Kicking them out on the first week.” Fear and indignation bled into her hushed voice.

I shrugged, keeping my voice low. "She made the rules clear. If I managed to make it on time, so should they. And calling her a bitch under his breath? That's just out of order."

Holly nodded, conceding the point, and we tried to work through the bullet points. Holly was a bit behind the curve in Economics; her notebook was already filling up with anxious annotations. I carefully talked her through the initial concepts, simplifying the terminology and focusing on the real-world application, which seemed to be the only way to make this stuff stick for her.

A shadow fell over our table.

"Are you two managing this concept?" Ms. Davies asked, her voice soft but authoritative, her eyes fixed entirely on Holly's textbook. "It's a tricky one if you're new to the material."

I smirked, resting my chin on my hand. Ms. Davies was leaning over the table, her presence radiating professional warmth and a faint, lovely scent that definitely wasn’t present on Saturday night. Maybe it was a perfume she only wore for work? She was completely ignoring me, pretending I wasn’t even there—which, given the circumstances, was smart. But the clear, deliberate way she focused her energy on just Holly was thoroughly entertaining. She wanted to help the struggling student, sure, but she also wanted to be nowhere near the club hookup sitting right next to her.

"I think we're getting there," Holly said, already looking relieved as Ms. Davies pointed a slim finger at a definition.