Page 42 of Bad Man on Campus

“She’s deserves better than that.”

He chortles. “Like you never had phone sex—”

“She deserves better than meaningless phone sex.”

“You mean like the kind you had?”

“Shut the fuck up and tell me you’re not toying with her.”

“I don’t toy with girls I like, fuckhead. Not that it’s any of your fucking business.”

“Now it’s not my business? You seem to think it’s your fucking business to give me all kinds of advice about women—”

He puts his hands up and sits down. “Okay—truce.” I take a deep breath and, in truth, I’m shocked that he’s had this many words in argument with me.

“I get it. Sorry. Don’t worry about me toying with Phoebe. I do like her and I respect her. I’m not looking to get away with anything. But you should know, I’m interested in seeing where this could go between us.” He turns away like he’s embarrassed.

“That’s cool. I hope it does go somewhere. You’re a good man.”

“She’s a good girl,” he says. The way he looks at me, worry around his eyes, his mouth flattened, makes me hear the words he’s not saying. Unlike Glory. Because I know deep down the main problem between us, the rub I’ve been feeling since school started, is that he thinks Glory is trouble, no good for me. Fuck. I look away.

“How about you? Things okay?” he asks. It’s a loaded question, going far deeper than the casual words spoken routinely and answered routinely with a nod. But this time I don’t do it.

Glory isn’t trouble. She’s in trouble and I desperately need to help her through it. But I don’t fucking know how.

Chapter 10

Glory

Happy to escape the stares and second-hand shade from my association with Kace, I take the shuttle bus to the campus day care. It’s only Monday and already there’s more gossip about the latest IG video rant by the girl from SADD. In the bathroom this morning a couple of girls stopped talking the second I walked in. When I smiled at them, they didn’t smile back. Now I’m relieved to be done with classes and on my way to the one place on campus where I’m not judged. Toddlers don’t care about my past mistakes.

Beau and Belle greet me with silly grins and I shove aside everything else, glad to be in the moment with them, to focus on their sweet faces.

“Time to go out for a walk to the ice cream shop. Who wants to come?” Annie, the assistant director of the center, says in her singsong voice above the fray and gives me a wink. She loves the kids as much as I do. Almost. We pile the kids into the two wagons and set off.

On the way back, Annie gets ahead of me, but I wave her on as I stop to clean up a melting cone all over Belle’s small hands. We’re only steps away from the shop and as I stand to toss the napkin in a nearby barrel, I notice someone familiar turn my way.

“Damn it.” I slap my hand over my mouth and flick a quick apologetic glance at the children. Beau points a finger at me and I want to laugh, but I can’t. My gut’s twisted with anxiety as the familiar person heads over to us.

Phoebe, of all people. Shit. At least I have the poise to keep that word to myself.

“Glory,” she calls out and I turn to her, gathering up my shredded courage, hanging onto Belle’s hand to remind me what’s important.

“Phoebe, fancy meeting you here.”

“Yeah. Fancy.” She flicks a disinterested glance at the five children in my wagon as they all stare up at her.

Beau says, “You’re pretty.” And grins at her, chocolate ice cream framing his mouth.

“You’re cute,” she says, bending down to give him her attention. “What’s your name?” She asks them each their name and how old they are and I can tell they like her. She’s good with them. So I decide not to tell her that Beau tells every woman over twelve he sees that they’re pretty.

She stands and says, “Fun job you have.” I nod. We run out of things to say. But then she pulls me a step away and lowers her voice.

“Something’s really puzzling me, Glory. It makes no sense. I don’t get how Kace could be so over you for three years that he’s never mentioned your name once to anyone, no one’s ever heard of you, and then, boom, you show up on campus and it’s like you’ve come back from the dead. Were you, like, in a coma or something for three years?”

I realize she’s dead serious about her question, so I bite down on the hysterical laugh, my head buzzing from the nip. Don’t say anything. Do not spill your guts to this woman no matter how desperate and innocent she seems. Kace is your first priority.

“No coma. You’re nuts.” I emit a small false chuckle of amusement, as if she’s being silly when she’s anything but. I can tell she cares about Kace, that she was hurt by the demise of their relationship, and I truly feel for her.