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There’s definitely something up with the Black Rose gang. Something more than the usual shit they get up to, I mean. Sloan’s refusal to talk about it yesterday only makes me more certain that I’m right.
I want to know what it is and how my dad fits into it, and more than that, I need to get something I can use against them to keep them from fucking with me or Dad ever again.
Professor Kennings drones on and on up at the front of the room, talking about symbolism and character growth or something like that, and it’s easy to let myself daydream instead. Usually, I’m more attentive in class than this. I at least try to be anyway, but today I really can’t help it.
Instead of English literature, my thoughts are back at the house, jumping back and forth between memories of my confrontation with Sloan and rolling around on the floor with Rory.
“Ms. DeLeon?”
I nearly jump when I hear my name and finally come back to focus to see the professor looking right at me, one eyebrow raised expectantly.
The rest of the class is silent and watching, half of them looking at me, and half of them watching Kennings. I get the feeling he’s asked me a question that I definitely did not hear, and he’s waiting for an answer.
“Well?” he adds. “I’m sure you have some input here.”
For a second I stare at him, trying to remember anything about what he was just talking about so I can put together some kind of answer, but it’s mostly a blank. The last thing I can remember him saying was something about the countryside, but I can’t actually tell how long ago that was. The lecture could have moved on to anything by this point, and unless he’s been lecturing about the way Rory’s collar bones look in a tank top, I’ve got nothing.
There’s a hiss from my left, and I glance over to see one of the guys in the class looking at me. He smiles and then leans in a little, the fact that we’re close to the back of the room hiding the motion.
“Heathcliff,” he whispers to me, then grins.
Sure, okay. It’s not like I have anything to lose, and I’m willing to bet that saying something is better than staring like an idiot and saying nothing at all.
“Heathcliff,” I repeat, raising my voice a little.
Professor Kennings narrows his eyes at me, looking like he’s been deprived of a moment of joy. But instead of saying anything or calling me out again, he just nods and moves on, talking about how sometimes the villain in a story will be represented by the atmosphere or the setting.
As Kennings goes back to rambling and pacing at the front of the room, I breathe a sigh of relief and shoo
t the guy next to me a grateful look. Now that I’m not panicking about being put on the spot, I recognize him. His name is Dean Something-or-Other, I think, and he has at least one other class with me. He’s tall, with dark hair and blue eyes, and the sort of build that makes me think he played sports in high school.
But that’s basically all I know about him. We’ve never really talked, but there’s a sort of camaraderie that comes from us both sitting near the back for the few weeks we’ve been in this class.
Dean smiles back and mouths “no problem,” before going back to his notes while Kennings drones on.
Annoying as it is to be called out like that, it definitely takes me away from the thoughts I don’t want to be having in the first place. Luckily, the class ends soon after that, giving me a break from the stifling air of the classroom and the chance to get up and move around to clear my head. As usual at the end of class, we all stream out of the building and into the sunshine. I’m glancing around to see where Levi’s lurking when I hear someone call my name behind me.
Dean strolls up, smiling, slinging a bag over his shoulder. He looks even better out of the washed out light of the classroom, and I can’t help but smile back.
“Kennings is a dick sometimes, huh?” he asks.
“Oh yeah, definitely. He hasn’t called on me for the whole semester, but the one time I’m not paying attention, he decides to put me on the spot in front of the whole class.” I shake my head and smile back.
“I think he gets off on it sometimes,” Dean says. “He looked so disappointed when he didn’t get to shame you in front of everyone.”
I make a face at that. “I really don’t want to think about what gets Kennings off, actually.”
The man has a face like a toad, and the attitude to match. I’d almost rather go back to thinking about Rory than think about my professor getting any kind of gratification up there in front of us. Almost.
“Thanks for the save though,” I add. “I would have made an idiot of myself without you.”
“My pleasure.” Dean shrugs, giving a little nod. “You seemed like you were thinking about things a lot more important than Wuthering Heights.”
You have no idea.
Ugh. I will myself not to blush. The last thing I need is for this guy to ask me what I was thinking about, because there’s no socially acceptable way to explain that my head was full of thoughts about fucking one of the men who’s basically keeping me hostage, and I don’t have a convenient lie in place just yet.
Instead, I just force a little laugh and smile at him. “Yeah, that’s not hard to do. If this class wasn’t a requirement for Gen Ed, I’d have dropped it in a heartbeat.”
