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“Good?” he asked.
The citrus hit my throat, along with a few other flavors I couldn’t even begin to place. “It’s delicious,” I said, taking a gulp.
“I thought you’d like it.”
“Ryan!” the woman next to me shouted, and his head jerked toward the sound.
“Yes, m’lady?” Ryan said as he stopped in front of her.
“I’d like one last Adios,” she shouted, and the rest of the girls in the bar yelled, “Pantelones” in unison with her.
Again, I had no idea what was going on, but Ryan winked at me, his sun-streaked hair falling in his eyes, before pulling his shirt off and tossing it near the register behind him.
Nick rolled his eyes, but the smile never left his face as he leaned toward me. “Every freaking night.”
I cocked my head. “Every freaking night, what? He takes his shirt off? I don’t get it?” I tried counting the well-defined abs that were now on display for everyone to enjoy.
“At the end of the night, if a woman orders an Adios Pantelones, Ryan takes his shirt off and makes the drink before he sends them home.”
Confused, I said, “But the drink means take your pants off, not your shirt, right?”
Nick laughed. “Could you imagine if he took his pants off? Frank would kill him, and guys would stop coming here. The idiot takes off his shirt because it makes the girls go all swoony and dumb. And they always come back.”
My jaw dropped open slightly. I could see how that might happen, but didn’t want to admit that to Nick. If I weren’t so into him, I’d definitely come here for the eye candy. The Fisher brothers—these guys should be gracing magazine covers and online websites the world over. They were that good looking.
And the swooning over them that was going on right now, I completely understood it. I just happened to favor the youngest one. Thank God he didn’t work at the bar.
A few days after formal and meeting Nick’s brothers, I believed nothing could stop the roll we were on. We felt solid, and I couldn’t remember ever feeling so content with him as I felt now.
Rachel called out from the hallway, “Jess, you have a letter from Dean Corentha. Did you make his list again?” she asked, teasing me about making the dean’s list last semester for my outstanding grades.
“Did you get one?” I narrowed my eyes at her. Letters from the dean were rare.
“Nope,” she said before bouncing off into her room.
When I opened the letter, my heart started to race with the first sentence.
Dear Miss Michaelson,
* * *
It is with much regret that I must inform you that your major of Film Production will no longer being offered as part of our school curriculum after the spring semester of this current school year. We know that choosing a major is an extremely difficult and personal process, and apologize for the late notice in this matter. If you would like help choosing a new major that we offer, please schedule an appointment with your counselor at your earliest convenience.
* * *
Here at State, we pride ourselves on bringing our students diverse and useful majors that will help you in the real world. If this news means that State is no longer the right home for you, I encourage you to meet with your counselor as soon as possible to discuss your future options, as we may have recommendations and help that we can offer.
* * *
I apologize that this letter does not bring better news. I hope that you will continue your education here at State, but understand if that is no longer an option for you.
* * *
Sincerely,
Dean Samuel Corentha
Shit.
