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“Yes, of course.” I ran up to him as he rounded the desk. “Thank you.”
“I’ve graded my last paper for the day. We’ll make it an oral test.”
My eyes moved on their own power, drifting to his mouth at the word oral. The ghost of his soft, sweet lips brushed mine—rippling goose bumps down my arm.
“Miss Sinclair? Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I cried—a little too loud. “I’m fine. Also fine with an oral test.”
“Good.” He pointed. “You start on those boxes, I’ll start these. I arrange my books in alphabetical order by author last name.”
I bounced from him to the boxes. “There is no Mrs. Lawson, is there? This was all a ploy for unpaid labor.”
Adonis cracked up. My stomach fluttered like a stupid traitor.
I liked making him laugh the night we met. Apparently, I was still hooked on the drug.
Setting my stuff on the chair, I picked up a box and got to work.
“List three examples of an ethical appeal,” he began.
“Three examples are...”
We went back and forth for twenty minutes, asking and answering back and forth, filling the shelves with his collections. Professor Anthony’s taste spanned the genres. They even spanned languages—Latin, French, and Spanish.
How could his parents turn away such an impressive man? Goodness, he could be a drug-addled bum and I still wouldn’t understand why they kicked him out of the family. Especially now that he needs them the most.
“Last question,” Adonis said. “A celebrity endorsement in an ad is an example of which: ethos, logos, or pathos.”
“Ethos. Their purpose is to add credibility to their product. Eva Longoria loves this stuff, you will too.”
“Excellent. Well done, Miss Sinclair.”
I puffed up like a peacock. After a week and a day of being treated, and feeling, like crap, it was nice to get a compliment.
Winter’s letter crinkled under my palm. I wish Adonis was here when you were. He would’ve fought for you.
We stood side by side at the bookshelves, my quick glances in his direction going unnoticed.
“Professor Anthony,” I began. “Can I ask you something?”
“That depends. Is it a personal question?”
I inclined my head. “That also depends. Do you consider the reason you go by Professor Anthony instead of Professor Wilson personal?”
“Yes,” he clipped.
I waited a beat. “Does that mean you won’t tell me?”
“It does.”
“Then, can I ask why you won’t tell me?”
He gave me a look, pulling a giggle out of me. “I exasperated the nuns too. Sister Mary got sick of me questioning biblical teachings and stopped calling on me in class.”
Another quick quirk of the lips. I didn’t imagine it that time, though it was over as soon as it started.
“I am your professor, Miss Sinclair. It’s best we steer clear of personal questions.”
I hummed. “Can I challenge that idea with a little logos?”
“Give it your best shot.”
“Okay, first, I’m not just your student. I’m engaged to your brother. I’m the new guest at Friday night dinner. Professors and students don’t trade personal questions, but sisters- and brothers-in-law do.”
“In that case, it’s still my choice how much of myself I wish to share. You’re not marrying me.”
“Which brings me to the final argument,” I said, voice dropping to a whisper. “What else could there be to say that’s more personal than the things we’ve shared already?”
The lines of his back went rigid.
“We bared our souls over a bottle. Explaining why you go by a different last name over a pile of books doesn’t come close.”
He gave me a long look. “I may be too good of a teacher.”
I grinned lopsidedly. “Meaning you agree with me?”
“Meaning I will answer your question if you agree to never bring up that night again.”
“That’s not a fair trade.”
“Excuse me?” Folding his arms, he leaned on the shelves. “A fair... trade?”
“You’re bargaining for my silence. My mom used to ply me into the quiet game by promising me candy at the end of the car ride. I never lasted longer than five minutes.” I mirrored his stance. “What if I agree and the secret, personal story behind your alias is you once had a pet hamster named Anthony?”
“Will you take my word that it’s not?”
“Would you?”
Chuckling, he replied, “No, I’d stretch me over the barrel till I broke in half. But we’ve established that I’m not a nice man.”
“I get to ask you five questions. You answer them all honestly and I’ll never speak of that night to you, anyone else, or to my diary.”
“Two questions,” he shot back.
“Five.”
“Three.”
“Five.”
“You’re a stubborn one,” he said, shaking his head. “Three is my final offer. Take it or leave it.”
“I’ll take it... and ask the final two another time.”
Adonis looked to the ceiling for help. The nuns used to do that too.
“First one, why do you go by Professor Anthony?”
He shifted to the boxes, resuming our task. “I go by that because it’s my last name. John Wilson is my stepfather.”
