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Why couldn’t I do that?
Because you have no people skills, my brain hopefully points out, but I chase that thought away. Wouldn’t it be easier to do if I had a mask like him? Or at the very least found a way to not show my face?
My eyes dip to my hands on the keyboard and I frown, recognizing the other problem with my scenario. My tattoos are noticeable and unique. They’re easy to see, and it would be easy to identify me off of them.
Though, how many people see my arms that much in class? Usually I’m wearing a light hoodie if I can, or a longer shirt, and I could just start making an effort to do that. Besides that, how many people from my school would everactuallyclick on a link that was of me?
I’m not vain enough to think I’m some godly catch. Sure, my tattoos are great. I love all of them, even the slightly wonky flower on the inside of my right thigh. But I’m not thin enough, not blonde enough, not well-endowed enough to be a standout.
Still, if I could just makesomeextra money by streaming a few times a week, that would be more than worth it. Especially if I could make just a few hundred a week. Just enough to get by, and it’s not like I’d need more than four hundred or so to be able to most likely put some back.
Would it really be so hard? My curious fingers itch to explore, and when it becomes clear thatletsplayjayisn’t streaming today, I let myself head over to the other, more feminine side of the streaming site to see just what exactly I’d have to do if I really wanted to make this work.
Chapter 5
Is it coincidence thatletsplayjaystreams on my least favorite days of the week, just after myleast favoriteclass? It feels like a divine gift, if anything, and I’m thankful for it as I drag myself down the hall of the arts building toward the lounge that’s just outside of Professor Solomon’s classroom. Or at least, the classroom he uses for photography. There’s nothing permanent in it, though I guess classes switch rooms every semester, and it looks like a generic arts room.
But what had I expected? Framed photographs on the walls? Medals? Awards or him standing with celebrities he’s worked with? From what I understand, he’s not that kind of photographer, anyway.
I’m early enough that the classroom door’s shut, and the lights are off, so I go past the room and to the small lounge instead, staring at the vending machine to figure out if I want something to drink. With how my stomach feels, I’m sort of craving a ginger ale. But Professor Solomon has strictly outlawed food and drink from his class, so I’d either have to stuff the bottle into my backpack or chug it on the spot.
It’s not worth it. I sigh internally, sinking down onto the sofa. I’m slightly hungry, but that can wait too. This is my last class,and I’ll head home after this to the apartment that I’m really starting to love.
“Do you want something?” There’s no mistaking the overly friendly voice behind me and I turn, spotting Oliver sitting on one of the couches with his face turned up to me.
When in the world did he get here?
“Oh… no,” I tell him, going to perch on the couch nearest him. Dressed in a v-neck tee and dark jeans that hug his body perfectly, he’s fantastic at edging the line between cute and hot. It’s perfect, in my opinion, and he’s the one good thing about photography class.
“Besides, I’d have to hide it in photography. And I don’t want to chug a ginger ale in three minutes or throw it away, on penalty of death by glares,” I admit ruefully, a half-smile on my face. He makes me nervous, like most humans do, but I’m starting to soften toward him and talk to him almost like I talk to Juniper.
Almost. I’ve even mostly put Monday’s episode out of my mind, where he sat at my table in the courtyard and acted so… strange.
“Oh, hey. Where were you Monday?” I ask, remembering. “You came to see me when I was eating, but then you just didn’t show up here. Did something happen? You umm. Had to meet with Professor Solomon, right? Did he, like, do something to you?”
Oliver, who’s taking a drink from his water bottle, chokes suddenly. It’s almost surreal, and I watch in surprise and confusion as he chokes on water, nearly aspirating in front of me. “Are you okay?” I demand, worried, my hands raised from my lap as if I’m going to do something like give him mouth to mouth or Lassie-run out of here for help.
He nods, working on getting himself under control. His face is red, water bottle forgotten in one hand, and finally he looks at me, eyes watering, with an incredulous look on his face. “I’msorry,” he laughs breathlessly. “I wasn’t expecting that. What do you think Rookdidto me, exactly, Blair?”
“Why do you call him Rook? Isn’t his first name something with an A? Does he know you call him that? Because honestly he doesn’t seem like someone who’s fond of nicknames.” I look behind me, making sure he’s not in one of the offices at this end of the hall. I don’t want him overhearing anything I say and taking it the wrong way.
“It’s…” Oliver trails off, frowning. “It’s his middle name,” he says finally. “And it feelsdisrespectfulto use it. So I do.”
“That seems dangerous.”
“Very.” He coughs again, clearing his throat, before he wipes his eyes on the back of his wrist. “Anyway, no. He didn’t do anything to me. I wasn’t feeling well on Monday, and I knew what he was going over in class. So I skipped. It’s not like Ihaveto attend. I’m just auditing it for fun. I kind of like to think of myself as his TA, actually.”
“Does… he think of you as his assistant?” I ask, skeptical about his take on it.
“Oh, absolutely not.”
“Yeah, I kind of figured.”
I glance at my phone and let out a breath through my nose. “I guess it’s time to suffer. Or, not suffer for you. Since you’re in this class every damn semester.”
“What makes you think I’m not suffering too?” His eyes dance, a smile curling over his full lips as he walks toward the photography room with me. The door’s open now, light on, and inside I see that Professor Solomon is already there.
“Why would you come here if you didn’t like it?” I lower my voice as I ask, eyes on our professor as we walk in.
