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Crap. Is ‘hell’ a dirty word in their camp?
Whatever. Maybe this is the last time they include me in one of their dining hall outings. A girl who says ‘hell’ is surely on the path to damnation.
Licking our cones in silence, we camp out on the front steps of the campus Dairy Building, a throw-back to when the school was an agricultural university.
“Rose, John says you aren’t liking calc,” Thomas says.
I wrinkle my nose and shudder, my perfect ice cream moment stolen. “Who does like calculus? I mean, can you name a single person?”
The guys look at each other, eyes wide.
“Um, I liked it,” Thomas says.
“Me too,” Matthew adds.
Our gazes shift to John, who shrugs. “I can’t say I liked it, but I did okay in it.”
Great. It’s not enough that the universe made these men more handsome than Greek gods, but also gave them intelligence to spare.
I will not feel sorry for myself. I will not.
“What the problem for you, Rose?” Thomas asks.
I shrug. “Dunno. Just don’t like it. Nor do I understand it. I can’t believe it’s even required here. I mean, I want to become a freaking paralegal. In what world will I need calculus?”
I finish my ice cream and lick the sticky residue off my fingers. The guys, however, are moving much more slowly, eyeing their cones and caressing them with their tongues in a way that is very… distracting.
I’m such a bad girl. Here these guys are, ready to take their vows of poverty, chastity, and a bunch of other things, and I’m looking at them like they are freaking Chippendale’s dancers.
When Matthew catches me staring, the corner of his mouth crooks up into the hottest little smile. Damn him.
He knows I am looking. He knows his smile is hot. This is a man who misses nothing.
“So what did you get in calculus?” I ask, hoping to both put off my studying and extend my time with them.
Matthew looks at his buddies. “I got an A. We all did. It’s not that hard.”
What?
It’s not that hard?
What kind of weirdo says that about calculus?
I’m done here. I get to my feet. Suddenly, studying seems more appealing than hanging out with these men who not only got A’s in calculus, but also have the nerve to say to my face ‘it’s not that hard.’
Assholes.
I hope they develop a little more empathy at God School.
On the other hand… maybe they would give me a hand. That is, if I’m not already too far gone.
Hell, half the class I started with at the beginning of the semester has already dropped out. I suppose I’m hanging on out of sheer stubbornness. But I also know if I don’t pull a decent grade, my paralegal internship will have been nothing more than a pipe dream.
Would the guys help me? Or at least just one of them? I’m sure they’re super busy getting ready for seminary, practicing priestly stuff, reading the bible, and all that.
But maybe they can fit me in? Give me just a little help?
We’re back at the dorm, and I head to my room, waving at the guys over my shoulder.
