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I finish editing a paragraph that Graham added about the methodology we used for our conclusions and it’s immaculate. I add a note.
EmilyMiller:Great addition. No notes except to add a reference to this in the introduction.
I’ve also managed to keep up with my work as if last week never happened. Because it essentially didn’t. We were wearing masks. We have plausible deniability here. So that means I am going to continue to act like it never happened even if my insides areall gooey and confused. I just have to ignore their texts forever, which allude to that night, and continue dodging them after class. I’ve done harder things.
A chime goes off on my computer. A new comment from Deacon Sweet was added.
DeaconSweet:Get your ass to the library or we’re sending this paper in before your final revisions.
I swear. He’s got to be bluffing. They care about their grades and reputation just as much as I do. Every professor in our program has incredible connections and sway in the industry. One sloppy paper could mean losing all of that access. I write back in a panic.
EmilyMiller:You wouldn’t dare.
GrahamSweet:You have one hour.
Oh god. That last comment is from Graham. Graham is just as much of a perfectionist as I am. If he’s willing to do this, then they’re serious.
I rush to the bathroom to throw water on my face and take a look at myself in the mirror. Mostly, my reluctance to see them is delaying facing what happened between us for as long as possible until we can all just forget it. Even though that seems unlikely to happen for me. It’s been almost a week and I can still barely control myself when I think about that night. Blood rushes to my cheek and a delicious warmth burrows under my skin. My body takes over and begs for more of whatever the hell it had that night. So what will happen when I actually see them? I like to think I’m a woman who has my shit together, but they make me feel like a giddy schoolgirl.
But there’s another aspect, too. And I hate it. But they make me feel self-conscious. My eyes have crow’s feet where theirs bounce back. My body and skin have changed even since the last time I’ve been with a man before them. I’ve worked hard on self-acceptance because let’s be real, hating on myself is a waste of time that I simply don’t have. But they’re so damn young and beautiful that, of course, I’m thinking about it. We were wearing masks, and the lighting was dim that night. What would happen if I give myself to them and they decide they don’t want it? How could I recover? I’m already afraid of losing them as my friends, but what if I lose my confidence too?
I’ve worked so hard to empower myself. I need my next steps after grad school to succeed. I don’t have any Plan B, I’m putting everything into starting my business. And I need to be in the right head space for it. Raising capital for a start-up is hard enough for a woman as it is, without being swept up in this chaos. I’m already flustered and distracted from just that one night. What would happen if I gave them more? Or worse, they stop wanting more?
The answer is easy. We will never need to know because we won’t find out. Whatever happened that night will forever be locked away in that club. All I have to do when I see them is keep my demeanor firm and not turn as deep red as the silk dress that’s hanging in my closet because I can’t bring myself to wash their scent off of it.
I rush into the library and scan for them in our usual spot, but they’re nowhere to be found. I pace around, looking for them, my heart racing. It’s been 40 minutes since they sent that message. I couldn’t resist still trying to look my best because, well, I have a pulse.
I spot a tall stature filling one of the private study rooms and already I can feel myself blushing. The last time I saw that silhouette it was…
Focus.
I dart into the room.
“I’m here.” I pant. “Don’t you dare send that paper!” I sit myself down in an empty chair and shuffle in my bag for my laptop and open it up.
Deacon’s troublemaking smile greets me. “Hello, Ms. Miller. We’ve missed you.” He walks over to the table and shuts my laptop closed. “Care to share with us where you’ve been?”
Crap.
I can’t bring myself to look him in the eye for too long. Not without melting into a puddle. Ben closes the door behind me and I wonder why the hell they had to choose a private study room when there were plenty of tables in the main room available. This room is small and filled with the smell of them that immediately takes me back to that night. Those delicious spicy undertones are everywhere.Fine.I’ll just breathe through my mouth then. I won’t be poisoned by their addictive pheromones today.
“I’ve been really busy.” My voice sounds nasally, without a functioning nose.
“Oh? With what?” Ben pries.
“My, uh,” I pause, my brain is short-circuiting as their large frames surround the table. “My, uh… uncle is in town.”
“Your ‘uh, uncle’, huh?” Graham cocks an eyebrow.
“Yup, sorry if I’ve been bad at responding. He’s never been to New York City, so I’ve been so busy showing him everything.” I double down, ignoring his obvious skepticism. I train my eyes on the table instead of Graham because he’s wearing his dress shirt unbuttoned at the top and his sleeves are rolled up. That lookon him has always done intense things to me, but right now it’s downright unfair.
“Oh, that’s nice of you.” I chance to look up at Deacon to see what he’s playing at. He has that gleam in his eye that tells me to brace myself. “Well, you should bring your ‘uh, uncle’ to our box for the Knicks game tonight. We’d love to meet him.”
“Oh,” I frown. “No. Thank you, though.”
“What’s the problem?” Deacon’s eyebrows knit with a bit too exaggerated concern. Why won’t they just politely let me get away with this lie? Just give it to me?
“Well, no need to bore you guys with my uncle. You just have fun without us.”
