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“Oh please!” she hissed, leaning forward to whisper, “It’s pretty damn obvious the two of you have a thing for each other.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I replied curtly. “He’s a professor, and I’m a student.”
“A graduate student—”
“So? He has to follow a code of ethics, and I don’t want to be thrown out of my program—”
“So you’ve talked about it with him?”
“It doesn’t matter—”
“It does, especially now. You’re not going to be his student anymore if you’re not taking masters level sociology classes next semester.”
My nostrils flared as I fought back the tears I’d refused to shed over the weekend. If only ending things with Rhys had been as cut and dried as breaking it off with Christian. “We can’t, Jessica.”
My feelings must have shown because Jessica searched my eyes with a pained expression as I slowly sank into my chair, wanting nothing more than to disappear and spend the rest of the day crying in my room.
“Oh, Whitney, are you all right?”
My hands trembled as I reached for my latte. “No.” Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
Jessica reached across the table and squeezed my wrist, her own eyes glassy with understanding. “I won’t bring it up again, okay? Not until you’re ready.”
“Thank you.” My voice was impossibly small.
“I know something that’ll make you feel better.”
“What?” I choked, trying to laugh past the sob threatening to spill from my throat.
“A little town gossip,” she whispered devilishly.
“Oh?” I sipped my coffee and felt leagues better as Jessica diverted the topic of conversation away from a certain professor I wish I could forget about.
“Guess who showed up to my parents’ house for Thanksgiving?”
“I thought this was Gatlington gossip, not Jersey,” I teased.
“I want you to guess.”
“I have no earthly idea, Jessica. Who?”
“Bill Livingston.”
I choked on the mouthful coffee I’d just sipped. “W-What? Why?”
She beamed at my reaction. “We spent the whole break talking.” She smiled, twirling a lock of her crimson hair around her finger. “I teased him about coming for Thanksgiving. How my Italian mother would eat him alive if he actually showed up. He told me not to tempt him with a good time, so I did, of course. And just before we all sat down to eat, there was a knock on the door, and the man himself stood outside with a bottle of fine scotch for Dad and a bouquet of flowers for Mom.”
“What did he get you?”
“A shit-eating grin,” she laughed. “He had everyone, and I mean all forty of us, extended family and all, wrapped around his finger before my Nona had time to help him out of his coat.” She grinned broadly, chuckling at the memory. “He even spent the night.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Not like that. My dad made him sleep on the couch in the garage, but the garage is just down the hall from my room, so...”
“You dog,” I snickered.
“I’m supposed to go out with him tonight. Do you want to tag along? I have a feeling he’s planning on driving me down to the court house to get married.”
