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She smiled at my expense as we started walking, passing Greek Row and letting the party fade behind us.
“What brought you to Gatlington?” Whitney glanced at me expectantly.
I shifted the weight of her enormous textbooks in my arms. “A job.”
“Obviously.” She grinned widely enough to cause a dimple in one cheek. The fierce, stone-cold serious student I’d faced off with in the hallway this morning wasn’t the same person I looked down at now. Dan Montague had been correct when he said Whitney was multifaceted and sharp, but he’d left out that she was hard to read.
I smirked down at her, noticing the playful look in her eyes. “You thought I was a student this morning, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.” She laughed, bunching up her fingers in the holes of her sweatshirt. “I was surprised to find out you were old enough to teach here at all, let alone a graduate level course.”
“How old do you think I am?” It was my turn to laugh. I stopped walking and turned to face her.
She shrugged, her cheeks pink from the cold. “Well, if it’s true you hold not one, but two doctorate degrees, then I doubt you’re under the age of forty.”
“I’m thirty-three.”
“Hmm...” She cocked her head to the side, examining me closely. “Why sociology and archeology?”
“You looked me up.”
Whitney smiled, her eyes shining with mischief. “I needed to confirm that my education was in good hands. Anyway—” She turned and started walking again. “Why those two subjects?”
“They do overlap. I always wanted to go into archeology, and I felt like the study of groups rather than a broad background in history would set my research apart from my colleagues.” The end of the trail leading to the center of campus came into view, the massive stone building housing the library rising in the near distance. For whatever reason, I felt a pang of regret we’d reached it so quickly. Maybe it was because I knew so much about Whitney already—her accomplishments, her reputation on campus, and the like.
But this girl in front of me wasn’t the ice-cold queen of campus I’d assumed she’d be.
“That’s why I’m taking art history classes this semester as well,” she said, her eyes crinkling with pleasure. “Society influences art, and vice versa.”
“You’re right. Keep that up and you’ll do well in my class.” There was a touch of heat in my tone, something unintended.
Her smile faltered and was quickly replaced by something I could only describe as calculated and fierce. “I always do well in class.”
Ah, there it was. The Whitney Dahl I’d heard so much about. The look in her eyes told me everything I needed to know—she’d give me a run for my money during lectures. She’d challenge me.
Maybe in more ways than one.
I looked down at her bag, turning it so I could see the titles. Some of them were the books I’d mentioned as study materials in my syllabus. She’d bought every single one, and most of them were already leafed with bookmarks.
“What do you do for fun?” I laughed, not meaning to say it out loud. I handed her back her bag, and she adjusted its weight in her arms like it weighed nothing.
“This is fun,” she said with a hint of attitude that didn’t go unnoticed. “Thank you for walking me to the library.” She looked up at me with a feline grin. “Good luck this semester.”
Without another word, she whirled and started walking up the steps.
I opened my mouth but shut it again before I could say something I’d regret.
Chapter 5
Whitney
LIFE ON CAMPUS FELL into its usual routine during the first week of classes. I only had five lectures each week compared to my previous grueling schedule of multiple classes each weekday, but the workload wasn’t any less time consuming.
Professor Ellis’ lecture was already proving to be the most daunting class of all. His course materials were numerous and detailed, and the lessons he had mapped out in the syllabus were meant to challenge our biases and everything we knew about sociology as a whole instead of teaching us particular facets of the social science. I had his class twice a week and was already looking forward to seeing him again this afternoon.
My heart was either pounding from exertion or excitement, I wasn’t sure which. I was currently jogging, after all. It couldn’t be because something about Professor Ellis had me totally on edge.
“Wait—up!” Nicole panted as she ran up beside me, her cheeks burning crimson.
