Page 41 of One Little Victory
One mention of his name, one chance encounter knowing I’d come face to face with the man responsible for so much of my baggage, and I was stumbling into the bathroom like a middle schooler desperate to escape humiliation at the hands of bullies.
You’re running away because it’s your fault. It’s always your fault. Just like Stacy Carter’s fiancé.Your penance is staying single, my conscience whispered—the fickle bitch.
I pushed her insistent harping to the side and picked up my purse, digging around for an antacid, stick of gum, or something to settle the gurgling in my stomach. As much satisfaction as I’d get from puking all over him, I wouldn’t do that to Charlotte. She was counting on me to deliver a professional speech about my experiences as a realtor, not upchuck on the professor.
I pulled a lone peppermint from my purse, staring at the red and white striped candy between my fingers. Pulling off the wrapper, I held it up to my nose like I expected the flavor to soothe my stomach. Oh, who was I kidding? The peppermint reminded me of Simon. Of the way the candy would clink against his teeth and give his breath the spicy flavor I’d come to associate with him.
The first time I heard the noise, it was another annoying trait, a reminder to keep him at arm’s length. But like so many other things about him, that mint and the sound it made as he pushed it around his mouth with his tongue made me want to dive in and snatch it for myself. Now that clink promised sexy smiles, sideways glances, and kisses that lit up my body like I’d gone swimming with a school of Portuguese Man of War.
My anger at seeing Brad or Professor Fucking Davis simmered down to nothing when my thoughts turned to a certain whitish-blond-haired man who’d taken up residence in my mind. I took my phone from my purse, my hand hovering over his name, but thought better of it and stowed the device away.
This charade with Simon was to improve our image, not use him for my own selfish gain. The night in the library was selfish. Not wearing panties was selfish. Admitting he owned every solitary inch of my body while we played this game was selfish—even though it was true. Feeling something for him—anything—had to stop because I was a cheater.
But you already feel something,my conscience said, dancing around in a circle with her tongue sticking out and her hips shaking like a spastic idiot. She couldn’t be trusted, and I seriously doubted her integrity. Perhaps she had my real conscience locked in a basement and covered her horns underneath the mounds of those tight black curls that shook as she danced.
My fingers were getting sticky from holding the peppermint, so I put it in my mouth, letting the candy clink against my teeth, and washed my hands, giving myself one last look before pushing open the door and walking into the classroom.
The classroom descended like a circular Roman arena with a giant whiteboard at the bottom and a desk in the middle. Students were milling about, unpacking laptops and notebooks. It was a fitting look since it felt like I was walking into battle. Professor Davis sat perched on the desk with his arms crossed over his chest, talking to Charlotte and rubbing the scruff on his face. His ugly, mustard-yellow button-up shirt was cuffed to his elbows and clashed horribly with the skinny black tie and matching skinny jeans he wore.
Ugh. No, it didn’t.And that pissed me off more. He was the same suave, handsome prick I remembered. Thank goodness I knew better—he was not getting his hooks into Charlotte. I was still plagued with guilt for not doing more to tell Susan what happened, and hell if I would stand idly by while he flirted shamelessly with Charlotte.
“Professor Davis. Thank you for allowing me to speak today,” I said, standing beside Charlotte and resting a hand on her shoulder.
“Addison Allison,” he said, his eyes widening with shock. “What a pleasure this is. I was telling young Charlotte here how close we were growing up. And you know to call me Brad.” His eyes sparkled in a way that would have made me swoon a decade ago. Now, I watched as his forehead got shiny with sweat and his eye twitched, wondering how I could have even been so stupid. My mouth opened to give him the barest reply, but he kept talking like he was getting off on the sounds of his voice.
“It’s been far too long since we’ve seen each other. In fact, why don’t the three of us have a late lunch after class? I know a lovely little bistro—”
“I’m sorry, Brad, but we can’t. I’ll be sure to give my parents your best. How’s your family? Wife and kids doing well?” I gritted my teeth, struggling to get the words out with a false smile stretched across my features.
“Oh, Professor, I didn’t know you were married,” Charlotte piped up. The innocent thing looked crestfallen, and Brad furrowed his brows before smiling and shrugging his shoulders.
“You should keep a picture of them on your desk, Brad,” I said, crossing my arms and batting my eyelashes. “Do you have one child or two? I can never remember.”
“Two,” he said, his voice clipped and his eyes hard.
“I hope they take after their mother. Please let me know when you’re ready for my presentation.”
I pulled my purse higher on my shoulder and stepped to the side, waiting for Charlotte so she could lead us to her seat.
“Whoa, what was that about?” she asked, taking her laptop out of her satchel. I shook my head, refusing to look at Brad, and took out my phone to scroll through the missed messages from the girls’ group text.
Olivia: How’s Operation Image Improvement going?
Annaleigh: More importantly, how’s hot hunky Simon?
Jenna: We could always use volunteers here at the shelter.
Annaleigh: Yes. Come walk puppies and pet kitties.
Olivia: I’ll bet she’d like Simon to pet her kitty.
I closed my eyes, wishing the memory of our steamy library encounter would have crept up on me in the bathroom instead of the fuckity-fuck-fucker. At least now, my mind could wander and tune out the idiot taking attendance. Who still did that in college? Fucktards.
“I apologize, Charlotte. Normally, I believe people should come to their own conclusions about others, but Professor Davis and I don’t have the best history, and I’d strongly advise never seeing him outside this class.”
“I’ve heard rumors about him,” she whispered, picking at a sticker on the corner of her laptop.
“Well, as cliché as this sounds, I’m here, Charlotte. You can talk to me.”