Chapter Six
CHAPTER SIX
BITCH, TELL ME EVERYTHING
PAST
I think I was the first person out of my seat once we were dismissed. Which was a full twenty minutes earlier than scheduled. Even if he hadn’t written it out in big bold letters, I would’ve come to the conclusion that he doesn’t really care.
As the students file out of the lecture hall, I press myself against the wall beside the door, trying to make sense of what the fuck just happened.
There is no way that’s the same man who insisted that we were the last two romantics in the city the night before. Him? A romantic?
“ We’re either destined or doomed to meet again.”
I rub my hands over my face at the thought of his parting words to me last night.
Doomed, that’s for damn sure.
The last students trickle out and I almost expect him to walk out with them, so I bolt. Anything to avoid having to speak to that asshole.
All of his flirty glances and smooth words taunt me as I rush away, wanting nothing more than to never see him again .
I head toward the registrar’s office, determined to see if there are any other classes available. At this point, I’d take anything.
Only ten minutes later, I’m storming back out of the office, determined to make Professor Pugliesi keep me in his class.
It’d only taken one very exhausted woman to announce to the hordes of people waiting to be seen that there was no room for any changes in courses with the sudden interest in summer classes.
Which is apparently Professor Asshole’s fault. People were dying to sit with the man who’d been responsible for some of the most prominent films of our time.
And now he has the power to ruin my chances of graduating early.
I refuse to have my timeline derailed because he wants to be a power-hungry dickhead who likes to prey on unsuspecting women at tiny cinemas that show classic and foreign films. Fuck, I don’t even make sense anymore.
I’m blinded by my anger, the sound of my sandals slapping against the linoleum echoing through the halls. I stop just in front of his office door, about to push it open when sounds filter their way through the crack.
I peek into it, certain that I can hear two voices inside, one of them soft and feminine.
“I was hoping you could come over again later. Maybe…pick up where we left off?” I hear a female’s voice coo her question and I wonder if this is the type of romance he’d been referencing the night before. The kind that didn’t require classic movies and quality time.
“That would be a mistake.” His words are blunt and short. And if I were the one propositioning him, I’d be embarrassed as fuck.
But she presses on, somehow oblivious. Or too confident to give a shit .
“You didn’t think so last week.”
“Last week is last week,” he utters, and I wait for her to speak, but I don’t hear anything else. At least, nothing loud to enough to reach my ears.
I want to knock on the door, to make my presence known because I only have a small window of time before my next class. Instead, I reason that their conversation should be over and maybe my window of opportunity would present itself momentarily.
It’s still silent so I take a deep breath and knock on the door, the light pressure of my knock creating a wider space between the wooden door and its frame; I see the back of a brunette woman’s head leaning toward him, her hand suspiciously close to the zipper of his pants as he sits back in his chair. For a split second, I’m privy to the lust in his eyes as he regards her. At least, until he realizes that someone’s just interrupted their private moment.
They jump apart and I glance at her, noticing the widening of her eyes before she covers her face with her hands. When his eyes meet mine, there’s a fury behind them that I’ve never seen from a man before. He stalks toward me and I’m not sure what to expect. I step back just in time for the door to slam in my face.
“That fucking asshole,” I hiss, and I grip the strap of my bag as I turn to walk away.
“Honey, I’m home,” I call out, setting my messenger bag on the kitchen counter as I wait to hear Miley’s voice in return. It’s been three hours and two classes since I caught Professor Pugliesi in his office with what looked to be a female student.
And my face still heats at the thought of it. Is it the idea of being fucked in his office that makes my stomach do a weird flip? Or jealousy over the fact that she’s had him?
Ew , I think to myself. He’s fucking rude. That alone should be a deterrent. But I find it hard to reconcile the man I met today with the one I spent time with last night.
“I’m out here,” she yells from the balcony and I grab a bottle of water from the fridge before I make my way out there.
There’s a stench in the air, just as I reach her, and my face twists with disgust.
“Please stop pretending to like cigarettes just to look like Carrie Bradshaw,” I admonish her. “It stinks and it’ll kill you.”
I sit down beside her in one of the patio chairs.
“It’s a habit I picked up in high school. Back when I was trying to piss my parents off.” Her logic is something I rarely try to make sense of, and I watch as she sits back, her long hair piled on top of her head. She tucks her bare feet under her thighs as the late afternoon sun shines on her.
“They pay a ridiculous amount of money for this place. I’d say they have enough to be pissed about,” I remind her. We’re sitting on a balcony large enough to fit patio chairs. I don’t even want to know how much this is setting them back. “Speaking of, you do have to find a new roommate soon.”
She shrugs and closes her eyes, choosing not to engage in that topic.
“How was your first day?”
“Well,” I start, unsure if I should share anything about last night or the fact that I have some kind of past with my professor. “I met that director you were talking about. ”
“You did?” She squeals as she sits up, her eyes now wide open. “Bitch, tell me everything.”
And I want to. I really want to.
But I’ve always been too good at keeping things that I’m ashamed of from finding the light of day. Whether it be my upbringing, the dwindling savings I’m relying on before I have to make it back to Boston, or the fact that I flirted heavily with my new professor the night before my first day of class.
“There isn’t much to say,” I start, staring out at the city that never sleeps, horns honking in the distance. “I didn’t even realize who he was until he started spouting some shit about not wanting to hear about movie ideas or manuscripts.”
“Yeah.” She scoffs. “I fucking bet.”
Under her watchful gaze as she wiggles in her seat, prodding me for more, I clam up.
“That’s it.” It’s all I can share, not wanting to speak into existence just how fucked I might be if he kicks me out of his class—which is looking more and more like my reality. No way is he going to want to keep me now.
“I heard he likes to fuck students,” she conspires, a brow lifting at my lack of reaction.
Inside, my heart jumps at just how close to the truth her words are. Outside? I’m stone.
“You managed to hear that in a few hours?” I chuckle, shaking my head. “What do you even do in class?”
“Don’t worry about me. Worry about the cobwebs in your puss?—”
I open up the water bottle and splash some on her, laughing at the way she yelps and tries to duck out of the way.
We settle back in our chairs and I look back out at the skyline, wishing I could stay here forever, knowing it’d be impossible.
“I forgot to tell you,” Miley yelps, interrupting my inner thoughts. “That guy from NYU showed up last night. ”
In spite of the weight in my chest and the question of my future, I turn my head to look at her with a grin.
“Bitch, tell me everything.”