Chapter 8
HIGHLY INAPPROPRIATE AND EXTREMELY IMPOLITE
ROMAN
Roman knows it’s his own actions that have put him in this predicament. He told himself he was going to do better. For his daughter. For his mom. But as he pushes through the glass doors, leaving his meeting with the advisor, he’s starting to believe that being better is out of the question.
You need to be more responsible. Get a high paying job. Think of Lucy.
Moisture falls onto his hand as he stands on the staircase to the Undergraduate Affairs building.
Looking up, a nimbus cloud greets him with a dark, vengeful smile.
He curses himself for not checking the weather before leaving the house today.
It’s Florida after all. Did he pack a raincoat for Lucy?
Abruptly pulling out his phone, he types a brief message to his sister.
Roman
Do you have her raincoat?
Danica
Yes.
Roman
Do you have an umbrella?
Danica
Yes.
Roman
Do you have socks on her feet?
Danica
Piss off Roman.
He grunts before hitting the call button on her contact. After one ring, her soft breathing greets him.
“I apologize for wanting to guarantee my daughter’s safety and well-being amid this category-five hurricane,” he says in a dry tone, looking at the sky.
His sister huffs out a laugh. “Okay, A: it’s hardly raining. B: I’m not an idiot, and, in conclusion, it is imperative that you stop being a helicopter parent before I block your number and you never hear from me or your daughter again.”
The call ends with a resounding click.
Roman pulls the phone from his ear, jaw slack as he stares at the darkened screen.
As he walks the length of campus to get to his next class, the humidity and rain cause pools of sweat to roll down his arms. The sun glares at him as he picks up his pace through the bustling campus.
It seems to scold him for running late. His schedule doesn’t leave much time for him to take a piss in a timely manner, apparently.
He breezes across the quad and cuts through Freshman Orientation, letting out a breathless apology when he bumps into a young woman wearing a green sweater.
He does a double-take and his mind floats to the woman from a few weeks ago. Truly, he thinks it’s for the best she said no. He doesn’t have anything to offer. He’s too busy trying to keep his life together.
What would have happened, really?
Maybe they would have hit it off. He’d let her steer the conversation, though, because he was fascinated with her.
Her quick retorts and sharp mind. He had several questions that he needed answered and she’d maybe, hopefully, after a few minutes, be willing to answer them, but then she’d ask about his life, his story.
And he’d be reminded by the fact that he’s not someone who can go on dates with just anyone.
He can’t just bring strangers into his house, into his home.
Because they’d get there, stumble through the door, and maybe even trip into a baby walker.
He can’t exhaust his energy on someone else when there’s someone far more important that’s needing his attention.
He can’t have both.
Right?
So, even as he pushes through the double doors to the auditorium, he wills himself to think that everything happens for a reason. Despite being an engineering major, he believes in things like fate and destiny.
Starry-eyed. Quixotic. Impractical is what he is.
The lecture hall is spacious, dimly lit, and has the worst ventilation system in the university. Rows of worn-down oak desks line the auditorium, and two blackboards take up most of the front wall.
Hushed murmurs fill the space as Roman slips inside. He braces his hand on the creaking door so as not to draw attention to himself. Gliding up the carpeted stairs, he sinks into the first open seat he notices. Adjusting his bag on the side, he takes out his laptop.
He taps hastily, trying to pull up a blank document for note-taking.
The room falls to whispers and murmurs before a different timbre greets his ears.
It’s a juxtaposition to the gritty tone that was echoing throughout the space only moments ago.
This one is gentle. Soft. Confident, but not supercilious.
“My name is Jahlani Jones, and I will be the graduate teaching assistant this semester. I am looking forward to working with you all. I’m currently in the final semester of the master’s program for Data Science and Statistics.
I recently moved from New York City so I’m really, really struggling to adjust to the humidity here. ”
This earns a few chuckles throughout the room and causes Roman’s gaze to drift upwards, his body humming in recognition because it’s his Jahlani.
She stands in the middle of the room with the small mic curled tightly between her fingers.
She walks across the space as she speaks, gesticulating with her hands.
Her dark eyes rove about the room, and her initial nerves seem to ease as she continues.
Sitting upright, he almost knocks the laptop off the desk.
His eyes follow her, soaking her in. Watching, lingering on areas that most would consider highly inappropriate and extremely impolite, but he just can’t help it.
He watches her from his corner of the room.
Watching the way her angular flats turn outward when she steps, to the way her lips curve when she answers questions about her experience working with her internship company.
As he does his hardest to listen above the rattling, pulsing, thumping thing in his chest, he can’t help but think she looks the same: unbearably beautiful and impossible to forget.
Memories of “What if I’m the problem?” and “I’m finishing up my master’s program around here” dredge up as he studies her.
He sinks lower into the seat, wiping his hand down his mouth, trying to even out his breathing.
Her braids gather into a mass of curls that cascade dutifully down her shoulders, accentuating her high cheekbones and rounded ears.
The green cardigan drapes over her frame and he wonders how she isn’t dead yet from overheating.
Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he listens intently as she reviews her role and course materials.
He seems to forget that it was less than an hour ago he was determined to remove the foot that Jackson had on his neck. And now?
Now, he’s never been more thankful to a professor for failing him.
“Are there any other questions for me?” She asks warmly, innocently. Her eyes skate across the room, first to the leftmost side, then down the middle, where a hand has shot up.
“I’m sorry, but like what do you know about statistics?” The voice is nasally. Condescending.
Jahlani’s smile falters, and her initial weariness seems to slip back onto her like a second skin.
“I can assure you that Ms. Jones is more than qualified,” Professor Jackson says. “Besides, she isn’t here for an interview, Mr. Torres, especially one conducted by someone who failed this class. Twice.”
Jackson’s voice is loud and razor-sharp as he stares at the boy sliding further into his seat.
Jahlani blows out a breath, answering a few more questions before finally reaching Roman’s section. He inhales sharply, clutching the armrest, blood pulsing, mouth drying as her eyes catch his briefly and—
She continues her exploration without a second glance. He licks his lips and wills his heart to stop thrashing so fucking loudly.
She doesn’t remember.
She doesn’t remember him.
A flurry of emotion swarms his head. Disappointment, desperation, agony, wonder, and relief. Roman thinks it’s for the best as he leans all the way back, combing his fingers through his hair.
But still. A small part of him wishes she had.
And then what? They’d catch up? Go for drinks?
He’d attempt to cook her something outlandish and end up burning it from nerves.
She’d applaud his efforts with a gentle touch to his wrist. They’d order pizza instead.
He’d figure out what her favorite toppings are—she seemed like an unconventional kind of person, and he was completely okay with that.
He’d finally touch her. Kiss her. Maybe, quite possibly, have sex with her.
Make up for lost time and missed opportunities.
Quench this curiosity that had been brewing inside him for the past few weeks.
His body reacts before his mind does, and his fingers are in the air. Her eyes sweep over to him, trailing over his face, and—
There. That’s what he wanted.
For her lips to part slightly and her eyes to widen momentarily before she remembers to school her features. For space and time to stand still as they converse with their eyes. For everything to fade into white noise as they try to make sense of this moment. Of each other.
For it to just be the two of them.
Roman lowers his hand, clearing his throat. “So, you’ll be here the whole semester then?”
She nods, unblinking. “That’s … yes. The whole semester,” she says through a stutter.
“And what about after?” He asks, his knee bouncing.
Her eyebrows gather as she clasps her hands together. “After?”
He nods, rubbing his fingers across his lips. “When it’s over? What then?”
She takes a shaky breath. “Hopefully I’m a wildly famous statistician.” She says it jokingly, a slight twitch in her lips, but her look says something else entirely.
He nods, sinking back into his seat, not completely satisfied with her answer, still watching when she breaks eye contact, still lingering when Jackson starts the lecture, still wondering how this could have happened.
It’s not until the girl next to him starts shoving her notebook and pens away that he realizes the lecture has ended.
He looks down at his laptop, and a blank document blinks back.
He’s left with a single thought as he watches Jahlani gesture toward something while she converses with Professor Jackson.
Fuck.