Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
THE LATE-AFTERNOON SUN SINKS LOW in the sky as I weave through a swarm of students, heading to the department office. This morning, I received an email from Dr. Padilla asking me to see her between classes, and now I’m trying not to panic about my tenure.
Down the hall, I meet Rita with a friendly grin through the department window, but all she has for me is a hefty dose of side-eye. Always a pleasure, Rita. The door swings open, and I head into the office and down the hall.
“June.” Dr. Padilla greets me as I knock on her open door. “Take a seat.”
“Everything okay?” I ask, getting settled.
“Yes, I just want to see how things are going with Alex. That first class was …” She grimaces.
Oh, thank god. With a relieved breath, I relax in the chair. “He’s doing much better,” I assure her. “Incredible, really.”
Her lips quirk to the side. “Incredible, huh?”
My spine stiffens. Good job, June. Incredible is just the word to use when describing a colleague to your boss. “What I meant was, he’s really grown into the role, and the students are very engaged.”
“Well, that’s excellent.” Her smile fades as she removes her glasses and folds her hands. “Unfortunately, I have some other news that is pressing.”
“Oh?” My skin prickles. So it is about my tenure.
She nods solemnly. “A blurb went out about Sextival in our alumni newsletter last week. Unfortunately, one of our largest donors was very upset about it. She reached out directly to President Markum.”
Oh, god. My mother.
Dr. Padilla’s brow creases. She must see the panic glazing my eyes, because she leans forward and says, “Are you all right?”
Am I? Not a bit. My personal and professional lives are about to collide. The president must absolutely know that I’m not only the donor’s daughter, but the one coordinating the event.
“Did the president say anything about me?” I wince, bracing for impact.
Confusion riddles Dr. Padilla’s face. “About you?”
“Because of the donor.”
“The donor?” She tilts her head. “Do you have a connection to Barbara McEntire?”
Barbara McEntire. Mom’s best friend.
But not Mom.
I shake my head. “No, I don’t know her. I just thought since I was coordinating the event, the president might have mentioned me,” I add quickly.
Dr. Padilla grins sheepishly. “I’m sorry, June, but I doubt President Markum even knows your name.”
Wow. That feels good.
But it actually is a blessing. If the president doesn’t know who I am, that means Barbara didn’t mention me. Not that she’d ever suspect sweet little Junie Wells, professor of nutritional science, would have anything to do with a smut event.
Dr. Padilla taps her pen on the large oak desk. “I’m afraid we have to cancel Sextival.”
My jaw falls open. Cancel? Is she delusional? “We can’t cancel. We’ve already booked vendors, reserved the space, confirmed with dozens of campus orgs—”
She lifts her hand. “I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do.”
What a load of bullshit. The university could absolutely push back. They’re just choosing not to.
Because of money.
I glare at her, my pulse hammering with a mix of adrenaline and rage. “Think about the positive impact an event like this will have on the students. You’re really going to let one person prevent that?”
She scoffs, a flash of hurt flickering in her eyes. “June, this isn’t my call. It’s President Markum’s. And this isn’t some random person. It’s the university’s largest donor. Not to mention a personal friend of the president.”
Money. Power. Influence. Three things I don’t have.
But you know what I do have? My conviction. “These students—”
“June.” Dr. Padilla slams her open palm on the desk, and I flinch.
“Do you want your tenure or not? Because if you do, you need to drop this. I told you at the beginning of the year, President Markum is looking for reasons to deny people. If you move forward with this event, you can kiss your tenure goodbye.”
My chest seizes, and I shrivel in the chair.
I’m really going to have to choose between doing what’s right for the students and my job.
But deep down, I know what I have to do.
I square my shoulders, ignoring the swarm of bees infesting my stomach, and force myself to meet Dr. Padilla’s challenging gaze. “You can’t stop me.”
Her eyes flare with stunned disbelief. Then she reaches for her phone. “Rita, get me the president’s office.”
With hunched shoulders, I approach my office in the HS-2 building, the door slung open with a rubber stopper. Alex is lounging in his chair grading papers, red pen in hand, music blaring in his earbuds. He smiles as I enter, pulling the earphones out.
“Sup, November?”
I slump in the seat across from him. “Sextival’s off.”
“Off?” He runs his hand through his hair. “What are you talking about?”
“Off, as in canceled.” I kick my feet out, crossing one ankle over the other. “A blurb went out about it in the alumni newsletter and it pissed off a wealthy donor. She called the president, and he caved.”
“Well, that’s bullshit.” Alex leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“That’s what I said.”
“Then why is it off?”
Because I’m a chickenshit. Dr. Padilla called my bluff, and I folded like a cheap lawn chair.
I wilt further into my seat, shame coiling tight around my ribcage. “Dr. Padilla told me if we move forward, I can kiss my tenure goodbye. She literally used those words. I pushed back, and she told Rita to call the president. That’s when I panicked.”
More like sold my soul.
Fuck. I’m so pathetic. I bury my head in my hands. I failed everyone. Myself. Alex. The students.
My throat tightens, my body closing in on itself.
“Hey,” he says softly. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay.” I bring my clenched fists down, pushing them into my lap. “I failed, Alex. I failed everyone.”
“No, you didn’t. Not at all.” He leans forward, and tentatively, he takes my hand.
My breath catches at the contact.
“We’re not giving up.”
I shake my head. “But I already—”
He lifts our joined hands, gesturing around the room. “We have all the pieces in place. The vendors. Campus orgs. My students are excited about it. What about yours?”
They’re stoked. I offered extra credit to anyone who volunteered, and I’ve gotten a ton of signups across my four class sections.
I nod, my resolve returning.
“When word gets out, we’ll have buy-in from the rest of campus. I know we will.” His grip tightens on my hand, and my heart flutters. “Once they hear about Sextival, there will be an uprising if it gets canceled. Especially if they find out why it’s canceled. Trust me,” he says.
And I do. I really, really do.
His passion ignites a new fire inside me. The way it always has when I’m around him. Growing up, Alex always made me feel invincible. Like I could do anything. That’s why it hurt so much when he—
He lets go of my hand, and I immediately miss his warmth.
But then he says, “I have a surprise for you.”
My pulse races as he turns toward his desk and passes me his phone.
I take it curiously, zooming in on a photo.
It’s a dress made of … condoms. Neon blue, purple, green, and hot pink condoms. The bright circles are scalloped like mermaid scales across a bodice with two wide shoulder straps while hundreds of unraveled condoms make up a full skirt. The latex is so vivid it’s glowing.
“A condom dress?” I give the phone back to Alex.
“It’ll be a showstopper the day of the event.”
A swell of warmth blooms inside me. He’s so committed he tracked down a jaw-dropping statement piece to draw people in. But a display this elaborate can’t be cheap.
I nibble my lip. “How much is it?”
“That’s the best part.” A slow smile takes over his face. “Nothing.”
My mouth gapes. “Nothing?”
“A faculty member at Cain University agreed to let us borrow it. All we need to do is pick it up.” Alex stacks up a pile of loose papers and loads them into his bag.
I’ve never heard of Cain.
He must see the blank look on my face because he says, “It’s down by San Diego.”
Wow. Talk about a drive. That’ll be at least three hours each way. But it doesn’t even faze me. For something this incredible? For free? I’d drive across the entire country. “When are we going?”
He slides his laptop in his messenger bag and slings it over his shoulder. “What are you doing Saturday?”