Chapter 11 #2
The gesture makes my heart flutter, and I have the overwhelming urge to give him a hug. But I don’t because that would be weird.
“Who are we meeting again?” I ask as we ascend the brick steps to the modest stone building.
“Dr. Davera.” He glances at his phone. “Room 103.”
I freeze mid-step. “Dr. Davera?” No. It can’t be.
There’s no way my idol is the faculty member we’re meeting today.
She’s not at Cain, she’s at Emory. That’s where she did her PhD and launched her career.
It has to be a different Dr. Davera. But what are the odds there’s another Dr. Davera who works in sexual health?
“Not Dr. Evelyn Davera,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
He clears his throat. “Yeah, Evelyn Davera. Why?”
“Alex,” I hiss. “Do you have any idea who she is? She’s as big a name in sexual health as Masters and Johnson!”
His eyes widen. “Seriously?”
In mere moments, I’m going to be face-to-face with Evelyn Davera. I pull out my phone and whip out a group text to the Bang Gang.
June: Guys, this is not a drill. I’m about to meet Evelyn Davera.
My phone pings instantly.
Tina: Nice try, dude.
Vera: Are you serious?
Millie: If you’re lying, your office will be covered in pickles on Monday.
June: I’m serious! It’s a long story, but HOLY SHIT!!!
I pocket my phone with shaky hands, and we enter the building through glass doors, motion lights illuminating overhead. My heart thunders as we continue through the hallway lined with framed certificates and awards, more lights flickering on as we pass beneath them.
Dr. Davera’s office is the last room at the end of the long hall. She pokes her head out, waving while we’re still twenty feet away.
My knees buckle. It’s really her. Evelyn Davera. In the fucking flesh.
She strides toward us with a welcoming smile, her turquoise blazer bright against her dark brown skin. “You must be Alex and June. I can’t tell you how excited I am about your Sextival.” Evelyn Davera is excited about our event. I’m either dreaming or dead.
“It’s such an honor to meet you, Dr. Davera. You’ve had a huge influence on my career,” I say. I fight the burning urge to ask for her autograph.
“Please”—she grasps my hands—“call me Evelyn.”
Evelyn. Yep. I’m dead.
Alex and I exchange elated glances as we follow Dr. Davera—Evelyn—into her spacious office.
The condom dress is hanging in front of an expansive window, illuminated by the afternoon sun.
Bright reflections of blues and purples dance on the front wall like stained glass.
The photo didn’t do it justice at all. It’s an actual condom ballgown.
She waves her graceful hand over the dress. “A group of public health students enlisted the help of some fashion design students a few years ago for World AIDS Day, and they gifted it to me after the event. What do you think?”
“I can’t believe it,” I say, running my fingers over the rubbery rows of cascading condoms that make up the full, flowing skirt.
“It has a petticoat underneath to give it the volume,” she says, carefully lifting the bottom of the dress. “Be careful when you wear it, though, it’s heavier than it looks.”
My mind halts like a record scratch. “I’m sorry? Did you say wear it?”
“Yes, I assumed that’s why you wanted it.”
I shake my head. “It’s way too delicate. I don’t want to damage it.”
“It’s actually incredibly durable.” She tugs on the skirt, giving it a firm shake. “The condoms are sewn in.”
So they are.
She invites us to settle into the comfy guest chairs, and I spend the next half hour fangirling over Dr. Dav—Evelyn. The woman has been my idol the last ten years, and I’m officially on a first name basis with her. All this time, I had no idea she was only a short car ride away.
She asks me questions about myself, too.
How I got into the profession. What my main areas of research are.
How long I’ve been at Barrett. I look wistfully at Alex.
None of this would have been possible if he hadn’t taken the initiative and reached out.
In fact, this is the nicest thing anyone has done for me in years.
Maybe ever. Oh, god. Poor Alex looks like he’s about to nod off.
I glance up—the bright window is no longer shimmering aqua. It’s dark outside.
I gasp, glancing at my watch. Ho-lee shit. We’ve been talking for almost three hours. It’s going to be a long ride home with traffic.
“Everything okay?” Evelyn asks, worry etching her features.
“Yes, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize how late it was. I’ve been talking your ear off for hours,” I say, face-palming.
“Nonsense.” She laughs. “I’ve been the one yammering on.” Her cheeks lift with a wry smile. “It’s not every day you meet someone who makes you feel like a celebrity. It’s been a pleasure.”
“It’s been an honor,” I assure her.
“Love your sweater, by the way,” she adds.
Heat consumes me. I completely forgot Alex let me wear it.
She rubs her delicate hands together. “When I get home, I think I’m going to start a fire and get into some cozy clothes myself.”
Alex stands, cueing me to do the same, and Evelyn heads to the broad window where the massive dress is hanging. She guides it into a garment bag while it’s still on the metal hanger. “Alex, would you mind?” she asks. “It’s a bit heavy for me.”
He nods, lifting it with ease, and after she gives each of us a hug, we leave Evelyn’s office. As we walk back down the long hall, Alex stifles a yawn.
“Are you feeling okay to drive?” I ask, examining him. “If not, I can. I’m fine.” I’m better than fine. I could run a damn marathon. In fact, he could probably strap the car to me, and I could get us home on pure adrenaline.
“Yeah, all good. Let me just get some caffeine before we head out.”
We trek back to the car, the campus now blanketed in darkness.
“It’s a little creepy here, huh?” I ask, a chill curling around me even though I’m still wearing Alex’s cushy sweater.
In the trees above, an owl hoots, making me jump.
He grins. “You scared, August?”