Chapter 8
Eight
Denise
“What?” I finally snap when Sarah has done nothing but watch me, instead of focusing on what Professor Crooke is talking about. She doesn’t even bother to pretend she was doing literally anything else. Instead, her grin widens.
She shifts closer, pen tapping against her desk. “You know as your friend, I feel like I should remind you that it’s not good to keep things bottled up.”
I keep my attention on the front of the classroom. “I’m not bottling anything up. I’m trying to listen.”
I don’t really give a shit about whatever Professor Crooke is saying. After leaving Joffrey, I decided then that I no longer wanted to attend NJCU for my fine arts degrees. Somehow I let Mom talk me into majoring in sports psychology.
Professor Crooke is lucky if I don’t call him out on his toupee that is way lighter than his natural hair.
But avoiding Sarah is more important than my boredom in this class.
Sarah pokes me with her pen and I swat her hand away. A few students look over at us but once I narrow my eyes at them, they go back to pretending we don’t exist.
“Since when do you care about research methodology?” Sarah whispers.
“Since now.”
She waits for me to give her something more but I remain with my legs crossed, laptop open in front of me and typing down whatever random shit is being taught.
I promise I don’t care about the differences between research designs.
I really don’t know why my mom thought psychology would be a good fit for me. I don’t even like talking about my own problems, so why would I want to hear about anyone else’s? The only reason I agreed was because Sarah went on about how we could have a lot of the same classes.
Now I’m starting to regret my decision.
Thankfully, Sarah doesn’t stare at me anymore, busying herself with stealing notes from the guy sitting next to her.
She giggles like she doesn’t have a long-distance boyfriend back home in Philadelphia but once class is dismissed, she’s right on my heels despite my attempts to weave through classmates and make it outside before she can catch up with me.
“Come on, D,” she whines. “Were you with Lucas last night or not?”
I keep walking down the hallway, now in a hurry to get to my next class despite also not caring about clinical psychology. I don’t look back at Sarah as I weave through the small crowd of students walking by.
“No,” I say.
“Liar.”
She finally catches up with me so now we’re walking side by side. “Why ask if you’re so confident you know the answer?”
Sarah gasps, yanking my arm and pulling me off to the side so we’re out of the way. I shift my tote onto my other shoulder, crossing my arms and preparing for whatever bullshit is about to come out of her mouth.
She’s one of my best friends but I don’t need to tell her and Bethany about last night. They’ll get way too ahead of themselves and start planning our wedding or some shit. That’s not what last night with Lucas was.
He wanted sex.
I wanted sex.
Mission accomplished.
I’ve scratched the itch. Or at least, I’m trying to convince my body of that but my mind keeps replaying the thrust of his hips and the taste of him in my mouth.
I almost put myself in time-out this morning when my hand went to slip past the fabric of my sleep shorts at the memory of Lucas’s skin on mine.
I was supposed to be content with a night with him, goddamn it.
Which is why I avoided the gym this morning.
And my coffee run to Metric’s. I can’t bump into Lucas right now.
Not when my body isn’t quite getting the memo.
I’ve found myself wanting a little more of him and wanting things is usually what sets me up for disappointment.
I’m not a good person so why would I deserve good things?
Happily married parents? Not anymore.
Ballet career? Gone.
Anything that has to do with Lucas besides sex? Not happening.
But sex was what started this mini spiral, therefore I have decided to cut myself off from the activity with Lucas but I know how tempting he is, so avoiding him is probably best.
Just until I stop ovulating or something because this is ridiculous.
Sarah crosses her arms and stares at me, for whatever reason starting a game she knows she has never won against me. She wants a staring contest? Fine. Who needs clinical psychology? No way in hell am I cracking first.
Her eyes widen, trying to prove her point.
I just blink at her, leaning back against the wall, crossing my arms to match her stance.
Neither of us say anything for a short while.
The scraping of shoes of people walking past us, the sweetness of the daisy shrubs nearby, the slight breeze brushing against my thighs and making my skirt sway.
I focus on those things and not the underlying question Sarah is trying to force out of me by winning this silent game.
She groans and stomps her foot like a child.
See? I always win. She can’t shut up to save her life.
“Goddamn it, D. I want the juicy details.”
I laugh. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“Really? ’Cause Lucas Callahan was pulling you away from a fight and the next second you were nowhere to be found.”
I open my mouth to come up with some half-assed excuse but she shushes me.
“Not to mention that you came back to the party, glowing. Fucking glowing, Denise.”
I roll my eyes. “I feel like—you know, I just think you’re being a little melodramatic. Which is usually Beth’s thing so…”
“Excuse me for being interested in my best friend’s love life.”
“We’re not in love!”
Her eyes widen and my head falls back as I groan, realizing what door I just opened.
Shit.
“We’re?” she shrieks, slapping my arms repeatedly. “You were with Lucas last night!”
Maybe if I admit that for once in her life she’s right, she’ll go away.
“Alright fine, I was but you’re acting like neither of us have had hookups before. I mean hello, Keaton started out as a hookup and now you guys text obnoxiously.”
She waves me off. “Yeah but usually with said hookups you spill everything. So what gives, Stryker?”
I narrow my eyes, knowing full well what she’s trying to do and because I’m not having it, I turn to walk away but Sarah follows.
“Okay, look.” She’s able to catch up to me with her legs being almost as long as mine. “I’m sorry. I just think…you guys would be cute together. I mean you haven’t had a boyfriend since you ditched Paul after your accident.”
Ah, yes. Paul Harrison. The male ballet dancer who was too perfect and too kind when all I did was pick fights with him after he tried to tell me that I should take it easy after my surgery.
He was right and I hated that. In hindsight, yes, I should’ve listened to Paul.
Maybe I would still be dancing. Actually, no.
I know I would still be dancing if I had given my body time to heal instead of always pushing through.
He’s one of the reasons I don’t date. I’m clearly not good for another person.
“Look.” I come to an abrupt halt, Sarah doing the same. “Lucas is a great guy or whatever but that’s not what this is, okay? We slept together. That’s it, so drop it.”
“Alright, fine. Jesus.” Sarah puts her hands up in surrender. “I’ll drop it but only after you tell me if he was any good, which again by your glow I’m assuming—”
“Oh my god.” I go back to walking. “You’re insufferable.”
Sarah’s laugh echoes down the outdoor hallway, her footsteps picking up speed to catch up with me.