“No.”Yes. “I don’t even have a type.”
Growing up, I had a front-row seat to the revolving door of shitty boyfriends my mother brought home. You could say the experience soured me on relationships. I went on a few dates freshman year, but love and romance have never been a priority.
You can’t miss what you never had.
“Bullshit.” Jenna crosses her arms. “Brady is clearly your type, and he’s struggled throughthreepole classes for you. No other guy would do that. Why not just admit you’re into him and put the poor guy out of his misery?”
Because admitting I’m attracted to him also means acknowledging that I’ve seriously considered breaking my no dating rule.
What can I say? I’m weak.
And you want to know if the reality of the man will live up to the fantasy.
Guilty.
When I don’t answer, Jenna continues, unfazed by the one-sided conversation. “He’s clearly not going to give up, and I’ve seen you watching him during class.”
“The guy is six and a half feet tall,” I snark. “It’s impossible to miss him.”
Brady is determined. I’ll give him that. Two weeks ago, the football team had an away game in Iowa and though they must’ve gotten home late Saturday night, he was waiting when I arrived at the studio Sunday morning, that irresistible smile peeking out from behind his beard.
“The way he looks at you during class?” Jenna gives me the side-eye. “It’s a wonder you haven’t combusted.”
She’s not wrong. I was so turned on by the time I left the studio last week that I went straight home to masturbate.
“I’m just saying, if a guy looked at me that way, I’d consider myself a lucky bitch and screw his brains out.”
If only it were that simple.
Yes, Brady is sweet and considerate and totally into me, but I’ve worked too hard to risk my education or my career on a quick lay.
If he was looking for a quick lay, he’d go to Greek Row.
My pulse skitters, but I refuse to acknowledge the truth my body already knows. Brady won’t quit until he breaks through my defenses…and my heart is already bracing for impact.
I’m saved from giving it any further thought when Dr. Barnes speaks. “Student teaching assignments for spring semester will be finalized in the next few weeks. We will do our best to take your requests into account, but there are no guarantees for placement.”
“If I don’t get Lancaster, I’m going to be big mad,” Jenna whispers. “I want to sleep in my own bed and eat my weight in home-cooked meals before I officially reach adult status.”
Now who’s a lucky bitch?
“What about you?” She nudges me with her elbow. “What’s your first choice?”
“I don’t really have a preference.”As long as it’s not home.
There’s nothing for me in New Kensington. Maybe there never was.
I’mproudof the person I’ve become at Waverly—strong, independent, confident—and now that I’ve broken the cycle, I won’t go back.
Not for my mother, not for anyone.
“As you embark on this next leg of your educational journey,” Dr. Barnes continues, scanning the room somberly, “it’s important to remember that while you are in the field, you are representing Waverly University. It is my expectation that you conduct yourselves with proper decorum.”
IE- Don’t get caught stripping online.
If I had a dollar for every time Barnes gave this speech—or some variation of it—I wouldn’t need to bare it all on camera to pay my exorbitant tuition bill.
“You will be working with young, impressionable minds.” Dr. Barnes’ eyes settle on me and my stomach drops. If she knew what I did with my new alien dildo last night, she’d probably stroke out. “Everything you say and do will leave a mark. If you screw up, your advisor will hear about it.”
