The door is nearly shut when a hand slaps against it, preventing it from closing all the way. Adam appears in the open sliver and gives Dr. Pullman a charming smile that makes my heart sputter. He unapologetically slips into the room, two girls on his heels, and sits in his seat at the front.
I feel like a pathetic stalker as I steal glances at him throughout class. We only kissed—just like I’m sure he kissed every girl sitting with him in that front row. And I’m nothing compared to them. My chest isn’t as big and my face isn’t as pretty, my hair isn’t as voluptuous and my ass isn’t as va-va-voom. Whatever this is that I’m feeling, I need to quash it before it adds to the emotional cluster-fuck I’m already feeling over Brady. Adam was a nice rebound. He did me a favor. Who knew we’d end up in the same damn class?
All rationality be damned, I leave class feeling almost as shattered as I felt that night at Mayhem. I shouldn’t feel like Adam betrayed me like Brady did, but . . . ugh. I feel so . . . rejected. By both of them.
Leti flips his shades down when we step into the brightly lit courtyard. The sun beats down on us like a vampire’s worst nightmare, and with the mood I’m in, I nearly hiss.
“You have class now, right?” Leti gazes down at me from behind black lenses.
“Yeah. Speech with Dee. Hey, give me your phone.”
He hands it over and I give him mine. We punch our digits in and then trade back. “I’ll text you about this weekend, ’kay?”
He tucks earbuds into his ears as he backs away. “You better!”
The next day, during my break between math class and my history class with Dee, I eat lunch alone in Lion’s Den again, burying my face in my French textbook as I munch on a BLT and chips. We’re spending the first week reviewing, and I read the word for boyfriend out loud. “Petit ami.” I glare at my textbook, thinking of Brady. “Je déteste mon ex-petit ami!” I’m tempted to end the sentiment by spitting on the floor next to my chair, but I’m guessing that might earn me more looks than I’m already getting. I’m officially that girl who eats alone and talks to herself.
In French.
Great.
I think of Brady until my brain starts following one association after another. Brady. That Girl. Mayhem. Adam. Adam’s tour bus. That black satin bed. My skin starts to tingle, but then I remember French class, and all those girls. The giggling. The manicured fingernails combing through his hair.
I groan and close my textbook, letting my forehead fall against it. Adam. He’s such a man-whore. I almost slept with a man-whore. A freaking man-whore.
And it was wonderful. And classes with him are going to be brutal. And my emotions are so all over the place that I seriously want to slap myself. I’m a mess. My whole freaking life is a mess.
By the time my lunch break is over, I’ve worked myself into one hell of a mood. I mope into my history class and slump into a seat next to Dee, who reaches over to play with the blonde pony tail cascading over my shoulder. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” I lie. “Just . . . French homework I was working on during lunch. Totally has me drained.”
“Well I have the perfect medicine!” Dee says, and already I’m suspicious. “Guess who got invited to a party this weekend!”
I shake my head. There’s no way I’m going with her to a party. I think I’d rather get hit by a dump truck full of cow manure than try to brave a social event. A social event with lots of people—lots of smiling, happy people.
“Aw, come on, Ro! Pleeease? You need this! WE need this!”
Instead of telling her the truth, which is that I’m just not ready to put myself back out there after having my heart crushed under Brady’s heel, I make up an excuse. “I already told Leti we’d hang out with him this weekend.”
She narrows her eyes suspiciously, and I know she can tell I’m bullshitting, but she lets it go. “Leti had better be amazing,” she warns.
“He is.”
“I hate you.”
“I love you.”
She rolls her eyes playfully and straightens in her seat. I’m relieved she’s not fighting me on this, but I guess she must realize that I’m just not ready to be thrown back into a social life. Soon, though, I know she’ll start pestering me. She is Dee, after all.
After class, I spend my walk back to the dorm reading all the text messages from Brady that I’ve been ignoring. He left me another voicemail too, and I make the mistake of listening to it while out in public.
“Baby . . .” He sighs. “I messed up bad. I know I did. I . . . I don’t even know what to say. I’m not going to try to defend myself. I just . . . Jesus, baby, I’m a broken man here. I feel like I lost my best friend. I don’t deserve for you to call me back.” He chokes up, and it brings tears to my eyes. “I never deserved you, but hell if I don’t love you, Rowan. I love you so much, baby. I don’t think I can go on without you.” After a long pause, he says, “I hope you’re liking school.” Another long pause. “I love you, Ro.”