A: I’m going to be studying late tonight
S: Dashford Library?
A: Darkest corner of the campus… It’s a nice night, but I’ll be so scared to walk home all by myself…
S: You want to walk?
A: If I have company
S: What time should I pick you up?
A: Midnight
S: That’s some serious studying
A: I’m a serious girl
S: I have no doubt
A: Any chance I can turn this walk home into a booty call?
I don’t answer her. I don’t trust myself, either way. Yes, there’s a chance. There’s also a chance my inner moral compass will right itself and I’ll leave this girl alone.
Not a good one, but there’s always a chance.
—eleven—
Alison
I’m wearing a dress tonight. It’s this light cotton thing I found at the mall for twelve dollars. Hailey laughs at my love of the clearance rack, but every time I wear something like this, I feel a little more normal. And it’s not like she’s wrapping herself in Prada every day, either. But she hides her rich girl in a basket of wool that probably cost a few hundred dollars, easily. And she gives back to the community, too. But she also goes to black-tie things and…she fits in better, even if she doesn’t like it.
The only trapping of wealth I cling to is my regular spa visit and my Agent Provocateur collection.
The rest of the time I’m wearing secondhand jeans and discount dresses, yoga pants and hoodies from Old Navy.
I eat ramen noodles and iceberg lettuce, too, now that I’m living on my own.
That was a big step, because I didn’t want to get a job. Finishing my degree early…three more months to go now…was my biggest priority. I took an extra class each term, and summer school, and started my senior thesis halfway through my junior year.
And every time my faculty advisor gave me a doubting look or a gentle reminder that everyone has limits, I buckled down and did my next task even better.
I’m on the Honor Roll. I spend less than four hundred dollars a month on groceries and clothes.
And I’m addicted to Scott Mayfair.
So right now, I’m wearing a dress.
Not because it’s cheap. Not because it’s surprisingly warm today.
No, I’m wearing a dress because when the spring wind swirls over my bare legs, the skirt’s going to lift up. And I’m going to pretend to hold down the fabric, but not before Scott sees that I’m wearing barely there pink panties underneath.
A year ago, I would have said I had zero vices.
Now I’m seriously addicted to seducing an older man.
He finds me in the library. He shows up fifteen minutes early and lounges quietly in the chair across the table from me. He’s overdressed for a midnight study session, in his dark suit and white shirt—I’m not sure the man owns jeans and t-shirts, and I find myself so distracted by that thought that I set aside my textbook and finally just look at him.
He’s been looking at me for a while.
“Do you wear a suit every single day?” I finally ask him, breaking the heavy silence stringing between us.
“Most days,” he says slowly.
“I like it.”
“Good.”
“I’m pretty much done here.”
“I’m in no hurry.” Half of his mouth lifts up in an almost-smile. “I like watching you work.”
“I’d say the same to you, but I’m not sure what you’re doing now.”
His smirk deepens. “I’m trying to re-establish some business connections I had in England.”
I laugh. “That’s a total non-answer.”
“Sure is.”
I narrow my eyes at him as I tuck my laptop away and try to decide which books I want to check out and which can be re-shelved. “Here,” I finally say, shoving most of them across the table at him. “Carry these downstairs for me.”
“You need all these books?”
I shake my head. “But I’ve got the extra muscle tonight, so I might as well take them all and figure out which ones I need when I get home.”
He follows me to the elevator. I walk in front of him a few feet, hoping he’s checking out my legs, and when I turn around, his gaze is definitely tangled up in my lower body. I flush with inordinate pride, because how many times has he taken me home now and not given in the need throbbing between us?
But I’ve got faith that one of these days, I’ll be a little bit older and he’ll be a little bit hungrier, and it’ll be enough.
The weeks-old kiss still burns on my lips. I can still feel his hands on my body.
One day soon, maybe tonight, it will have to be enough.
The streets are quiet and it doesn’t take long to get back to my apartment. We get out of his car without discussing it. Maybe he’s just walking me to my door, but I don’t think so. I think the dress worked.