A soft tapping on the door and it slowly opens. Ali hands me a towel, and I take it, silently patting my face dry. Our eyes meet briefly in the mirror, and hers are full of concern.

  “As a psychology major, I know you know it’s unhealthy to hold things like this inside.” I don’t answer, and she continues. “I wouldn’t betray your trust. I’d like to think we’re friends.”

  I put the towel on the rack and exhale a sigh. How could Ali possibly understand my life? “I’m a criminal justice major, and we’ve only known each other a month.”

  “Isn’t that what college is all about? Making new friends?”

  But I’m not really a college student. I don’t belong here. Friends will only cause problems, which is why I wasn’t even supposed to have a roommate.

  Going to my closet, I study my wardrobe. We almost hugged last time I was in his office. I can’t remember the last time I felt so desperate for a hug. The chemistry crackled around us like static electricity, and when it broke, so did I.

  Chewing my lip, I grab a pair of jeans and a tight sweater Miss Graduate Assistant would envy. When I turn, Ali’s dressed in a long-sleeved jersey and jeans, but her eyes are downcast, and a dejected expression is on her face.

  Thanks again, Rick. Now I feel like shit.

  I decide to be as straight with her as I can. Gentling my tone, I walk over and put my hand on her shoulder. “The truth is, Ali, I wasn’t supposed to have a roommate this semester.”

  Her lips tighten, and she nods. “I know.”

  “It’s my last semester, so, you know…” I shrug. “I’m not going to be here much longer.”

  Honestly, I have no idea if I’ll even be back after I’ve gotten that book.

  An unexpected sense of loss filters through my chest. Between Ali and Ryan, I’ve had moments where I felt like a regular college student, no worries, living in the moment, having fun, making friends. If only it were true, but a normal life, friends—these things have never been mine.

  “Thank you for telling me.” She lifts her chin, giving me an almost-smile. “I’d assumed we’d be together all year.”

  “Yeah, so, I guess it makes me feel like,” I look around the sparsely decorated room, “I’ve got one foot out the door.”

  Ali smiles for real at that, placing her hand on top of mine on her shoulder. “You’ve been through so much, it’s classic self-preservation. But even if it’s only for a few months, we can still be friends. You don’t have to be alone, Re-re.”

  She’s so positive and upbeat, I can’t find it in me to rain on her parade—or ask her to stop calling me Re-re, jeez. “You’re going to make a really great therapist.”

  “Dream expert!”

  “Right! Dream expert.” I shake my head and give her arm a nudge. “How about we get some coffee and head to class? And tonight, we can meet up at the Den for a friendly beer.”

  Looping her arm through mine, she nods. “You’re on, friend!”

  We enter the psychology building twenty minutes later, coffees in hand, and students filter past us quickly running to their classes before the ten-minute cutoff.

  Ali glances up at the entrance to Dirk’s class. “It’s so unfair you get to spend two mornings a week with Professor Panty-dropper, and I’m stuck with Professor… Poindexter.”

  I snort a laugh then yelp, holding a hand in front of my face. “You almost made me send coffee through my nose!”

  She snorts, and we lean closer laughing. It feels so good, so real. My disturbing dream from last night and exhaustion are stored neatly away in their little boxes in my mind, the way they have to be for me to survive.

  “It’s true, though!” she cries.

  “It’s not too late for you to change your schedule. I think we have one more week to drop or add classes.”

  “Maybe next semester,” she sighs, glancing past me as I pull the door open. “Mmm… That man is too hot to be real.”

  “Gotta go,” I whisper, giving her a wave. “See you at the Den at five.”

  She waves, then I turn to see Dirk in the front of the class, glasses in place. Today he’s wearing a brown blazer over a white tee with those jeans. His dark hair is slightly damp on the ends as if he came straight from the shower, and he’s reading something on his phone. The muscle in his square jaw moves, and he simply exudes sexy.

  I want to get close and sniff his clean scent, but Evan makes a noise to get my attention. Lifting my chin, I smile, climbing the risers to sit beside him in the middle of the small auditorium.

  “Was that Ali with you?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I whisper, but our conversation is cut off when Dirk begins to speak.

  “Sharon is returning your graded assignments.” The annoying grad student is making her way up and down the aisles handing out papers. “Overall, it was a good effort for a first writing assignment.”

  Dirk’s eyes meet mine, and heat blooms in my stomach. I lift my stylus to my lips, parting them slowly, and his brow furrows.

  He turns to the other side of the room. “I made notes I hope will be helpful going forward. As always, you’re welcome to stop by my office during office hours if you have questions.”

  I hear a few groans behind me, but when my print-out is placed on my desk, a bright red A is on the first page. Unexpected pride surges in my chest, and I bite my lip against the huge smile trying to split my cheeks.

  Glancing up, our eyes meet again as if drawn by an invisible force, and he gives me the slightest hint of a smile. Another wave of happiness floods through me. It’s completely unwarranted and honestly ridiculous for me to feel so happy about a grade.

  It doesn’t matter how I do in this class. It’s all fake. It would actually be better if I did poorly so I would need more assistance from Professor Winston. As it is, I’m giddy over an A.

  I’ve got to get my head straight.

  “Today, we’ll discuss the effect of psychosocial factors on brain function, so I hope you finished the reading on the Bobo doll experiment…” He continues speaking, but my mind drifts to after class.

  Thanks to my brilliant performance, I don’t need help. Turning my stylus in my hand, I filter through the possibilities as Dirk continues his lecture.

  “Exposure has a significant impact on outcomes. Bandura found that children who witnessed violent or aggressive behavior tended to pursue these types of behaviors as adults compared to those who were not exposed to the aggressive model…”

  Class continues, but I’m miles away.

  Afterwards, Evan waits beside my desk as I slowly collect my belongings and put them in my bag. “We haven’t hung out since Welcome Back night.”

  I wish he’d go away.

  Pausing, I straighten in my chair. “Ali and I are going to the Den tonight. You could meet us there at five.”

  “I definitely will.” He slides a hand into his pocket, his lips twitching with a smile. “You’re going to be late for your next class if you don’t hurry up.”

  I swallow the growl rumbling in my throat and do not tell him it’s none of his business. None of my classes matter.

  Standing, I slide the strap securely over my shoulder, and I do not miss his eyes checking out my breasts. It’s the effect I want, but not from him.

  “Actually, I have to meet with Professor Winston before my next class.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re in trouble.” We slowly walk down the risers.

  “What makes you think I’d be in trouble?”

  “Because you clearly don’t need help. You made an A on that assignment when everyone around us got Bs or worse.”

  More pride surges in my chest. Maybe my good grade isn’t so bad after all. “I’m just touching base. It’s good to know your professors.”

  He stops short. “Oh, no, don’t tell me you’re one of those.”

  My brow lowers, and I turn to face him. “One of whats?”

  “You’re a brown noser.”

  “Asshole,” I laugh. “I am not.”

  We’re outside the door, and he loops his arm around my waist. “You’re not going to visit the young, single-male professor to thank him for your grade, flirt a little, maybe shake that ass…”

  “You’re gross.” I twist out of his embrace. “That is not what I’m doing.”

  It’s exactly what I’m doing.

  “Go out with me.” Evan catches my hand, pulling me to a stop.

  Pausing a beat, I give him a tight smile before sliding my hand out of his. “I think we should just be friends.”

  “Ugh…” He grasps his chest. “Stab me in the heart next time.”

  I can’t help it. I exhale a laugh. “You and Ryan meet up with Ali and me tonight at the Den. It’ll be fun.”

  “I’ll do my best, but you’re a hard one to get over, Reanna.”

  He doesn’t even know me. Shaking my head, I do a little wave. “See you there.”

  Hesitating outside Dirk’s office, I wait until the last of the students have disappeared into their classrooms before tapping lightly then opening the door. I’m happy to see Sharon is not here today, and I slip in quickly, closing the door behind me and quietly turning the lock.

  “Hey, is someone there?” He steps to the door of his back office, and another almost-sigh catches in my throat.

  His coat is gone, and the tee he’s wearing shows off muscled arms and rounded biceps. It hangs over his chest in a way that suggests a delicious six-pack and pecs under that thin cotton.

  “Reanna? What’s going on? I thought you’d be satisfied with your performance.”

  Closing the space between us, I drop my bag into the empty chair where Sharon sat last time. “I’m sorry to bother you. I wanted to thank you for giving me an A on the assignment.”

  “I didn’t give you an A. You earned it.”

  “I’m not sure that’s entirely true, but I appreciate you saying it. I appreciate you believing in me. No one ever has before.”

  The muscle in his jaw moves, and concern is in his pretty hazel eyes. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It’s not your fault.” I look down at my hands, walking slowly past him into the smaller office with the desk I dream of defiling. “During your lecture, I was wondering if that’s why I struggle sometimes with my grades. I’m like the children who only see violence growing up. I’ve learned to only expect failure.”

  He follows me into the small room and stops at my back. The heat of his body lights up every part of my core, and when he lifts his hand, my eyes close at the thought he’ll touch me. At the last minute, he seems to think better of it, going around the desk instead.

  “In this field, we know not to say that things are all in your mind.” He takes a seat, and I sit across from him frustrated by his restraint. “However, I can tell you as a teacher and an experienced professional, you demonstrated an understanding of the concepts that surpassed your classmates.”

  “My nightmares have returned,” I blurt, wasting no time. “They started the first night I was back on campus, and they’re getting stronger. I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep up with my assignments if they don’t stop.”

  The more I say, the tighter his brow grows, the more concern brims in his eyes. “I’m sorry to hear you’re having nightmares. Are they about your father?”

  Dropping my eyes to my lap, I nod. “My father, my cousin, the violence I endured after he was killed when I was sent to live with my uncle.”

  He flinches as if from a memory. “Childhood trauma can be difficult to overcome. Mental health services are included in your tuition. I could help you get an appointment with a counselor, maybe you could try sleeping pills.”

  “Pills don’t work for me.”

  “I’m afraid that’s the best I can offer.”

  Blinking up at him, I hesitate. “I always have trouble when I'm alone at night. I don’t think humans are meant to sleep alone. We’re social creatures, aren’t we?”

  “We are.”

  “Do you sleep alone, Professor Winston?” My question is quiet, a shared secret.

  “Again, this isn’t appropriate—”

  “It’s not right for a man so strong and virile to be celibate.”

  He rises from the chair, walking around to where I sit and holding out his hand. “I’ll help you get an appointment with a counselor. I’ll email you the information. That’s all.”

  “Are you sleeping with her?”

  “Who?”

  “Your graduate assistant.” A bite is in my tone. “She’s totally into you. I could see it last time I visited.”

  “No.” He’s angry now, and I meet him with my own frustrated anger, taunting him.

  “She’s just giving you blow jobs?”

  “Stop it, Reanna.” His eyes flash.

  Stepping closer, I put my hand on his chest, loving the heat of his body through the thin cotton. “You’re the first man who’s ever seen me.”

  “I doubt that.” A harsh laugh scrapes from his throat.

  “It’s true. You understand how I feel because you’ve lost someone, too. You know how hard it is to trust, to believe you won’t get hurt again.” Again, speaking the words, I realize how true they are. “You could teach me that.”

  Two hands grip my upper arms, and he moves me away. “I’m not doing this. I’m not risking my reputation or my job for this.”

  Falling back, I pull my lower lip into my mouth, studying his eyes. Reaching out, I take my bag and slip it over my shoulder, walking slowly to the door.

  I unlock it, but before I open it, I look back at him. “You might like me if you stop fighting.”

  Clenched white teeth are visible behind his parted lips, and his eyes drink in my body. The cropped sweater I’m wearing leaves little to the imagination. I’m not wearing a bra, and my nipples are pointed. Straightening, I slide my hand over the bare strip of exposed skin, wishing it was his hand.

  Without another word, I leave his office and exit the building, falling back against the limestone exterior as energy hums in my veins. He didn’t give me much, but he showed me more than he ever has before.

  He doesn’t just like me, he wants me, and I wonder how I’ll survive until I see him again.

  9

  Dirk

  Grabbing my coat off the back of my chair, I head out into the waning twilight, hands shoved in my pockets, thinking I’ll have a drink at the Den then head to my place and pack. I don’t have classes tomorrow, and I’ve decided I will take Hana up on her suggestion that I drive back to Hamiltown this weekend.

  It’ll be good to be around family, get some perspective, have a few familial hugs. Perhaps this is homesickness.

  “We meet again, Professor Winston.” Sharon jogs up to my side. “You seem pissed. Don’t tell me, Dr. O’Toole is being a tool again?”

  A tight laugh huffs from my chest. “I thought I was the only one who called him that.”

  “It’s a rare thing when someone’s personality so closely matches his or her name. It definitely adds credence to the theory that one's name impacts one’s social development.”

  “I think this is a topic best left to the linguistic anthropologists.”

  “Really? I thought it fell more along the lines of nature versus nurture.”

  “You never told me the topic of your graduate thesis.” We’re at the Husky Den, and I hold the door for her.

  “The role of sex and perceived opportunity in the career choices of men versus women.”

  “Phew, that’s a mouthful,” I chuckle. “So Jung versus Freud?”

  The bar is crowded for a Thursday evening, and I follow her to our usual spot, waving to the student bartender. “A double bourbon on the rocks, and a…”

  “Dog Pack Pale Ale,” Sharon calls over the noise, and the guy nods, turning quickly to fill our order. “To answer your question, more like Freud and Jung working together to demonstrate to what extent both theories play a role in the choices we make.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  “It’s mostly surveys, trying to get students to remember messages they received in childhood and comparing that to their choice of major.”

  “Still, interesting.” A tumbler is placed in front of me and a pint glass for Sharon. I pass my card to the guy. “Leave it open.”

  Sharon lifts her glass, turning her back to the bar and surveying the crowd. “Every semester it’s the same. The more weeks pass, the more crowded it gets in here. I stop coming after fall break.”

  “Good to know.” I raise my voice, thinking I won’t have a voice by tomorrow.

  Lifting the tumbler to my lips, the warm liquid hits my tongue and high-pitched cheers and clapping draw my attention to the back area of the bar where pool tables are arranged.

  I almost choke when I see her. She’s still dressed in those tight jeans and that short sweater, and my mind goes instantly, rebelliously to lifting her round tits.

  She’s holding a short glass of clear liquid, and that fucker Evan is beside her, holding a pool cue and leaning in to whisper something in her ear. She waves him away, going to stand beside a smaller girl with light blonde hair.

  Red floods my vision, and I turn to the bar, taking another, longer sip of whiskey. Sharon said he’s harmless. She claims the girls all know he’s a player, but still, jealousy fires in my blood. The thought of his hands on her bare skin nearly sends me over the edge.

  Sharon turns to the bar, leaning into my shoulder. “Freud would have a field day on college campuses.”

  I huff a bitter laugh. “He had a field day in Vienna.”

  “Yes, but this is the perfect setting to validate all his wildest theories. It’s a hotbed of sexual desires and frustrations.”

  She has no idea, and I polish off the last of my drink, signaling the bartender for another. Driving music overhead sounds like “Everlong” by the Foo Fighters, and my insides rage in time with the drums. I can’t punch a student unprovoked.

  “That thing you said earlier about Landon, what did that mean?” I don’t even care how O’Toole acted like a tool, but I need to distract myself.

  “Oh,” she laughs, finishing her beer. “He’s just a hypocrite, bringing up all that shit about Efington at your party when I’m constantly turning him down for dates.”