“I hear it takes one to know one.”
“For a grad student, you sure sound like a schoolyard bully.”
Sterling tips his head back and laughs. My eyes are drawn to his Adam’s apple, seemingly transfixed by the way it bobs as the tenor of his voice winds itself around me like a toxic fog.
He has the kind of laugh you could live in, get lost in, if only he weren’t so wicked.
“You think you’re so clever, that you can hurt me. But you can’t, Sterling. It’s not possible.” To break me any further, I add in my head.
“Guess I’ll have to try harder.”
“Your loyalty’s misplaced,” I mutter under my breath. This man here before me, he’s so different than the boy I used to know. He’s sharper, more cunning, colder.
While he wasn’t ever particularly sunny, he was still a bright spot for me, because his presence in our home always meant as a reprieve from Rob’s torture.
“What was that?”
“One day...” I sigh and shake my head. “No, you know what? Forget it. I’m not wasting my breath trying to plead my case to you. You’re nothing more than a lapdog. Newsflash, your master is a sociopath.”
I crumple my quiz and toss it down onto his desk before spinning on my heel and hoofing it toward the door. I’m over him, over his antics, and desperately in need of pizza.
Preferably multiple slices with extra cheese, black olives, and bell peppers. And a side of ranch.
He calls my name just as I reach the door. I slow my pace but keep moving. “Have a great lunch.”
Somehow, his parting words sound more like a threat.
Freaking psycho.
“Stupid, arrogant, no good jackass,” I swear under my breath as I stalk across the campus like a woman on a warpath.
I’m enraged, barely hanging on by a thread, and in serious need of carbs. God help anyone who stands between me and my pizza.
“I’ll show him.”
“Show who?” Stella asks, appearing at my side, seemingly out of thin air.
“Jesus Christ!” I whisper-shout. “Where did you come from?”
“Uh, I’ve been walking beside you for like two minutes.”
“Really?”
“Yup,” she says with a pop of the P. “I showed up right around no good jackass.”
“Huh.” I must have been deep in my feels to not notice my best friend at my side. Which only serves as a reminder of my lacking self-awareness.
No wonder Sterling was so easily able to pull the wool over my eyes; I may as well have my head in the damn clouds.
“I take it class was bad?”
I groan. “More than bad. It was awful.”
Stella shoots me a sympathetic glance. “Let’s get some food and you can tell me all about it.”
“Please tell me you want pizza,” I plead, fully prepared to stand in line alone if need be.
“Babe, I always want pizza.”
“Good, because I need it. Need. It.”
“Then you shall have it.” She links her arm with mine and steers us toward the entrance.
Inside, various tantalizing scents greet us, but I only have one thing on my mind.
Dough, sauce, cheese. Dough, sauce, stabbing Sterling in the face, cheese.
Okay, so more than one thing.
“So, you want to tell me what happened?” Stella asks softly, gauging my reaction.
“Well, I’m ninety-nine percent sure I just failed our first quiz.” I grab two slices of my beloved pizza. “And I’m one-hundred percent certain he set me up to do it.”
“Set you up how?”
“Remember last week when my syllabus changed?”
Realization dawns in her eyes. “That rat!”
“Yup. He’s vile.”
She nods. “All the pretty boys are.”
“Pretty boys like Samson?” I ask, hoping today’s the day she finally spills her guts. God knows I could use the distraction.
“Nice subject change, Emmy. Real subtle.”
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes as I swipe my card and key in my PIN.
An angry beep sounds, causing my cheeks to burn. “Oops. Must have hit a wrong number.”
The guy behind the kiosk rolls his eyes as I re-enter my code, making sure to press the correct keys this time, but the results are the same.
“Are you sure you’re entering it correctly?” he asks, sounding beyond bored.
“Positive.” I glance back at the growing line behind me. “Could you... um... enter it manually?”
“Sure.”
I pass him the card and he keys it in on his side. Whatever he sees on his side has his brow furrowing. “Your account is locked.”
“Locked? What? Why?” Uneasiness snakes its way through me.
“I don’t know. Just says it’s locked by a faculty member.”
“What?” I ask again, more in outrage than in search of an actual answer. Because there’s only one