My phone vibrates in the next moment, indicating a new text message. I don’t recognize the number, but after reading the content, I figure out who it’s from.
PHILLIP: So, I guess you’re my lucky charm.
ME: How did you get my number?
PHILLIP: Robbie. You’re not mad, are you?
Of course, it had to be him. I am annoyed.
ME:I’d have preferred if you’d asked me for it.
PHILLIP: Shit. You’re right. I just wanted to ask if you’d like to come to my next game.
I groan. I swear to God, I’m never making impulsive decisions again. Ever!
ME: I don’t like football. Sorry.
The three dots on my screen tell me Phillip is typing a reply, but I never get to see the text because my phone is yanked from my hands.
“Hey!”
“You’re here to work, Miss Moretti, not text your boyfriend. Now get to it.”
My cheeks heat as embarrassment mixes with indignation. I can’t believe Alistair did that.
“What about my phone?”
“You’ll get it back once class is over.”
Sure, it’s rude to text during class, but it’s not like he was talking. Taking my phone feels rather extreme. The startled look on my companions’ faces tells me they’re just as shocked as me. Needlessly to say, no one jokes around while working on the assignment. They don’t want to deal with Alistair’s bad mood.
I’m too angry to concentrate on anything and end up being a deadweight.
When the class is finally over, the anger is gone. I carelessly started this silly game, but it’s done nothing but leave me hollow inside. I collect my stuff as fast as I can, and when I approach his desk, he doesn’t look at me.
“Can I have my phone back, please?”
He slides the device across the desk, finally looking up. “Next time I catch you texting during my class, I’ll fail you in a heartbeat. Is that clear, Miss Moretti?”
I swallow hard. “That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?”
“I don’t have time for students who are using school to party on their parents’ dime.”
I wince, feeling Alistair’s rebuff as if it were a physical blow. That’s exactly what my mother thinks I’m doing, which couldn’t be further from the truth. I haven’t partied at all.
My eyes prickle as my vision turns blurry.
“I’m not a party girl,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Prove it.”
“No, Mr. Walsh. I don’t have to prove jack to you. Yes, it was wrong to text during your class. It won’t happen again. But if I party or not, it’s none of your concern. Only my grades are, and they speak for themselves.” I grab my phone and run out of the classroom.
I’m fuming as I stride down the hallway. Robbie sees me and steps in my way.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing. Do you want to go somewhere and talk?”
I shake my head. I wish I could confide in Robbie, but this secret is not only mine, and despite being furious with Alistair, I can’t put his career in jeopardy.
“No. I’ll be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
I rush out of the building, keeping the fast pace until I reach my apartment. When I walk through the door, I’m winded, and sweat dots my forehead. A spike of pain flares on my right side, but it subsides after a moment. It must be a cramp for practically running a block.
I collapse on the couch. I only plan to rest for a bit, but once my eyes close, oblivion takes over.
26
Alistair
So far, this semester has been a complete disaster. I thought I could put whatever it is I’m feeling for Chiara on the back burner and treat her like a regular student. I thought I was succeeding until I put on that damn Italian movie. Fuck, when that sex scene came on, it changed everything. The sexual tension in the room rose to alarming levels. It was a good thing Chiara left, because I had been close to breaking my rules again.
Then I saw that damn picture of Chiara kissing the school’s quarterback, and I completely lost my mind. Riding the jealousy wave, I couldn’t keep my temper in check in class, and the result was me acting like a caveman. I didn’t have to take away her phone; a warning would have sufficed.
Tonight, I’m giving dating another try. Since I’m not looking for a serious relationship, it doesn’t matter that my divorce isn’t finalized yet. With Chiara it was different. I knew the closer I got to her, the more I would want her.
This time, I used a different app, making sure I didn’t type any of Chiara’s attributes in the filters. My date is a redheaded businesswoman from Canada. I’ve always gotten along with Canadians, so I figured why the hell not? The plus side is that she looks nothing like Chiara or my ex-wife.
The date is going well. The conversation is flowing smoothly, and Sarine, my date, has even made me laugh a few times. I’m at ease, but so far, the intelligent woman opposite me hasn’t made me feel anything else. I could take her back to my place and fuck her—something Sarine already hinted she’s more than willing to do—but sleeping with her just for the sake of cleansing my palate feels wrong.
“So, I have a confession to make.” She looks at me from under her eyelashes. A lopsided smile unfurls on her lips.
“I’m listening.”
“This is the first time I used the app to score a date. My sister is the one who set my account up as a joke.”
“I believe that’s a normal occurrence.” Or people just use that excuse to pretend they aren’t desperate.
“Right, but that’s not the confession. I only agreed to this date because I recognized you.”
“Oh?”
And that’s when I know the evening will go downhill faster than a speeding car without brakes. There’s nothing that can put me in a fouler mood than when people want to bring up my celebrity past. It was a breath of fresh air that Chiara had no clue who I was. And even now that she knows about my past, she hasn’t brought it up.
“We watched The Lockharts religiously at my house when I was a kid. Of course, my favorite character was yours. You were my first crush.”
