Текст книги "Tempting"

Автор книги: Alex Lucian

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Chapter Twenty-Five

In the week since I’d made Nathan breakfast, I’d become a wanton woman. After every class, I’d taken my time putting my things into my bag, hoping to steal a few moments of time with him. I’d taken a chance the last class, planting a kiss on his lips seconds after the last student had left.

Each time, he’d told me to leave but not without regret coloring his words. In an effort to protect me—in his words—we’d been hands above the belt for the last week. Students had moved into the apartment across the hall from me, which meant my place was off-limits. And though he hadn’t told me not to go to his house, he hadn’t explicitly invited me over either.

So when I’d seen the flier for a Halloween party at Sigma Chi’s frat, I’d taken a photo and texted to it Nathan.

Me: Whatcha think, Nathan?

Nathan: Looks like fun. Enjoy yourself, Adele.

Narrowing my eyes, I’d furiously typed another message.

Me: I’ll enjoy myself if you go with me. And I’ll make sure you enjoy it too.

Nathan: Tempting. But I’ll pass.

I wasn’t above whining, but I didn’t want to beg him to go with me.

Me: I have this really sweet Alice from Alice in Wonderland costume. Thigh highs, Nathan. Red heels.

His reply had come minutes later.

Nathan: Fuck. We can’t go together because I can’t go at all. It’s too risky.

Me: Not if you wear a mask. I bought one for you—the Mad Hatter. Think about it. We could be together, in the open, without anyone knowing.

Nathan: Do you have some kind of Lewis Carroll fetish?

The very idea had made me laugh.

Me: Come on, old man. Live a little.

Nathan: I’m only ‘old’ because you are so very young.

Me: Please. I’m not above begging. I’ll even get on … my .... knees. To beg, of course.

So much for not begging.

Nathan: On your knees, huh? I’ll think about it.

Me: The party’s Saturday. When will you tell me?

Nathan: You’ll know by Friday.

Me: In class? Why, isn’t that very bold of you, Professor Easton?

Nathan: You’ll know Friday.

That had been after our Wednesday class, and had been our last contact up until class on Friday, the day before Halloween.

Surprisingly, I hadn’t received any texts from Leo all week. We usually went to the frat parties together, but maybe he was realizing that distance was what we both needed. I needed to apologize for kissing him the way I had, but I was so wrapped up in Nathan that I had tunnel vision.

And seeing him in class and acknowledging the distance we needed to keep between us for that entire hour was practically torture. He’d looked at me a few times, his eyes warm, and I’d practically dissolved into a puddle in my chair. But it was always subtle because Nathan wasn’t about to let us get caught. As much as I appreciated that he was looking out for me, sometimes I wanted to see him lose some of that control and not just in private, as he’d done countless times with me.

I slid into my seat and pulled things out of my bag as students milled around me, talking about the party the following night.

“Are you going?” the guy who normally sat next to me in class leaned toward me, muscles bulging under the strain of his tight sleeves. He did nothing for me.

I shook my head. “I don’t think so.” Just talking about it put me in a sour mood and so when the door open and Nathan entered the room, it was a welcome reprieve from feeling glum.

His hair looked wet, his jawline peppered with several days’ worth of growth. He wore his glasses and looked a little preoccupied as he pulled things from his bag and placed them on his desk.

Running a hand over his hair, he turned toward the class and began lecturing on imagery, using an example from a student’s essay the previous week.

He displayed the essay on the projector and, using his mouse, he circled ‘Frankenfood.’ “Great use of a portmanteau here, Michael.”

Something about the word was familiar but before I could say anything, another student blurted out, “What’s that?”

“Excellent question.” Nathan lifted his head. “A portmanteau word is formed by combining two words or their sounds into a new word. For example, the word ‘smog’ is formed from ‘fog’ and ‘smoke.’”

Pulling off his glasses, he rose from his chair and moved around the desk. His eyes met mine for an instant before he leaned against the front side of his desk, facing us. “How many of you have used the word ‘chillax’?”

There was a low rumble of laughter before most of us raised our hands. “That’s a great example of a portmanteau—combining ‘chill’ and ‘relax’ into one word.”

“‘Frenemy’ is one, right?”

“Precisely.” Nathan nodded approvingly toward the girl to my left. “They’re often ironic, humorous and the name itself comes from a suitcase that opens in two equal sections.”

Again, Nathan leveled his gaze on me for a moment. It was as if he was trying to communicate something with me, but I wasn’t following.

“Can anyone guess which well-known author first used what he called a portmanteau in his writings?”

The class was silent, waiting. Nathan looked at me once more before speaking.

“Lewis Carroll.”

A smile formed on my lips. But I didn’t let my lips spread, still unsure of what he was telling me with this example.

“In Through the Looking Glass, Humpty Dumpty tells Alice, ‘You see it's like a portmanteau—there are two meanings packed up into one word.’ And, in fact, Carroll popularized the word 'chortle’ as a blend of chuckle and snort.” He tapped his pen on the desk, smiled at me for a second. My heart galloped in my chest. “And now we’re blessed with others like ‘bromance,’ ‘infomercial,’ and ‘jeggings.’”

There was a collective laughter but my heart was thundering, competing with the commotion in the room.

When the class ended and the last student departed, Nathan remained on the other side of the room, still leaning against his desk.

“That’s a yes, isn’t it?”

Slowly, a smile lifted the corners of his lips, bringing with it an ache within me. He looked so young, boyish even, when he smiled like that.

Rising from my desk, I walked slowly down the step to the floor, my heels clicking as I approached him. “You seemed very relaxed—dare I say even happy—today. I wonder why?” Biting my lip, I knew my eyes still smiled, happy.

His hands were tucked in his pockets and he shrugged.

“Do I maybe bring a little something out in you? Some crazy kind of recklessness akin to going to fraternity Halloween parties?” I wanted to touch him, but I knew he wouldn’t invite the touch when we could easily be walked in on.

“Maybe you do,” he said softly, thoughtfully. His eyes softened and before I knew what he was doing, he’d reached forward and pulled me to him. “Kiss me before I bend you over this desk.”

A thrill raced up my spine and though it was against my nature, I complied, kissing him softly first before pressing my entire body hard against him. When he gently pushed me away, he looked as tortured as I knew I must have. “Where’s my mask?”

Pulling it from my bag, I handed it to him, my fingers lingering on his. “The mad hatter.”

His eyes lingered on the mask, long fingers running over the grooves and curves. So softly I nearly didn’t hear him, he asked, “Have I gone mad?”

My heart tumbled in my chest, tripping right over the Alice in Wonderland quote.

He looked at me, eyes patient, as if he was seeing right through me.

I brushed the hair from his forehead. “I’m afraid so. You’re entirely bonkers.” My lips spread. “But I’ll tell you a secret.” My hand moved down his face, cupping his jaw, my thumb brushing over his bottom lip. I tilted my head to the side, lowered my voice. “All the best people are.”

I kissed him again—my idea this time—and he didn’t push me away. When I finally pulled back, he stopped me, a hand on my hair. Angling his head down so his eyes were in line with mine, he said, “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

“This isn’t fun yet,” I leaned in to shout into Adele’s ear. Or at least where I think her ear was, behind the wig. She must have heard me though, because she looked over her shoulder and grinned at me. Her face was the same, of course, but the Alice hair she was wearing was a white-blonde wig, almost Bridget Bardot-like, with curled pig-tails on either side of her head and a thick black headband sitting toward the front of her head, long swooping bangs across her forehead.

“Don’t be a party pooper, old man.” Then she reached around and pinched my ass underneath the ridiculous black cape I was wearing. When I slipped my hand underneath the ruffled blue skirt to do the same to her, she swatted my arm away, then grabbed it and marched us further into the frat house.

She was probably right. I couldn’t remember having any of the Sigma Chi members in my creative writing classes, so between that and my costume, and the copious amounts of alcohol that was currently being consumed by the swaying crush of bodies in the house, it was highly unlikely that anyone would recognize me.

The mask that Adele had bought for me completely covered my face. It had a sharp, hawk-like nose, small cutouts all over the face, and showed only the skin around my eyes, the length of the metal going from my forehead to my chin, the opening at the mouth only adequate for taking small drinks through it.

She said I was the Mad Hatter, but nobody would have guessed that, so I played along. Truthfully, I didn’t know whether I was The Phantom of the Opera, or a warrior, or a birdman. All I knew was that I was wearing all black like a chump, and I was walking around with the sexiest Alice in Wonderland I’d ever laid eyes on.

When we got home, I was going to fuck her with those thigh high socks on, and maybe let her keep the wig on too. I inhaled through the nose, the sharp, pungent smell of marijuana helping to tame the hardening of my cock. But I couldn’t help it, she looked like a wet dream, in that tiny blue dress with the frilly white apron over it, her cleavage pushing up and over the neckline of the dress. Men’s eyes followed her with every step of those fuck-me red stilettos, then moved on when they saw her gripping me close to her. Which was good, because I didn’t want to have to beat the hell out of anyone here.

Pounding bass shook the foundation of the house, and the half-naked women that embodied well more than half of the party attendees ensured that their attention span on my half-naked woman was blissfully short. The lights were dim, only strings of orange and purple lights stretching across the ceiling lit the way toward the alcohol, which I was unlikely to drink. But, I’d promised to come out and have fun with her.

Someone knocked into my shoulder and I glared, realizing how ineffectual that was. Nobody could see my damn face. So I shifted and walked directly behind Adele, taking one hedonistic moment to grip her hips and pull her ass back into me while we waited for a line of cheerleaders to wind past us. She pushed back into me, making a slight grinding motion to the beat of the music, hardening me instantly.

Then she stopped, yelling over her shoulder at me. “Drinks! We need drinks first.”

I nodded and we continued to slow trek to the kitchen.

God, if any faculty knew I was here. I shook that off when the lights finally brightened. Apparently they all needed to be able to see to get inebriated. Adele chatted with the guy at the keg and I actively didn’t listen. I absolutely did not need to hear what men said to her at parties like this. Because if I knew? I’d probably never let her go.

Actually, maybe I did want to hear. She laughed, said thanks, and turned to me with two full red cups. After handing me one, she watched over the rim while I took a sip. Then laughed when I grimaced.

“Well, it’s certainly not my favorite.”

“And what kind of beer would that be?” She lifted the hand that held her own cup, took a long drink. I watched, transfixed, while she licked some foam off her upper lip. “Nathan?”

“Oh. Right.” Her lips curved up in a slow smile, and the lights in the kitchen made her look like an evil Alice, like she should have tiny little horns sticking up from the wig. “I prefer Belgian style ales. Not warm domestics that taste like recycled piss.”

She tilted her head back and gave a delighted laugh. “Shit, you are such a snob. Didn’t you ever drink in college?”

“Sure. But I don’t remember it tasting this bad.” With another long drink, she set her cup down. Her empty cup. Then she grabbed mine. “Okaaaaay. You trying to set a record?”

Adele shook her head, then took another swallow. “Just wanted to empty it enough so we can go dance and I don’t have to worry about spilling it down my dress.”

The tip of her pointer finger followed the front of the pale blue material that was pushing her breasts up and out. It was so low cut that I could see the white lace edge of her bra from where I stood over her. Some idiot behind me obviously saw her doing it too.

“Holy hell,” he said, voice full of awe. “This is the greatest party ever.”

I turned and narrowed my eyes, but of course, he wasn’t paying me one lick of attention. His blurry eyes were focused right on Adele’s spectacular cleavage.

“Hey,” I snapped and he blinked over at me. “Go the fuck away.”

Even with my voice slightly muffled by the mask, he got the message, and stumbled out of the room. And Adele leaned into me, wrapping her free arm around my waist, which pushed her breasts into my chest. “Mm, I love it when you go all caveman. You don’t even know what it makes me want to do to you.”

“Come on, trouble-maker. Let’s go dance and get this over with.”

We wove our way back to the main room, the dark, writhing space having a much safer feel than the brightness in the kitchen. When there was a slight opening among the people who were dancing, Adele turned to me, and smoothed her hands up my chest until she gripped the back of my neck. I fit one leg in between hers, and we started to move.

Beyoncé sang to a faster beat than we moved to, we were setting our own pace, grinding against each other, her hands tightening in my hair when I’d use my hands to tilt her hips harder into my own.

I wanted to rip my mask off and claim her mouth. The way she looking up at me, she was fucking me with her eyes. And I’d seen that look on her before, the very first night we were together. The way our bodies moved, not even cognizant of the beat, just moved together to something that no one else could hear.

It was raw attraction. An unfettered, clawing lust that I’d never experienced in my entire life. I ripped her arms from around my neck and turned her around so that her ass pressed against me. She pushed into me even further, making slow circles with her hips, driving me absolutely fucking insane. My arms were wrapped so tightly around her, one just under the curve of her breasts, and one lower, so I could push my hand down on her pelvis.

The skin under the mask was so hot, like I’d covered it with the sun, instead of some cheap metal. I couldn’t take it. My hands itched to work under her skirt and into her underwear, feel how wet she was for me.

So I grabbed her hand and yanked her behind me, weaving through the increasingly drunk crowds until I found a door that would take us out. There were more people outside, laughing maniacally and speaking so much more loudly than the situation demanded. I took a sharp curve around the building and followed the red brick until I turned again, this time going around the perimeter of the next house.

I could hear the clicking of Adele’s heels behind me, but I didn’t look. I couldn’t. Because if I did, I’d take her right there. Not giving one shit if anyone could see us. When we reached the side of the house far opposite of the frat, the sounds of the party were muffled. The thin, dark alley was completely covered in shadow.

My blood was boiling in my veins, the thrill of no one knowing who I was, of holding her in my arms and practically fucking her on that dance floor was heady and thick.

I pushed her up against the brick wall and ripped my mask off. We kissed like we were lighting ourselves on fire, moaning and groaning and grabbing at anything we could reach. My hand into her top, palming her breast roughly, her fingers around my still-covered dick, a tight vise that didn’t feel nearly as good as her pussy would.

There were voices close enough that I could differentiate men and women, but not hear what they were saying. I felt invincible.

I ripped the zipper down on my pants and hefted her up on the wall.

“This?” I said against her mouth while I pulled my cock out. “This is what I wanted to do to you that first night.”

“Yes,” she hissed, scoring her fingernails against the back of my neck. Keeping one arm wrapped firmly around her back, I found the edge of her underwear and wrenched it aside. I didn’t have the mobility to let go of her so I could test her, but I didn’t fucking care. And neither did she. Adele was just a writhing mass of impatience, shifting down so that the head of my cock lined up with her. She shoved down while I shoved up and my balls slapped against her ass.

I fucked her against that wall, the way our movements were limited making it nothing other than a rutting, thrusting, dirty thing. I could still taste the tang of beer on her tongue when I sucked it into my mouth, and it made her pussy clench in tiny pulses when I did it.

“God, Nathan,” she moaned. “Fuck me. Harder, harder.”

So I did. Who could’ve said no to her? I slammed into her, over and over, until I couldn’t hold back the racing fire in my body. She stiffened and cried out, clenching my dick in an impossibly tight fist. With one last thrust, I came, groaning into her mouth and then sinking my forehead into the crook of her neck. When I pulled out, the rush of liquid that followed gave me a sick sense of pleasure. We had no way to clean up, so she’d feel me like that, coating the insides of her thighs while the stupid little boys in the house gawked at her.

She was still slumped against the wall, breathing hard and smiling. “That was pretty epic, Professor Easton.”

I shushed her, even though no one could have heard her. Her face was flushed, and I traced my thumb along her cheekbone.

“Have I ever told you that you look exceptionally gorgeous after you come?”

She laughed, leaning in to hug me. We stayed that way for a couple moments, stealing a sweet embrace in the darkness.

“Can we go home now?” she asked when she finally pulled back. “I don’t want to share you anymore tonight.”

“I don’t want to share you anymore, either,” I said back, and the truth of those words didn’t feel as scary, hidden as we were. I placed the mask back over my face and wrapped my arm around her while we walked back toward where we could hail a cab.

When the yellow car was pulling up to the curb, she turned back to me and smiled. “You realize that we’re going to have to do that again, right?”

“What?”

Right before she opened the door, she leaned up and whispered in my ear. “You. Fucking me in public.”

“Get in the car, Alice,” I admonished with absolutely no heat in my tone. When she turned to slide in, I grinned. Because hell yeah we were doing that again.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

November passed quickly, the red and gold leaves curling up and turning brown and brittle. Between class, picking up a few extra shifts so I could pay for the Wi-Fi I had finally signed up for, and trying to sneak in time with Nathan, I’d barely registered that winter was on the horizon until I’d slipped on my ass on the sidewalk in front of my apartment, landing on ice. My hand had hit knuckles first into the ice and the sharp sting of the blow made me loudly groan, “Mother fucker!”

I tried rolling over to my knees to pull to standing but that resulted in another swear. My knees were bruised from the blow job I’d given Nathan in his shower, the blow job I’d purposefully taken a very long time in giving—just so he could experience an explosive orgasm of his own. He’d given me so many, after all.

But then I’d been stuck on the floor, my knees bearing imprints of his tile. We’d laughed as he’d picked me up and set me on the counter to dry me off, but days later they were still bruised and aching.

I pulled myself to the steps to my building and pulled off my glove, checking my knuckles for bleeding. They were red, maybe beginning to swell a little, but when I flexed them, I didn’t feel pain apart from the stretch in the tissue where I’d hit.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

Celeste: What’s your major again?

I stared at my phone, puzzled. Either Celeste was looking to drag me down for what she called my “fake” major or she genuinely couldn’t remember. The former would be her acting like a bitch and the latter would be her being an uncaring bitch. One way or another, I wouldn’t win.

Me: Creative writing. Why?

Celeste: Ah, that’s right. I just wondered if you’d changed your mind yet.

I had to bite my tongue to keep the anger from taking over.

Me: Why would I change my mind?

Celeste: Dad would be more than happy to support you, financially, if you were going to school for something that you didn’t already know how to do.

I resisted the urge to throw my phone across the ice, mostly because I couldn’t afford to replace it at the time. Because Celeste was right; I wasn’t supported financially because of my choice of study. When I’d announced my major, my dad had been silent, as usual, but he hadn’t offered any kind of financial support—the only thing he could have offered me.

And I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been tempted by the idea of changing my major to have his help. Being broke and living meagerly was stressful. But I’d stuck to my guns all the year before and this year—too proud to admit I needed anything from him. But Ramen and toast for the majority of my meals was getting old. And the student loans looming over my head were another reminder that post-graduation, the Ramen and toast situation wouldn’t likely change.

Celeste: Mom worries about you. And Dad wanted me to let you know if you changed your major, he’d support you fully. Tuition and rent.

Fuck. The word dragged out in my head. The offer was tempting. But I couldn’t give up writing, not when I loved it as much as I did.

Me: That’s nice.

It was the only reply I could come up with. I clicked back to my list of messages, glancing my eyes from Leo’s unread message from days earlier. I only saw a preview of it: I think we should…

I wasn’t ready to read what he thought. I was miles away from where I’d been when I’d sloppily kissed him. I’d been confused, lonely. Now, I was being thoroughly fucked by my professor and getting high off just being around him. So I continually put Leo off, hoping that by Thanksgiving I’d yank the tail out between my legs and apologize.

I clicked on Nathan’s name.

Me: What are you doing right now?

His reply took a minute and I tucked my hand into my jacket to warm up my fingers until his message popped through.

Nathan: Waiting for you to come to my office.

Me: Oh?

Nathan: I recall you wanting me to bend you over my desk once.

My thighs clenched in excitement. Gingerly, I stepped around the ice and made my way to campus, a smile on my face.

“Come in,” he answered my knock.

Entering the office, I took in the lone light from his desk lamp. The rest of the room was washed in darkness. “Nathan,” I said softly.

He lifted his head from his book and peered at me, eyes traveling the length of my body. “You’re quick.”

My lips twitched. “I can be.”

My innuendo didn’t go unnoticed. Swiftly he stood, coming around his desk and reaching behind me to lock the door. He turned me around and pulled the zipper of my coat down, pulling it off me quickly and gracefully. He tossed the coat into the chair and turned back to me.

“How are your knees?”

The immediate blush warmed my cheeks. “Sore.”

He smiled, tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m glad.” His eyes moved over my face. “Look at you. Flushed cheeks. Messy hair. Were you excited to see me?”

The unexpected tenderness of his words softened the thudding of my heart. “I’m always excited to see you,” I admitted quietly.

He brushed the hair from my eyes and cradled my face with his hands. The warmth from his fingers burned into my windblown skin and I sank into his hold. “You’re beautiful, you know that, right?”

I’d expected a quick fuck, something fast but satisfying. But instead, he held me carefully as if I might break under the pressure of his touch. He disarmed me when he touched me like this, and surprisingly—to me—I seemed to need what he gave me, whether his movements were quick and punishing or slow and tender. I was an animal begging for scraps from him, but he always nourished me no matter how he fed the desire that burned within.

Leaning forward, he brushed his lips over mine. He wasn’t hurried in his tasting, savoring the moment with me. His hand cupped my ass and squeezed, causing me to hiss. “Ouch.”

He let go, his eyes searching mine. “What’s wrong?”

Sheepishly, I smiled. “I ate it out in front of my apartment today. The fucking ice.”

“Oh,” he pressed his lips against my forehead. “My,” he said, pressing his lips against my temple, “poor,” he pressed a kiss to my lips, “baby.” He breathed the word right into my mouth, causing my complete undoing in his hands.

My hands found his chest, fingers digging into the softness of his sweater. “Nathan…” I murmured. “I have class.”

“Ah.” His breath fluttered against my mouth. “So we’ll have to make this quick? Pity.”

His fingers opened the buttons of my blouse, exposing my stomach to him first. His thumbs caressed the skin there and as delicious as it felt, I knew I couldn’t let him prolong this.

“I’ll be late,” I said, leaning forward and planting a kiss on his lips. “Fast. I want fast.”

He sighed, but turned me around and pushed me against his desk. My stomach pressed into the wood and I reached my hands forward to grip the other side of his desk.

One of his hands slid up, over the back of my shirt to the nape of my neck, brushing the hair aside to get a firm grip. I breathed across the wood; ready, waiting.

I heard the jingle of his belt buckle seconds before I heard the firm but insistent knock on his office door. “Professor Easton?” I froze at the feminine voice, as if I was stuck to his desk.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath, letting go of me and backing away.

Slowly, I straightened, but nerves made my fingers fumble on the buttons of my shirt. Fear sat like a weighted ball in my throat and I couldn’t say a single word as Nathan pushed my hands away and took over the buttoning for me. “Just a moment,” he called.

Shit.

Fuck.

Shit.

Fuck.

The words were on repeat in my head. I’d danced too close to fire this time, taunting it with my fearlessness. I was too focused on seeing what Nathan could give me that I didn’t give a single care to what I could lose.

I could have not only compromised Nathan’s reputation, but mine too—as well as my fucking scholarship … the only reason I could attend school.

Nathan’s fingers were hurried and my legs felt like they’d crumble underneath me, but I kept my breathing even and soft.

When my shirt was buttoned, Nathan thrust my coat into my hands and began brushing my hair with his fingers, as if he was trying to manage some semblance of normalcy. I pushed my arms into the sleeves of my coat but left it unzipped, my heart loud in my ears. I opened my mouth to say something but Nathan pressed his fingers over my lips and shook his head.

“Shh. Come over after class?” he whispered.

I nodded my head jerkily as he ran his hands through his own hair and straightened his shirt. He gestured for me to move toward the door and when he opened it, I tried to fake a smile. “Thanks, Professor Easton,” I said cheerily as I took in the female student waiting for his attention.

I didn’t miss the way she narrowed her eyes, looking over us both before turning her attention to Nathan and clearing her throat. “I need to drop class,” she said.

“It’s your last day to,” Nathan replied.

I squeezed past her and moved down the hallway, my cheeks warm with the excitement of that moment, as unwelcome as it was. It wasn’t until I was outside that I looked down to zip my coat and noticed the opening in my shirt, the button we’d missed, exposing the center of my bra.

All through my next class, I had sweated bullets of worry. I’d glanced at my phone a dozen times, willing Nathan to message me. We could have been caught. And if the female student had missed the way my cheeks were flushed, she most certainly wouldn’t have missed the flash of my bright red bra peeking out of the unbuttoned gap in my blouse.

I couldn’t afford to lose my scholarship and if I wanted to continue to be with Nathan—which I most definitely did—I had to figure something out. My feelings had shifted from wanting him to something more profound: wanting to keep him. It wasn’t something I was used to, but because it was new and special, I wasn’t willing to give it up yet.

After checking my phone for the hundredth time, I clicked on Celeste’s message and read it again.

Me: Were you serious? I can’t see Dad wanting to support me at all, after defying him.

Her reply came at the end of class.

Celeste: I’m serious, Adele. We’re all sick of watching Mom worry over you. You know Dad would have supported you if you’d taken a more practical choice of study.

I waited until I’d exited the classroom to call her.

“Adele,” she answered.

I gnawed on my lip, feeling like I was making a deal with the devil just by talking with her. “Why are you reminding me now?”

Celeste’s sigh caused me to roll my eyes. “Because Thanksgiving is next week and it would be really great if we could have a relaxed holiday without you and Dad ignoring one another. You know he’d be proud if you chose another vocation.”

Was I really listening to her and considering what she was offering? I wanted to correct her: Dad was the one who did the ignoring. And how fucking hard was it for him to be proud of me anyway?

“And we’re both sick to death hearing Mom worrying over your weight.”

“I’ve actually gained weight.”