Page 41 of Tempest

Ardyn

Clover finishes knottingthe satin tie at my waist, then steps back, admiring her work.

“Perfect,” she says, spinning me by the shoulder until I face her. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

“I don’t know..” I pull at the ivory satin as if I can give my hips more room simply by yanking at it. “It’s a little tight for the eighteenth century, don’t you think?”

“Girl, it’s a college-themed eighteenth century. I doubt the women burned at the stake for being witches wore lingerie, but I guarantee you’ll see some tonight.”

“All you’ve guaranteed is that I can’t breathe.” I didn’t come to Titan Falls prepared for costume parties, so Clover chose from her closet and dressed me a corset mermaid gown with gold thread sown through the satin and a basque waistline. My boobs are also squished into a V-neckline with tiny spaghetti straps. “Why are we going again?”

“Because there will be cute boys.” Clover winks, then spins to her closet to get dressed in her “witch” costume. “Besides, someone has to show them how it’s done.”

I try to sit on my bed while Clover gets ready until the boning in my bodice threatens to stab me. I straighten.

After twenty minutes, Clover emerges from our bathroom clad in a feminine version of a men’s ankle-length velvet tuxedo coat, complete with a top hat. Underneath, she’s donned a high-collared lace neckpiece, a red-sequined corset, and black fishnets, capped off with thigh-high leather boots.

“Whoa. Clo, you look fantastic.”

“I know.” She grins with scarlet red lips. “So do you. Mostly because I dressed you.”

“No argument here.” Laughing, I take her elbow, and we saunter out of our room together.

Clover had the decency to allow me to wear my Chucks underneath the dress, so we both walk without issue from our dorm to Meat Row.

If I didn’t know how to get there, all we would’ve had to do was follow the pounding music and raucous laughter, becoming louder and messier as we cross through the middle of the quad. Some students who got started too early lie on the rim of the fountain in the middle, limbs dangling in the water, while couples make out and fondle each other beside them.

“God, I missed this,” I say as I watch a guy trip over nothing and splash into the water.

Clover squeezes my arm. “If you ever want to talk, you know, about what you went through or how these last years were like … I’m here for you, Ardy.”

I look over with a sad smile. “Thank you, but I’d much rather forget and try to live in the present.”

“I don’t blame you.” She goes quiet within a cacophony of drunken hollers and high-pitched screeches. I’d ask how the faculty let us get away with such an obvious underage party, but I’m guessing the $200k yearly tuition from each student speaks for itself.

“Hey, um, do you know if any professors come to these things?” I ask.

Clover responds with an amused hum. “I doubt it, but I’d love to see Professor Morgan in costume. Can you imagine how sexy he’d look in breaches? Oh my God.”

I laugh.

“Which professor would you want to see in a waistcoat, hmm?” Clover elbows me.

Her bony nudge tickles, and I laugh harder to cover up my immediate conjuring of Tempest in eighteenth-century finery, no shirt needed. Just the breaches, his chiseled muscles shining after our hard day’s fuck…

“Holy shit, you are thinking of someone!” Clover says, skipping with glee. “Who is it? Oh my God, Ardy, tell me. Who?”

The vision of Tempest coming up to me with that dark look in his eyes, ripping my bodice in two and biting down on one of my breasts won’t leave the backs of my eyes. So I panic. “Uh-uh-Professor Rossi. Have you heard of him?”

Clover scrunches her brows. Then to my horror, her forehead smooths, and a smile pulls at her lips. “I’ve seen him. My brother’s a TA for one of his classes. He should be goddamned illegal. That Mexican-Italian heritage of his, those dark looks and that solid body … you have good taste for someone who hasn’t been out much.”

I press a hand to my belly in a desperate bid to quell the seasick sway Clover’s words cause. If she only knew the evil lurking inside him. With a hysterical edge to my voice, I say, “I thought you wanted Professor Morgan, not Rossi.”

She laughs. “Why can’t I have both? It’s my fantasy. Don’t worry, I’ll share.”

We crest a small rise, Meat Row coming into view with students spilling out of it and red Solo cups littering the path. Clover pulls me through the entrance.

Meath House is structured in much the same way Camden House is, in the early American colonial style of high ceilings, a central chimney, and exposed oak beams. This one is three stories tall with a wide open space on the first floor. People drape across the heavy furniture that would probably take ten of these boys to move. Thus, the couches, tables, and chairs have become awkward center points for beer pong and hookups.

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