Page 76 of Tempest

Ardyn

Tempest isn’tin class the next day.

To say I’m disappointed is the understatement of the century. I’d gotten myself all worked up before sunrise, flitting around the room and waking Clover, who is not a morning person, while I tried to make myself look perfect. Hermione’s grumbles sounded a lot like Clover’s before she moved from my bed and curled around Clover’s head. Clover showed no surprise when our new roommate purred into her face.

I was thankful my friend fell back asleep while I debated between nude and rose lipstick. First off, I didn’t want her to see me looking so pathetic. The still inexperienced part of me also wondered if she could tell if I had been de-virginized just by looking at me.

By her brother.

I press the rose lipstick too hard into my lips, smearing it onto my skin.

At some point, I’ll have a lot of explaining to do. For now, I’m saved from it by Clover’s nocturnal sleep schedule.

I’m not sure what I’m doing, wearing perfume and putting on a cute yellow sundress, other than that, I want to please him. There’s a constant, hopeful niggling at the back of my head that if I’m a good girl, Tempest will want more of what we did last night.

Primping and priming took a lot of effort, so it’s not surprising when disappointment lands like a brick in my stomach when the seat beside Professor Rossi’s stays empty.

Rossi dismisses the class. I’m ashamed to admit I daydreamed through most of it, so I keep my eyes down as I pack up my books and laptop.

“Ardyn, stay behind a minute, would you?” the professor’s voice, soft and gradual like a rising tide, flows into my ears.

Most co-eds at TFU swoon whenever they receive Rossi’s undivided attention. For reasons I can’t decipher, I shudder.

Those same girls hood their eyes with envy before taking their time exiting the classroom, hoping Rossi will ask them to stay, too. He watches, blowing through his lips sharply when at last, the door closes behind them.

“Please, take a seat,” he says to me, casting his arm out to the chair adjacent to his.

I’m reluctant to leave my chair, strategically chosen in the middle of the table, but I can’t think of an excuse to stay there. I slide my books over and sit, almost knocking knees with him.

Rossi’s dark eyes watch every jerky move I make. When I finally still and fold my hands on my lap, they’re alight with amusement. “Do I make you uncomfortable, Ardyn?”

“Not at all.” I try to laugh it off. There’s no use explaining to my professor that I have unpredictable episodes of reliving past trauma with strangers. I want to earn my grades, not have them gifted through pity. “I’m just worried I might be in trouble.”

He smiles, the skin around his eyes crinkling in that handsome way all older men seem to know how to utilize. “For what?”

“Um—my paper last week. But if you’ll give me a chance, I’d like to argue my case. I don’t think Tempest was being fair simply because I offered a different argument than what he’s probably used to—” I clamp my lips shut before I continue talking myself off a cliff. It’s almost laughable, wanting to be good for Tempest but throw him under the bus at the same time. I’d like to blame my parents for this. Do you see how far social isolation has gotten me, Dad?

Rossi rests back in his seat, his smile thinning. “You and Tempest Callahan have a past, do you not?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say a big one.” My shrug almost hits my ears. I am a terrible liar. “He was mostly annoyed by me. I’m friends with his little sister.”

The mere mention of Tempest’s name from someone else’s lips makes me wriggle in my seat, the soreness from last night transforming into a reminiscent throb. I do my best to hide it by clenching my thighs together.

Rossi’s attention darts from my face, to my lap, then back again. That only makes me want to squirm harder under his scrutiny.

“You don’t have to play it off,” he says kindly. “Tempest was there the night you lost a good friend.”

I wasn’t expecting the professor to come right out and say it. I nod tightly.

“I would say that leaves quite the impression on a person.”

“It does,” I admit.

“Tempest has said little about that night, but I do believe he tends to take out his frustrations in ways that aren’t always wise. Your paper, for example.”

I push my brows together. “Tempest wouldn’t lower my grade because of Mila’s death.”

“Of course not.” Rossi waves me off like I was the one who mentioned such a preposterous theory. “What I mean by that is, I believe almost losing his sister that night affected him in ways he’s yet to understand.”

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