Page 37 of Revenge Cake

Maybe he’s in love with her already.

My heart still racing, I pace a hallway of the Social Sciences building and hope Dean’s still waiting for me outside. My nerves are so frazzled I keep checking my phone. I don’t have enough time to pretend like I actually met with Dr. Graves. Parking and walking over here took too long, so now I’m forced to improvise. How much time would be reasonable? Two minutes, I decide.

When I open the heavy industrial front door, Dean is still leaning against the concrete planter where I left him. He looks up from the phone in his hand. “That was fast.”

I try my best to look annoyed. “He wasn’t even there. He ditched me.”

Dean frowns. “And you had this scheduled? What a dick.”

“I know.” I shrug. “Oh well.”

I start to walk in the direction of the Engineering Science building, hoping I don’t seem in a hurry. Dean follows my lead. In an effort to distract him from our circuitous route back to his car, I give him a beaming smile. “It’s so good to have you in town.”

It has the desired effect. He beams back at me. “I wish I could come more often. Being an adult sucks.”

“You’ve said that already. Is your job awful, or what?”

He shrugs. “The money’s awesome. Like, I make hella money. Not to brag. And my job is fine, it’s just boring, you know? Boring and monotonous. Every day the same.”

I smile wide. “You just said ‘hella.’ God, I miss the Bay! You never hear ‘hella’ in Santa Barbara.”

“Dude, people are assholes here, and the line starts here too. It goes, people north of Santa Barbara—chill. People south of Santa Barbara—assholes. It’s a scientific fact.”

“I can’t argue with science.”

“Isn’t your boyfriend from Coronado?” he asks with a hint of disdain.

His mention of Logan makes me even more aware of our surroundings. Ambient voices around me grow sharper as we approach Engineering Science. I hear a few muffled male voices that could be his. We could run into him at any moment.

If the universe is on my side.

When I only nod in response, Dean says, “People from the San Diego area are the worst kind of assholes, because they’re assholes who think they’re chill.”

For the first time, I feel the urge to defend Logan, but just as I open my mouth to speak, the universe intervenes.

“Lani!”

Logan’s deep shout fills my belly with heat.

I did it.

Schooling my face to look confused, I turn in the direction of the voice. He’s standing in a group of three girls—friends of his that I recognize. He tells them something I can’t make out before jogging in our direction. As soon as he approaches, his eyes lock on Dean, his expression a combination of surprise and irritation. “What are you doing here?” He glances at me briefly but then returns his gaze to Dean.

“I had a meeting with Dr. Graves.”

“And Dean came with you?”

When he doesn’t even bother to greet Dean, I know he’s rattled. Eventually his gaze fixes on me, and he runs his eyes up and down my body, settling on the low cut of my bodice.

“Why are you dressed like you’re going out to the bars?”

“We just came from lunch, and we went to bouchon. I had to look fancy.”

What could almost be described as horror spreads over Logan’s face as he looks from me to Dean. When his gaze returns to me, all of his earlier surprise is gone. He looks only angry. “You and Dean went out to lunch at bouchon?” It sounds like an accusation.

I try to stifle my triumph, straining for nonchalance. “Yes,” I say. “With Armaan and Brenna. Dean treated us.”

“Yep, I paid the tab for this deadbeat,” Dean adds with a smile, not seeming to feel any of the awkwardness from Logan’s incivility.

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