Page 17 of Salacious Park Avenue Prince

“Professor Livingston?” I called out as I jogged down the stairs toward the front podium. Travis had all but bolted fromclass—not that I’d expected anything else, considering it was Friday and he was probably as ready as I was to get this week over with. But it had offered the perfect opening for me to make my move.

When I reached the front of the class, Professor Livingston flicked the snaps of his briefcase closed and looked up at me. “Mr. Reeves, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Caleb.”

“Hmm.” He eyed me as he picked up his briefcase. “Well, Caleb, I’m glad to see you’ve worked on your time management skills this week. I was worried we might have a problem there.”

“No, and, um, I’m sorry about that. My train got held up Monday, that’s all.”

“Very well. Let’s make sure it doesn’t happen again. I appreciate the apology.”

Livingston went to step around me, but I blocked his path, knowing I needed to say this now or I might not get the opportunity again.

“Was there something else?”

“Uh, yeah—I mean, yes, sir.” When his brow furrowed, I swallowed and forged on. “I was wondering if there was any way I could switch seats with someone?”

Livingston let out a sigh. “I told you, the seats you were in Monday are your seats for the semester. Is there a reason why you need to switch?”

Yeah, it’s six feet, dark haired, and a total pain in the?—

“Caleb? Do you have issues seeing the projector?”

“No, that’s?—”

“Can you not hear me?”

“No. I just…” I bit down into my lip, trying to think of the best way to explain that my stepbrother was the most annoying human being on the planet.

“I don’t have all day, Mr. Reeves.”

“I just think I’d do better if I was in a different seat.”

Livingston narrowed his eyes, and as the seconds passed, I thought that maybe he was coming around.

I was wrong.

“The seats have been set. If I change it for one, I’ll be changing it for all. Now, if that’s all, I need to be going.”

When he stepped around me this time, I spun on him and blurted out, “I don’t get along with my brother.”

Livingston stopped and turned back to face me. “Your brother?”

“Stepbrother, actually.”

“Travis McKinney?”

“Yes, and we don’t get along.” Talk about understatement of the century.

Livingston shrugged, and my stomach dropped. “That sounds like a you problem, not a me problem. Your seat is your seat. You’re both adults, or supposed to be, so figure it out.”

“Figure it out?”

“Yes. You shouldn’t be talking in class anyway. Surely you can ignore each other for the time you’re in here. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’d like to go home for the weekend.”

IF THERE WAS one thing I was grateful for, it was that I had a place of my own to come home to after a long week. A place far enough away from Astor that I never ran into anyone from school on the weekends and could just unwind in peace. And after the first week of classes, Ineededthat peace.

Livingston hadn’t given an inch this afternoon, but as I stepped inside my third-floor prewar loft in Soho, I felt the tightness in my chest finally ease. This was my sanctuary, a place Travis had never come near. That felt like an important distinction to make, because he was everywhere.

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