Page 168 of Filthy Savage

Tynan scoffs. “Yeah, you’d burn the house down.”

“Whatever, man.” I shove at his chest.

“Well, I, for one, thought the baklava you made was very good.” Amara winds her arm around me.

“Thank you, my beautiful wife.” I kiss the top of her head, glaring at my brother. “At least someone in this family appreciates my culinary skills.”

Tynan bursts with a dry laugh. “Have you actually looked up skills in the dictionary?”

Elara sighs. “Aren’t they awesome?”

AMARA

Staring at my poli-sci paper the next day, I’m filled with dread.

He gave me a C.

There are barely any marks on the paper. I don’t understand why I can’t seem to do well in this class. Every time I think I’m heading in the right direction, I just do worse. I did everything he said. My arguments were rock solid.

As he dismisses the class, I descend down the stairs toward him, while the voices of my classmates dwindle down until they disappear.

“Professor?” I call.

He peers up, pushing at his glasses. “Ms. Quinn. How can I help you?”

I don’t miss the fact that he called meMs.again, but I don’t correct him.

“It’s just, I don’t understand this grade. I did everything you told me to do, and I did worse.”

He sighs. “Okay, how about you come to my office and we can see what we can do? I don’t want you to stress about this.”

My body deflates with a heavy exhale. “Of course I’m stressed. This is the only subject I’m doing terribly in.”

He flings the strap of his brown satchel over his shoulder as he starts up the steps, me following beside him.

“There’s still a chance for you to save your grade, so don’t worry too much.” He gently pats my forearm.

I grow uncomfortable, but manage to push those thoughts back. He’s just being nice. That’s all.

Was henicewhen he touched your ass?

That was clearly an accident.

When we exit the room, Roy is there, following us as we make it to the professor’s office. Roy stands offside as we enter, the professor shutting the door before dropping his satchel onto his desk and taking a seat.

“You can sit down, Ms. Quinn.”

“Mrs. Quinn.”

I don’t know why he keeps doing that. Is he just not used to calling his students Mrs.? But this strange part of me thinks he’s doing it on purpose.

A smile spreads before his expression turns stoic, almost angry.

I recoil.

“Your paper lacked depth,Mrs. Quinn. There was nothing in there that gave me an idea of how you truly felt about the polarizing views. Instead, you gave me both sides without choosing one. I wanted you to choose.”

“I thought I did.”

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