Page 316 of The Winslow Brothers

I stand from my chair suddenly, surprising my dad and, if I’m honest, even myself a little.

“I’m focused, Dad. As focused as I’ve ever been. So, either take me off Professor Winslow’s service, or leave me alone. You pick. But I’m not living the entire semester under a shadow.”

My heart beats a million miles a minute, and my stomach churns with anxiety. Never in my life, even with all our issues, have I spoken to my father like this.

Never have I faced down the confrontation and stood up for myself like this.

And never have I ever felt so close to puking without a gastrointestinal reason.

He stares me down for several seconds and then silently rounds the desk, takes his seat, and places his glasses back atop his nose. And just like that, I’m dismissed without the courtesy of a response.

Instantly, I feel half an inch tall. Humiliated. Belittled.Un-fucking-seen.

Aggravation stirs in my gut, and a wave of rebellion washes over me so strong, I don’t know if I’ll ever come up for air. No one, not even my father, gets to make me feel this way.

No onegets to choose for me.

No one tells me what to do.

A plan is already swirling in my mind, setting up shop, and making notes on my next move. One conversation with my father and I’ve regressed ten years emotionally. Not only am I not going to stay away from Ty Winslow, I’m going to stir the motherfucking pot.

Rebellious old habits die hard, huh?

Evidently, with a father like Nathaniel Rose, they don’t die at all.

Monday, January 28th

Ty

“Everyone, make sure you turn in your essay via the link in the Google Drive, and I will see you tomorrow afternoon,” I announce to my ENG 101 class. “Oh, and Rachel, don’t forget to stop by my office to grab the paperwork I told you about.”

It’s boring paperwork that every TA in the English Department needs to fill out and turn in on a biweekly basis. Just a bunch of admin bullshit if you ask me.

She offers a little nod of acknowledgment, but that’s it, and I try to busy myself on my laptop, checking emails, while my students pack up their stuff and head out of the lecture hall.

I can’t deny, though, the entire time, my gaze flickers toward the dark-haired, green-eyed goddess in the beige silk dress and heels. Sometimes, I even tilt my head a little to the right to see her past the line of college kids exiting the room.

Time moves at a snail’s pace, but eventually, my lecture hall is empty, and Rachel is on her feet.

I’m on my feet too, and I walk briskly behind her, the anticipation of another round of our little panty war almost enough to make me rub my hands together like an evil overlord.

I’m honestly not sure why I still find it so fun after nearly two weeks of playing at it, but I can’t deny that I do. Finding ways to tussle with Rachel Rose has nearly become the number one item on my list of priorities. Honestly, it reads something like this:

Mess with Rachel.

Breathe.

Eat.

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