Page 8 of Devilry

“It’s about as awkward for me as it is when guys stare at your tits before your face,” I explain. “Most men think it immediately means I want to fuck them, so they feel the need to gently let me down. That’s why I like old mate over here.” I tip my chin up at a returning Miles. “Not everybody can hide their reaction that well. Unless they really don’t care, and fortunately for me, it seems like he doesn’t.”

“And what if I cared?” she challenges.

“You came and kept a complete stranger company after noticing me alone from across the room.” I gently nudge her shoulder. “You’re too nice to care.”

“I’m back,” Miles sings, effectively ending our conversation. “Stop talking about me now.” He hands each of us our drinks and takes his seat on the stool.

“You’re assuming we have nothing better to talk about,” Harper retorts.

“So where are you two from?” I jump in, interrupting them.

“Oh my god,” Harper groans. “Dean Billings is coming this way.”

“Hello, Miss Martínez. Huxley. Decker.”

“Sir,” we all say in unison, like God fearing teenagers, instead of the adults we are.

“It’s wonderful to see you all mingling with one another, especially you, Miles.”

Miles’ jaw clenches, but the dean is too busy ogling Harper to notice.

“I just came to borrow Miss Martínez.” He stretches his arm out, inviting Harper to take his hand. “The rest of your faculty has arrived and I would love to introduce them to the new Head of Languages.”

Harper visibly stiffens and both Miles and I instinctively turn to face her. She plasters on a smile, ignoring our concern and takes his offered hand. Gracefully, she stands and lets him lead her to his side.

Without another word, he places his palm on the small of her back, his fingertips settling right above her ass.

“Is he always like that?” I ask, unease swimming through me.

“Courtesy of the dick in my pants, I’ve never experienced anything more than his condescending attitude, but there’s always rumours that get shut down as quickly as they pop up.”

“I don’t feel comfortable leaving her,” I say, as Miles blurts out, “We should just keep an eye on them.”

In a few quick strides, we’re at the other end of the room, drinks in hand and Harper and the dean in our line of sight.

Miles leans closer to me, making sure nobody else can hear him. “I don’t think we had anything to worry about.”

Harper is working the room like a natural, all the while Dean Billings tries to keep her at his side, like a trophy. Showing off her worth, she dodges his touches with a smile that has the rest of the faculty eating out of her hands.

Just as she’s moving on to introduce herself to the next person, she notices us. Raising her glass, she nods and smiles in appreciation.

Tonight might have shed light onto things about King University I wasn’t prepared for, but whatever the change brings, I feel a swell of comfort building, knowing I’ve managed to find people I could eventually call my friends.

Miles and I lift our glasses in the air, returning Harper’s gesture. “I think you’re right.”

2

Elijah

“Hello,” I groan into the phone.

“Elijah.” My mom’s perky voice pierces my eardrums.

“Mom,” I answer groggily. Pulling the phone off my ear, I bring the screen into view to check the time. “Why are you calling me at six am?”

“It’s your first day of college. Can’t a mother wish her son good luck?”

I refrain from answering with the truth, because for most kids, a parent calling their child to offer any positive encouragement is normal. For mine? Not so much. Any show of affection I get from my mother is to appease her own guilt. Whenever she tries, it’s a measly attempt anyway.

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