Page 33 of Nine Inch Nasty
I do appreciate that August steps closer simply because he’s intimidating, and that Leo comes in to guard from the inside of the door, lending an even scarier aura to me.
“Oh my,” our professor gasps when she catches sight of him. “I haven’t seen a gargoyle in years. What a treat! Okay students, as you remember, we were discussing how to plan for a bonded group’s needs after graduating. Your online assignments are graded, and I have to say I was a bit disappointed with the results.”
Maybe I tune out the rest of the lecture, but how can I be expected to pay attention when Wil is drawing lines on my thigh with his non-dominant hand, and taking notes in the other?
I gaze out the window again, willing the class to hurry up and end because I already know I have makeup work to do, but unfortunately there’s a new group project starting.
“So, in your groups, I want you to grab a packet and fill in the worksheets together, assigning household chores and adding together the salaries for the jobs you got assigned last class.
“This is an exercise to help you understand what a household for a bonded conduit group will look like. While bigger groups might make it more complex, you will have more income to play with, so keep that in mind. If you weren’t here last class and need a job assigned, please come see me at the front.”
The class starts moving chairs around to work on the project that feels very high school to me, but I suppose some people really need this breakdown. Like Cory pointed out earlier, sooner or later, we’re all going to need to figure out what we’re going to do for living expenses and housing and how we’re going to balance everything.
Kind of coincidental we’d be talking about this in class now after it was just brought up at lunch, but I go through the motions and don’t rise to any of the barbs that the new members of my group try and rile me up with.
Wil is a good buffer, and it’s not too long before we’re dismissed for the day, me and Wil taking home our makeup work.
???
The rest of the week goes by fine, although I’m still in a bit of a daze. I’ve been trying to throw off the funk I’m in, to no avail. I’m hoping that now that we’ve made it to another weekend, I’ll be able to figure out how to clear my head and get my focus back, starting with watching Spencer in a football game.
He was so excited when we all said we’d come watch, and we haven’t had much time together since his schedule is even crazier than mine with practices, but the season is almost over now they’re in the playoffs.
He looked way too smug when he put his spare jersey on me this morning to wear to class, and I find myself looking forward to the game. I get to sneak in a quick visit with my brother too, who was unsurprised that we made it back home without issue.
It’s when we’re all sitting right behind the team (thanks to my brother) that things start getting... interesting.
I keep getting a sensation like somebody’s staring at me, which is a pretty damn hard thing to nail down when you’re in a stadium full of spectators. Spencer comes to kiss me over the railing before heading back into the tunnel at halftime, and the game has been tense and pretty close, but he’s so happy to have me there that the smile on my face is pretty obnoxious.
“You okay? You keep looking around, all shifty-like,” Adam asks as he steals one of my fries.
I look around again, illustrating his point. “I just feel like there’s somebody staring at me.”
Cory snorts. “Did you see how short your skirt is? Lots of people are staring at you. You look hot.”
“Aww, thanks love.” I kiss their cheek and pull them onto my lap, running my hands up and down their thighs as I nuzzle their neck. “It feels like more than that, though. I don’t know, I’m probably just losing it.”
Ash drops in then with another armful of snacks from the concession stand, passing everything out and offering me a sip of soda. “Madhouse back there. People were talking about a male conduit that’s here somewhere; took forever because everyone working the concession stand was too busy gossiping to do their job.”
I grab a handful of popcorn and toss it into my mouth, being super sloppy about it and dropping several kernels. “Woah, no way. Our age? That’s cool. Huh.”
“Isn’t one of your dads a male conduit?” Cory asks as they start seat dancing on my lap. The marching band is taking the field, playing something super catchy.
“Yeah, two of them, actually.”
“I think male conduits are so fascinating,” Wil chimes in, getting amped up. “Statistically, they’re so rare, and we don’t really know much about them. The conduit gene is hard to track anyway because it’s not always a genetic thing, but the studies they’ve done on the males are super confusing. They don’t know why some become conduits.”
I laugh, remembering the stories I’ve heard from my mom when she was looking for her mates. “So they just have the one fated mate, right? Well, because Papa Dar and Papa Cyrus were both fated to my mom, which, hello, is crazy odds, but since she was a conduit too, she didn’t have marks for them. So, there she is, thinking she’s gotten all her mates figured out, and boom! Twomore. Their marks hit different. Can you imagine? I’m such a diva. Having a male conduit to deal with would make you all crazy.”
I shove more popcorn into my mouth, but everyone has gone a bit silent. “What?”
“Hey, uh, Delaney? Did I mention that the study found that in families where the conduit gene was excessively strong, the likelihood of having a male conduit fated for them goes up for every mate after five that they’re gifted by the goddess?”
I shake my head at Wil because I know where he’s going with this. “I know, I know, that makes me way more likely to have one; but it’s not like there are even male conduits really known right now that are looking for mates; they have to register like the rest of us, and my mom has gone over that list so many times and tracked them so there wouldn’t be any surprises with me. You guys are funny. I’d be all like, woah, that’s too many dicks!”
I giggle and wipe my hands off on my skirt, grab another sip of soda, and lean my head back when Cory spins around and starts braiding a section of my hair in front.
“You still feel like somebody’s staring at you?” Adam asks, posture rigid.
