Page 8 of Sour Lollipops and Sweet Nightmares
I glared back at Sandy Hair, waiting to see what he would do. I didn’t want to upload this picture and humiliate anyone, but I would. Survival wasn’t a pretty game. The rules were dirty, and the moves were dirtier.
Sandy hair swept his glare down to my feet and back up to my face, lingering long enough to send a chill down my spine, then waved over his shoulder. “Come on, guys.”
That should’ve been the end of it. They were all leaving, I was still in one piece, yet for some reason, I looked directly at Sandy Hair, smiled, and sang, “Bye-bye now.”
I don’t know why I did it. Maybe I was too exhausted by that point to care? I wasn’t the type to pick a fight with well… anyone. I mostly kept to myself.
Self-preservation was important. Especially when the person you were up against looked like a cross between a cover model and a serial killer.
I could almost see the plan to dispose of my body forming in Sandy Hair’s mind. He was the kind of guy you wanted to look at, but were too afraid to stare for too long, because his attention was not something anyone wanted. Nothing good would come from it.
Proof of which came when he paused a step away from me and growled, “Watch your back. This shit isn’t over,” before walking out.
Yup, I definitely did something bad in a past life.
Needless to say, we probably weren’t going to be friends. That was fine with me. I wasn’t here to make friends. I’d never been any good at it anyway. People creeped me out, and social interactions were exhausting.
I waited until Sandy Hair walked out and closed the door before turning around and heading over to the man on the floor. Never turn your back on a predator. And that guy screamed predator.
Even though I dreaded the thought of touching another person, I held out my hand to whom I assumed was Dean Richards. “Are you okay?”
I based my assumption on the man’s age. Most college students didn’t have salt and pepper hair or wear suits. Well, half a suit. His jacket was lying over the desk, and there was a shirt crumpled on the floor next to a condom that I was pretending not to see.
“Yes,” he took my hand and I helped him pull himself back onto his feet.
That was when I got an up-close view of a hairy chest and man-stomach. He wasn’t unattractive—dadbod, I think, was what girls would say—but it was more than I wanted to see. Between him and the other guy, I’d seen a whole naked man, and I didn’t even get my first kiss out of it.
“Thank you.”
“No problem.” I smiled and pulled my hand away from his and wiped my palm on my skirt, as if that would brush away the feeling of his touch. “I hate bullies.”
Not really. For the most part, I avoided them, but today I hated them, along with people who gave wrong directions, the manufacturer of my car, that guy on the bus, and cotton fabric that was too smooth to make my hand feel clean.
I regretted not wearing jeans, but I wanted to look professional. The guy on the bus ruined that look.
“I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t walked in.”
Suspicion narrowed my eyes as I took a step back and scanned his stance. Leaders of Ivy League educational institutes had a certain poise about them. They didn’t look like they got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Was this guy in fact, the dean?
“Please tell me you’re Dean Richards?”
The last thing I needed was another trek across campus. Although it would fit with the way my day was going.
“I am.”
Thank God.
“And you are?” He held out his hand, which I just eyed.
Helping him off the floor was one thing, but shaking his hand felt wrong. I wasn’t comfortable being this close to an authority figure when he was topless.
“I’m Georgia Pyne.”
“Ah, yes.” He nodded. “The transfer student. I was expecting you early this afternoon.”
“I ran into some problems getting here.” I didn’t want to go into the details of why I was here at six o’clock. Honestly, I was just glad that he was still in his office.
“I hope it wasn’t anything too bad?”
