Page 82 of Wanted You More

Isee Dadfrom my classroom window talking to some blond woman. There’s not much I can tell from her features, but she’s pretty. It makes me inch a little closer to get a better look, especially since they’re standing so close together.

Grabbing my phone, I snap a picture of them and send it to Wolfe with a bunch of question marks as the caption. He’s filled me in on random phone calls Dad has gotten but claims they’re either Aunt Mae or someone from work.

“What are you doing?” Lincoln asks, causing me to jump and drop my phone. I cringe when I pick it up, seeing the tiny crack in the corner of the screen.

Frowning, I set my phone down on my lap. “Creeping on my dad and some woman.”

He rolls his chair closer to mine to get a peek out the window. “Wait. Your dad works here? How come I never knew that?”

Lincoln has never asked about me. Since he started dating Kennedy, his flirting has stopped, and our conversations have been run by my roommate. He knows I love horror films, especially bad ones, heated turkey subs from Meyer’s Deli, going out, and doing anything but studying. Which is probably why my grades are so bad. But it is what it is.

My eyes can’t seem to move away from how the woman touches my dad’s arm. “That was flirty, right? She’s flirting with my father. Damn. Wolfe was right.”

A humming noise comes from him. “And Wolfe is your brother, right?” That much I have shared. Especially when my little brother texts me things about the girl he’s crushing on. I share the updates with Lincoln and Kennedy because I think it’s cute. He’s never openly admitted to liking anybody before.

“Yes.” I glance down at the message I got from the boy in question. “According to him, the woman is some literature professor here. Professor Kamala.”

Lincoln brightens. “Shit, yeah. Susan Kamala. I’ve had her for a class before on American Literature. She’s a pretty cool chick.”

That makes me stare back out the window, but they’re already gone. “Well, my brother is insistent that my dad is dating someone from school. He’s freaking out about it because our father hasn’t seen anyone since our mom died.” Lincoln’s face twists, telling me that Kennedy never shared any of that personal stuff with him. I’m grateful for that.

Lifting my phone, I study the picture a little more. My lips weigh further down the longer I stare at the image. The woman doesn’t look like Mom. She’s taller, leaner, and obviously affectionate since she’s unafraid to touch her coworker.

“How do you feel about him dating?” my friend asks, not asking about my mom. It pulls my attention from my phone.

Rubbing my lips together, I slide my cell into my bag on the floor. “I didn’t think I’d care all that much. It’s just weird seeing him with anyone else because I’ve only ever seen him with my mom. I told my brother that it’s been long enough since she died that he should move on and be happy.”

Lincoln slowly nods, leaning back in his chair and pushing himself back to his spot. He wiggles the mouse on the computer for a second before looking at me. “I bet that’s got to be tough. I’m sure you don’t want to hear that I’m sorry, so I won’t say it.”

I snort. “You basically just did, but I appreciate the sentiment. It was a long time ago anyway. Like I said, my dad deserves to move forward with his life.”

We continue to work on the graphic project our professor gave us to do in pairs until my eyes travel to the window. I don’t know what I hope to see, but there’s nothing but a thin layer of snow on the ground and barren tree patches. No people—students, faculty, or otherwise.

Deciding I don’t want to dwell on it, I turn to him with a phony smile painted on my face. “I want to hear about you and Kennedy. I’ve missed you two at parties. It’s not quite as fun without my dance partners.”

Lincoln scratches his throat and doesn’t say anything right away.

“What?” I press, nudging him. “You look constipated, which is impossible considering you downed the largest cup of coffee I’ve ever seen not even an hour ago at breakfast.”

That gets him to crack a smile. “Honestly, Austen, I’m just a little worried about you. Ken and I both are. We heard about the party getting broken up and people getting busted by the cops. It was some random dude at the dining hall telling everybody about it. Not you.”

Guilt nips at me a little, but I refuse to let it sink in. “It wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t get into any trouble. Parties get broken up all the time. We both know that.”

He doesn’t make a point to agree. “You go out a lot more. That’s all I’m saying. Kennedy says you come back super drunk too.”

Kennedy has never told me about her concerns. She’ll ask if I had fun and leave it at that when I tell her I did. Then again, she’s also told me I intimidate her before, so maybe she’s scared to. “You guys don’t have to worry about me. I know how to take care of myself. Okay?”

He gives me a disbelieving look but eventually nods in reluctance. “All right.”

“So you and Ken are good?” I ask, hoping he’ll drop the conversation about me.

His hand freezes on the mouse before he lifts a shoulder. “We’re fine.”

When a girl says “fine” it usually implies they’re not. Something tells me it’s not that different now. “Why do I think you’re lying to me then?”

Once again, he’s quiet.

I roll my chair over to him. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but—”

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