Page 84 of Wanted You More

She means I’ve been whoring myself out, which isn’t totally untrue. I’m not sure how many guys I’ve slept with this semester. Most of the time, I was drunk and looking for a distraction that they happily offered to help me achieve.

Did it make me feel better? For a little while. It never lasted.

“Maybe,” I reply, shoving a mouthful of food in my mouth and slowly chewing.

Kennedy doesn’t look like she believes me, which is fair.

I don’t believe myself either.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

With Marybelle’s schemingencouragement, I stop and stand outside Professor Kamala’s office in a building I have no reason to be in. Wolfe can cyber stalk the woman’s page all he wants, but he won’t learn anything about her besides the five Dachshund dogs she named after the Spice Girls, and how much she loves sharing random recipes. Not even her age is listed, or any previous relationships.

I don’t know what I’ll get from this encounter today, but it beats sitting in my room wondering what her deal is. Will she tell me anything? Probably not. Does she know I exist? I guess I’ll find out.

Knocking on the door, I wait for her to tell me to come in before popping my head inside the quaint office. It’s tiny, with only the basic furniture I’ve seen in plenty of offices around campus. She must not be very popular because this had to be a closet at one point.

“Professor Kamala?” I ask, noting the homey little setup of plants, picture frames, and homemade crafts hanging on the wall.

She must have kids because there is no way anybody would willingly display these for any other reason. “Can I help you?”

Peeling my eyes away from the crafts, I clear my throat and step past the door. “I’ve been looking into classes for next semester and was hoping to get into one of yours. I need some English credits and the courses you offer look interesting.”

It isn’t necessarily true, but it’s not a complete lie. My general ed requirements do require I take a certain number of literature classes for my degree.

“That’s very nice of you.” She gestures toward one of the chairs. “Have you read the course descriptions on the school website? They usually have a pretty in-depth description of what the classes are about.”

I need to play this carefully, so I offer her the same sweet smile I give anyone I want to believe I’m innocent. “My father always told me it’s better to meet people in person to talk about things. You might know him.”

Interest has her smiling back. “Who’s your father, dear? You do look a bit familiar.”

I’ve been told that I look like Dad, which makes me a little sad. Not because my father is ugly, but because I’ve always thought Mom was gorgeous. I guess it’s not a bad thing to be a mixture of both of them. “Professor Cole, ma’am. Charles Cole. He’s also in the English department.”

Recognition has her face lighting up. “I see it now. Your father and I do know each other. He’s a good man.”

My smile widens. “He’s the best.”

“You’re Austen, right?” she asks, reaching out her hand for me to take. “He’s spoken very highly of you and your brother. It’s nice to officially meet you. I’m surprised you’re not taking one of his courses.”

I shake her hand and lean back. “I love my dad, but would you want to be in your dad’s college classes? This is my chance at freedom, you know?”

Her laugh is light. “I suppose I wouldn’t want that if I were you. Have you chosen your other classes for the spring term? I mostly have classes on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. There are three you can choose from.”

I watch as she starts firing up her computer, clicking a few links before turning her screen toward me to point toward the course titles being offered.

I’d briefly looked at the listings before coming here, so it seemed like I knew what I was doing. “Your Brontë class looked interesting, and it fits into my schedule perfectly.”

She beams. “The Brontë sisters are my favorite to teach. Do you know anything about their backgrounds? It’s so enlightening. I firmly believe real-life experience helps shape our creative muses, and they’re a key example.”

I don’t think I can name a Brontë sister, much less any of their books. “I’m new to Brontë, but I’ve read some Jane Austen in high school. That’s who I’m named after. She was my mom’s favorite author.”

My eyes train on her facial expression, trying to figure out if she knows about my mother. If Dad told her about Wolfe and me, then what has he said about our mom?

It takes her a few minutes of focusing on the screen, writing down a number on a slip of paper, before she says, “Well, I think it’s a beautiful name. Jane Austen certainly shaped modern-day romance.”

I’m not sure if I should find it odd she didn’t make any mention of my mother or not. “I always thought it was weird of my parents to name us after authors. I mean…Wolfe? And people always think I’m a boy until they meet me. It took a while for me to love the name.”

Professor Kamala hands me the slip. “On here is all the information you’ll need to officially sign up for the class. It fills up fairly quickly, so be sure to sign up as soon as you can.”

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