“Better yet, go to Yale! I hear they like filth!” I don’t know what that person has against Yale, but I try to keep my cool. I’m almost to the bottom of the auditorium, and I silently curse myself for walking in on the second floor.
“Shut up!” A girl’s voice pitches over the talking. Huh…someone’s on my side? “We’re trying to take a test here!” Maybe not.
“Quiet!” the professor shouts, angrily now. “Everyone. The tests are out, and that means the next person who speaks gets a zero.” The room hushes instantly, and I finally reach my destination.
The professor is middle-aged and always wears a nice button-down with slacks. He takes out a manila envelope from his briefcase and hands it to me. My name is scribbled across the front.
“I’ve spoken to your other professors,” he says in a low voice so only I can hear, “we’ve agreed that your presence for finals week will only disturb the other students. Your exam today and your finals from all your classes are in that folder. You can turn it into my mailbox by the last day of finals.”
“So they’re like take-home tests?” I ask, a little confused.
“Essentially, yes. There’s no reason for you to be on campus for one last week. You’ll distract everyone. You’ve already wasted…” He looks at the clock. “Five minutes of their time. For some that could cost them a letter grade.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. Just return the exams on time, and if you could, exit out this door.” He motions to the one behind him, the one where I won’t need to walk up all those stairs.
I say a quick thanks and then disappear quickly out the double doors. I peek into the envelope, all the tests nestled inside. It’s generous. They could have easily just failed me. But it also reminds me how my life is changing. I can’t even sit in a classroom anymore. What is next year going to be like? Will the professor give me all the tests to take home? Or maybe they’re hoping I’ll be expelled from Princeton before that happens.
But with my father’s lawyers defending my stay here, I know I’ll be back next year.
Walking down the hall, I find Lo, Connor, and Ryke sitting in the lobby where I last left them, waiting for me. They talk quietly amongst each other. I raise my hand to wave and call to them, but a body steps in front of me, blocking my path.
“Hey, aren’t you the infamous Lily Calloway?”
He speaks loud enough that I see Lo’s head perk up. His eyes hit mine and they fill with concern.
“Are you deaf?” the guy laughs.
I meet his pretty green eyes and scan his blond hair, a twenty-something guy, tall with muscular arms. He sports a black and orange Princeton tee.
“I’m Lily,” I confirm. My eyes flicker past his body again. Lo is on his feet, but he hesitates towards reaching my side.
Is he still angry at me?
Oh jeez, we’re still in a fight, aren’t we?
My heart beats crazily, and I focus my attention back on the blond. “I’m also leaving.” I sidestep and he follows suit, trapping me to this spot in the hall.
I hear Lo’s shoes on the tile floor, and I try to relax.
“Why would you want to do that?” Blond Guy asks. “I heard that you love going down, and I’ve got something here for you.” He grabs my hand, and fear bobs my throat. Oh my God. I never thought this could happen in a hallway (slightly empty, albeit) during the middle of the day. Maybe he thinks I’m as wanting and easy as they say I am on the news. Maybe he believes I won’t care or fight him. That has to be it.
But I’m not that girl. Sure, I may have played into his advances a year ago, but now they literally curdle my stomach. I recoil and try to untangle from his strong hold, but he grips my hand and places it right on his pants.
Whatever I feel—it doesn’t last long because Lo grabs his shoulders from behind and throws his back into the wall.
I flinch, not accustomed to physical aggression from Lo, not even when he pinned Mason against my car. And he eases off the guy within a second, his eyes pulsing with something hot and black.
“This is why America invented the sexual offender registry, you sick fuck,” Lo spits.
“I didn’t touch her,” Blond sneers, the veins in his neck bulging. “Your slutty girlfriend was all over me.”
“I was not,” I snap, about to charge him myself. I don’t have nails, but I’m not below slapping.
Ryke grabs me, and I squirm, trying to go help Lo. “Lily, stop,” Ryke says, holding me tighter.
“You want your dick to be touched so badly, fine,” Lo growls, and he does something that causes me to pause, going quiet and motionless in Ryke’s arms.
Lo slams the guy again, his back digging further into the wall, and he puts his hand over the guy’s pants. The icky feeling I had for touching Blond vanishes. I’m not the only who did it. Though, Lo volunteered his hand.
Blond thrashes, and Lo must grip hard because his face contorts into a pained wince. “Get the f**k off me.”
“What? You don’t like it anymore?”
“I can sue you for harassment.”
“Let’s play that f**king game,” Lo replies. “Let’s see whose lawyers are better. I’m a goddamn Hale. My family eats shitty f**ks like you for brunch. Don’t you ever force yourself on a girl, ever again.” Lo loosens his grip, and then he steps back from him. Blond hesitates to retaliate, but his eyes ping from Lo, to Ryke, to Connor, and he mutters a curse and retreats down the hall.
Ryke looks ready to run after him and take a swing.
Lo’s chest rises, his hands clenching and unclenching. I see Jonathan in his words and actions, and I know the same comparison must infiltrate his head. Sober Lo still does mean things, and I’m not sure what the right way to protect me was—or what I could have done to help. But I do realize how much he hates even the notion of turning into Jonathan Hale. And for sacrificing a large chunk of his heart to come to my aid, I am very, very grateful. What he just did for me—it wasn’t easy.
His eyes find me. I step forward and put my arms around him, wanting to hold him and thank him all in one swoop.
Drunk Lo wouldn’t have been here.
I’d either have to give into this guy’s advances, scream for help and hope that a Ryke Meadows was around, or try to find a way to fight off a six-foot guy.
Lo kisses the top of my head, and says, “Are you sure you don’t want a bodyguard? I can’t always be around you, Lil.”
I’ve contemplated it. The idea of a guy shadowing me is a little unsettling, but after this, it’s definitely safer. “Only if you want me to.”
“We can pick out someone who’s really ugly,” he offers with a small smile. It’ll make him feel better, and that matters a lot to me.
I nod. “Okay.”
I separate from Lo and hold up the manila folder to Connor, who has been staring at it in curiosity for the past couple of minutes. “All my exams,” I explain. “The professors don’t want me on campus anymore.” For obvious reasons. And right now, I don’t want to be here all that much either.
Being a sex addict does not give guys the right to touch me. I didn’t think that would be an issue until now. Is this a problem that will persist for the rest of my life? Or something that will die when the media loses interest in me?
Only time has the answers.
{ 40 }
LILY CALLOWAY
“This would go a lot faster if you’d just let me bubble in the two other scantrons while you work on that one,” Sebastian tells me. He sits on the Queen Anne chair smoking his cigarette as he watches me hunched over piles of papers and scantrons. I’m basically copying the answers from Sebastian’s old exams to my finals, which feels more like cheating than simply memorizing.
But I’m fairly certain that actually letting him bubble in the answers would be cheating. “I’m not a cheater.” I cringe. “I’m not a complete cheater. Don’t tempt me to your dark side.”
He blows out a line of smoke. “Your angelic image was tarnished far before you ever accepted my help. You and I aren’t so different, Lily. We both enjoy an unhealthy amount of co—”
I throw a pillow at him and he catches it with his free hand, trying to protect his cigarette. Some things haven’t changed after I was outed as a sex addict. Sebastian is still Sebastian. And apparently he’s seen enough rich kid debauchery that my secret was hardly anything riveting. His words.
So I called him to bring over old exams for all my finals, and he hasn’t stared at me any differently than before the scandal. Which is kinda nice.
The front door bangs open.
I hurriedly shuffle the old exams into a pile. My head whips around, trying to find a good hiding place. I lift up the sofa cushion and stuff them under it.
When I meet Sebastian’s gaze, he looks like he could rip out my jugular for putting his old exams with the dust bunnies and rusted pennies. Oops.
Connor’s voice echoes from the kitchen. “We can keep brainstorming. We’ll come up with something, Lo.” They must be discussing the start-up company that Lo has to pitch to his father. He has a couple days left to choose a platform, and he enlisted Connor’s expertise. They spent all morning at a meeting to throw around ideas—and when I say “meeting,” I mean they sat in Starbucks.
They both saunter into the living room, Connor carrying a tray of coffees and a small pastry. “I thought you could use some test-taking boosts,” he tells me. Oh, this is why I love Connor Cobalt as a tutor. I beam, but that falls suddenly at the realization that I’m (A) Lying to him. (B) Cheating. (C) Team Sebastian. (D) Accepting the treats despite all of the above.
I say thanks and scoop the whipped cream from the coffee with my finger. Sin does taste delicious.
Lo stands off to the side, busily texting on his phone. Six days have passed since our bathroom fight over my self-love, and he has yet to forgive me completely. Our fights used to revolve around our addictions—sometimes we’d just drown in them for an extended week, ignoring each other. But this is a real, normal fight that hurts more than I ever thought it would.
“Lo, did you come up with any good ideas for the company?” I ask. I offered to help, but every time I suggested something, he told me to focus on my health. I grab the chocolate-filled croissant on the table and tear off small pieces to eat. I dunk a portion in my coffee.
Lo acknowledges me, and his eyes lighten when he sees me eating. “The top choice is a food truck.” He doesn’t look enthusiastic about that idea.
I take a slurp from my coffee. “You have more time,” I remind him. “It’s not over until the fat lady sings…” I narrow my eyes. No that’s not right. “Well, in this case the fat lady would be your father.”
He smiles, and he must catch the momentary lapse of happiness towards me because his lips downturn quickly. He closes off the conversation with the shift of his body.
We’re still fighting apparently.