Page 71 of The Boy Who Loved Wicked
“I know.” It wasn’t like most of the problems we faced now weren’t on the table before, but we were willing to take the risk then. We were consumed with our love for each other, and we thought we were smarter than everyone else. That no one would find out simply because we said so. I was all too happy to not dwell on the what-ifs because it meant I got to keep Sebastian. I was naïve, and he was self-destructive. We had Caleb now. My heart fluttered at how easily I’d come to consider Caleb as part mine. There wasn’t even a question.
My father would’ve never intentionally done something that could damage me. Something that would’ve tainted him in my eyes. I’d never expect Sebastian to do that either.
“What about after the semester is over?” Danny asked. “Could you guys be together then?”
“No,” I bit out in frustration with life, not Danny. “The school strictly prohibits student-faculty relationships. It’s written into their contracts.” And it would definitely prompt an investigation into our timeline. Dating in secret wasn’t worth the risk. All it would take was for one person to see an inappropriate look, touch. Or us leaving a restaurant together across town. Anything.Or…
“Don’t even think about it, Pheeny,” Theory scolded. “I know that look. It’s yourI would do anything for lovelook. I’ve seen it enough times when you’d insist on watching some god-awful movie with Danny over and over again. I’ve seen you point it at Mr. Wicked too.”
“Would it be so bad if I transferred schools?”
“Darn it, Pheeny. I said don’t even think about it. This has been your dream. You’re so close. Your father graduated from Denwin. He taught there.”
Some things were worth the sacrifice. Sometimes dreams changed. I could always get my degree from someplace else and still get a job at Denwin. I dropped my face into my palms on a groan. The only other school that offered a degree in philosophy was two states away.
“They could always meet up at roadside motels under an alias,” Danny said.
“Danny!” Theory gasped. “How long do you think it would take for Phoenix to get tired of being his dirty little secret?”
“Hey,” Jules said softly. “Time flies, right? Before you know it you’ll have your degree and the wait will be over.”
“Or couldn’t he take a job somewhere else?” Juan asked.
The answer to that would be the same as to why I couldn’t switch schools. He’d have to leave the state or oversee a different department. Sebastian loved philosophy, I couldn’t ask him to give that up for the same reasons he’d never ask me to give it up. Plus, he’d already relinquished one job because of me. The fist in my stomach squeezed tighter.
Everyone waited for me to answer Juan, but words fled me. They’d all been said anyway, or thought. I left my heart to ache, knowing it would do no good to avoid the process, and then
I put up a good front for the rest of the night. We talked, played two-truths-one-dare, danced and sang along to Coldplay’s “Yellow.”I seemed happy. Laughed in all the right places, asked the right questions. But if forced to describe my mood using colors, I would’ve said, blue.
Midterms came and went, and before I knew it, Thanksgiving break was approaching. Sebastian and I maintained an ethical, although maddening, decorum around each other and with each day that passed my heart hurt a little more. What we were doing wasn’t working, and I was ready to do almost anything to make it stop.
Safrin had invited me to a fraternity party, but aside from my healthy aversion to parties, I wanted to be alone. That lasted about ten minutes when I realized that alone also meant alone with my thoughts.
An internet search told me that The Poet’s Society Lounge was having a spoken word night. It was a dimly lit hole-in-the-wall basement establishment about five miles from campus. I’d discovered it one day when a flyer about an open mic was tacked to the dorm bulletin board. I ended up dragging Mason there on my birthday.
It was sort of a hippie joint that didn’t ask for identification and would sell alcohol to anything with a heartbeat. I’d be sad when the place finally got shut down.
With my coat on and my scarf wrapped around my neck, I left the dorms to get my depressing Friday night started.
I was lucky enough to get a seat in a dark corner with a perfect view of the stage. It consisted of a circular velvet sofa, big enough for three, and a small table in the middle. A waitress took my drink order, confirming that I didn’t want Jack with my Coke, before heading back to the bar.
As the lights went lower and the first performer took the stage, my gaze was pulled to the other side of the room where it clashed with Sebastian’s. He didn’t appear shocked, so he must have seen me come in.
The waitress came back with my Coke and a lit votive candle, placing them on the table in front of me. I refrained from begging her to move faster, as she was blocking my view of Sebastian. I panicked from the thought of him being gone once she left. Like maybe I had imagined him being there in the first place.
He was gone, and I slunk into my seat, shutting my eyes and dropping my head back. I’d officially gone crazy.
“May I?”
I sucked in a breath. Sebastian stood in front of me, pointing his glass to the empty space next to me.
I moved my jacket to the other side to make room. “What are you doing here?” I couldn’t recall ever seeing Sebastian in casual wear outside of his home, but tonight he wore dark denim jeans that hugged his thighs, and a long-sleeved black fitted t-shirt tugged up his forearms. And he wore it like it was second nature. It was as if someone had suddenly struck a match in the pit of my belly.
“It’s Emily’s night with Caleb, and I was restless.” He took a sip of his drink. “So here I am.” A strand from his slicked back hair fell across his forehead, and his eyes weren’t hidden behind glasses tonight.
“But how did you know about this place?” I’d never seen him blush before.
“You posted about it once on your Facebook page. This is my third time here since. What are you doing here by yourself? I believe Mr. Jones accompanied you the last time.” He’d gotten better at masking his jealousy.Betterbeing the operative word.
