Page 3 of Kitty Season
That’s how many times I’ve dropped my dacks and checked if there is in fact, a hand shaped scar on my damn leg, so real is the lingering touch of Troye. It’s also been five days since Lotte and Noah’s engagement and roughly 5000 times that I have wanted to melt into the core of the earth and never come back.
Embarrassment is still in the mix but the driving force in this nightmare is shame. I am a disgusting person. Possibly sick. Fantasizing, or whatever that was about Quinn is one thing, but Troye? QuinnandTroye? That’s a whole new level of weird, even for me.
Noah being the perceptive ‘I can fix you’ kind of guy that he is, senses all is not well and no matter where he is, has called tocheck in on me every other day. I want to tell him. To pop the lid on the shaken soda can and just go off in an explosion of fizz.
“While watching you propose, I sexy daydreamed that Troye and Quinn wanted a threesome with me, when I came to—wrong choice of words—I had a boner and Troye knew I had a boner and he called me Gladys then offered to send me a wank video of him and his boner. Only that, the wanking and the threesome, didn’t weird me out and now I can’t stop thinking about it which is weirding me out … Also I hate him.”
I’m sure there’s a way to condense that but I can confidently say,thatishow it would leave my lips. Lotte, who sits beside me chewing on her pencil, is highly suspicious too, but like me she’s awkward as all hell and would rather slice off her own tongue than ask about feelings.
Shifting in my seat, I attempt to tune back into my sports psych professor and her lecture on professional boundaries. Any form of boundary setting is something I really need to brush up on but focusing is hard when there’s an ever more frequent cramping, twisting, puking sensation knotting me up inside. Without a thought, I slip my hand beneath the too-small wooden desk and delve into my pockets to stroke the fluorescent hair of my good luck troll, Poppy. She was a gift from my youngest sister the day I got my fifth straight shutout and was picked from oblivion to come to the States. Needless to say it’s my good luck charm/habitual anxiety reliever. I grimace as the corner of my nail catches on a partially stubborn knot in Poppy’s locks.
“You don’t agree, Mr. Basse? MR. BASSE?”
Shit that’s me. “Um, yes?”
“Yes you agree, or no you don’t?”
“Umm. Ahh…” I mumble, while attempting to slide Poppy back into my pocket. She slips, though, and proceeds to roll down the stairs, making a deafening clunk no two inch toy hasthe right to make until coming to rest at the polished pumps of Professor Plum. Say that fast five times in a row.
Plum is gorgeous, tall and forbidden which naturally makes her ten times more appealing to the student population. There’s also a slight Aussie twang to her, naurrrr. “What’s this?” All eyes appreciative of the female ass, including mine, follow the rise of her lemon chiffon skirt as she bends to retrieve my “good luck charm.”
“It’s a troll.” A smattering of chuckles break out around me, and Lotte taps my thigh in silent support.
“Yes, I see that, but why did it roll down my stairs in the middle of class? Is this a prank? Are you implying I am a troll?”
“NO!” Rising to my feet, I follow Poppy’s path, clambering down the lecture theater stairs till I’m blue-eyes to blue-eyes with Plum. “No, not at all, you’re very beautiful … and you’re not naked … wait, I mean your skirt is on and it’s … umm, pretty and … short.”
And this is why I will die a virgin.
Professor Plum’s condemnation of me is barely audible over my classmates’ now riotous laughter bouncing off the walls. The only part I catch is. “My office after class, Mr. Basse.” As Poppy is slapped into the palm of my hand. “You and the troll.”
Waiting outside an angry faculty members office is not how I wanted to spend my Friday afternoon. It’s also a scenario I’m not new to.
Noah and I spent many anxious minutes tapping our collective feet at the door of Coach Harris’s torture cell, but this is the first time I’ve been in the shit with an actual professor. Come to think of it, before Noah came along and dragged me jersey first into trouble, I’d never been in this position.
Not once.
You see, at home I’m what some call a brown nose. A pitiful kiss-ass, goody-two-shoes. A mummy’s boy.
Shit!
Mum!
She’ll be devastated if she ever finds out. As the youngest of six boys I was her cutest and best behaved. I was also the only one to share her blonde hair and blue eyes, hence why I was her favourite … until my baby sister, Sam the troll giver, came along.
Shit!
She’s going to be pissed at me too. Like me, Sam is obsessed with hockey and wants to follow me to the states to play in the PWHL, North America’s Professional Women’s Hockey League. Technically she wants to play in the NHL but a few things would need to change for that to happen. As I picture the matchinglooks of disappointment on their faces, a repetitive tapping has Poppy again slip from my grip, and my eyes darting to shiny pink pumps attached to some very attractive, familiar legs.
“Really? You’re doubling down on the troll thing?”
“No,” I yell, jumping to my feet. “No I promise it was an accident … both times. There is nothing troll-like about you.” Crap, I want to die right now.
I drop my gaze to her feet. An action that goes down as well as my future psych grades will. “Mr. Basse. Tell me exactly what you find so appealing about my feet? Actually, don’t answer that. Follow me.” Making a sharp u-turn, she glides back into her office and points to a lime green chair covered in silky pillows. “Sit.” I drop like a pup after a treat and wait for my fate. “Can I offer you a drink?”
“Oh, sure. Water would be great. Thanks.”
Plum moves to a makeshift minibar atop her desk, and pours two tall glasses of water while I take a look around. It’s the first time I’ve seen inside these walls and I can’t help but wonder if she hired Lotte to do the decorating. Like Lotte’s home, every wall is a different shade, one features a mural of Alice and the White Rabbit, and the furniture reminds me of a bag of skittles.
