Page 9 of Brat Baby
I nod, clutching the snacks I’ve already collected to my chest. “Ah, yeah. I have a meal card.”
The guy nods and offers a tight smile before he starts plating my meal. “Okay, this is how it works. Your meal card will get you three meals a day, plus a few extras.” He pointedly stares at what I’m already holding. “So, stock up at each meal to get you through the day. Once I give you this plate, go grab a drink, then head up to the register, scan your card and you’re good to go. Any questions?”
He offers my plate fully loaded with lasagna and fries to me over the top of the glass window, expression bored, like he’s already given that speech a few dozen times today. Since today is the first day of classes, I’m not surprised.
Opting to not incur any more of his irritation, I shake my head and take the plate. “No, thanks.”
I start to walk away, but pivot back as a thought occurs to me. “Um, sorry, actually, where do I get—”
“Against the wall.” He flicks his hand directly to his left toward the end of the counter, where there is a shelf holding tubs full of thin paper bags, which I assume have cutlery and napkins. “When you’re done with your plate, leave it on the table and one of the table staff will clear it away.”
Before I can thank him again, he starts serving the next person. Well, okay, then.
I follow his instructions to the letter, and within minutes, I’m sitting at the end of one of the tables by the wall and people watching as I try to eat the entire serving of pasta. The rest of the food I collected is going to live in my backpack because there is absolutely zero chance of me eating all this right now.
Now all that’s left to do is eat, macro, library, and home.
Then I can have a pity party for one.
Chapter 5
Emery
Fuck Mondays.
Seriously.
How is this even happening right now?
It’s like the kink gods are playing some sort of sick joke on me.
Ice-blue eyes stare back at me. Jaw locked tight. Perfectly styled blond hair flicked back and away. They stare so long, thepeople sitting next to me start to whisper, and I shrink down into my chair, feeling about as big as a fucking kitten. His kitten.
All the emotions I’d worked so hard to shove down over lunch roar back to the surface as, to my absolute fucking horror, tears well in my eyes. But I can’t break eye contact. I can’t. He’s right there. Hudson. He’s right there and he isn’t doing anything.
We are two people locked in this single moment of time, where nothing else exists. There are no other students. There is no class to be taught. Just him and me, and the pain and anger that burn through our veins.
It’s not until a tear rolls down my cheek that I force myself to break the trance and shift to the side to wipe it away. When I turn back to him, his back is to me as he searches for something in his bag.
His back flexes as he ignores the last of the students who make it into the room. He shoves whatever he was fiddling with back into his bag and then turns to face the room.
There aren’t quiet as many students in this class, but it’s still big. One hundred, maybe?
Hopefully it’s enough to let me hide.
I inhale shakily as I try to settle myself. First Derek and now Hudson? What are the fucking chances that the one and only SugarLife invite I accept is tied to four men who work at the college I attend? And then, on top of that, two of them are my teachers.
I know I won’t have that situation with Darcy—I’m one-hundred-percent positive he teaches art, and I haven’t enrolled in any art classes. As much as I really wanted to.
But Xavier? I have no clue what he could possibly do here. I just really, really hope he’s not another of my professors. I don’t think I could take having so many of them so close but not be allowed to touch them.
“Welcome to Introduction to Macroeconomics. I’m your professor, Hudson Gold. You can call me Hudson or Professor Gold. As the course description outlines, for the first five weeks of this course, you will only have this weekly lecture. In week six, weekly workshops will be added in addition to the lecture. You will be put into groups to complete a group assignment in these facilitated in the workshop classes.” Hudson shoves both his hands in the pockets of his pants as he scans the room, zero waver in his voice. “In order to excel in those workshops, you’ll be required to complete additional study on your own to supplement the course-supplied materials. At the end of today’s class, there will be a list of suggested additional reading. I encourage study groups.”
Hudson doesn’t make eye contact with me the whole time he does his introductory speech. In fact, he goes out of his way to not look at anyone in my general vicinity. He spends the first hour going through the syllabus and then transitions into content.
I’m left, forgotten, never once acknowledged. Completely discarded.
Just like in Derek’s class.
