Page 5 of Bachelor

I gave Dan a look, noticing the glint of jealousy in his bright blue eyes. Dan was a handsome man roughly six years older than me—young at heart but viciously brutal when it came to grading. We got along like well. Friends, definitely. Not close enough for me to tell him that I’d been sleeping with Whitney and this was, apparently, karma for my past indiscretions.

“I have no idea. She switched her major from sociology to fine art in December. I figured she’d land in the Arts Department.”

“There is some crossover there,” he breathed. “I know she’s still taking a few philosophy classes this semester... and history as well.”

I turned to him, furrowing my brow. “How many classes did she enroll in?”

He blew out his breath and shook his head. “About as many as she could. We’ve all been talking about whether the girl has time to eat and sleep. She’s taking eight courses this semester—”

“Eight?” I hissed through gritted teeth. “Who the hell allowed her to do that?”

“This is Whitney Dahl we’re talking about. She gets her way. She has the dean of every program wrapped around her finger. I wouldn’t be surprised if they erected a statue in her likeness when she finally has enough of Gatlington and moves on.”

I should talk to her about this. How insane it was. She was already a high-strung, easily stressed kind of person who masked it well. Would she crack under pressure? Or was there more to this, like filling her schedule to the point she wouldn’t have room to think about anything but school?

My throat tightened. I had done the same, hadn’t I? Taking on three more lectures this semester and opening up my office hours into the late evening just so I wouldn’t have time to dwell on what happened last semester.

“I have no doubt she’ll be able to do it.”

“I agree, but that’s a year’s worth of courses in a single semester.”

He shrugged, bringing his glass of wine to his lips. “I imagine she’s planned out what the next year of her life is going to look like and plans to move on to doctorate next. She doesn’t strike me as the type of person to waste time.”

“No, she isn’t,” I agreed with a hint of frustration as I caught Jessica looking over Whitney’s shoulder at me. Jessica, who knew everything and was now dating one of the only friends I had outside of the university, Bill Livingston.

“Well, if you feel like getting rid of her, let me know. I call first dibs... Not—not like that, just, she’s a once in a career kind of student, and I groveled at Ms. Martins’ feet all morning trying to get her placed with me. Looks like you have Cassandra’s favor.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” I grumbled, finishing off my drink. In fact, I’d requested Tyler Bakken as my TA. He was a dual sociology and anthropology major set to graduate with his master’s this spring and already had a few colleges sending him emails about doctorate programs. We’d spoken briefly before winter break about him applying to Trinity or Oxford’s archeology program.

I pursed my lips and scanned the crowd for the man in question, finding him deep in conversation with none other than Whitney and Jessica. Shit, I couldn’t get away from her if I wanted to.

“Ms. Martins’ coming this way,” Dan warned, turning to leave.

“Thanks for the warning,” I grumbled before turning my bar and heading toward the bar.

I spent the next hour walking from group to group, talking to my fellow professors and getting to know more of the students in Gatlington’s broad graduate program. Only a few were pursuing their doctorates here, all of them in either law or business, which gave me some hope to the future here, one where Whitney would be gone and I’d be forced to truly let her go.

Eventually I grew tired of dodging the new student advisor, who seemed more than interested to get me alone in conversation, and did my best Irish exit from the party.

Carver Hall was situated at the head of campus and a long, brisk walk from faculty housing. Snow fell in thick, wet clumps as I walked along the trail weaving around the historical lecture halls and undergraduate dorms. Greek Row was alight with parties in the distance, and the sight brought on a familiar pang of regret. I hadn’t seen Christian Brockford yet, not since returning from break, but I had a feeling he’d be up to his usual threats and try to target Whitney the first chance he got.

And I couldn’t do anything about it unless Whitney and I came clean, which we couldn’t do without risking her future at the university.

Just like I promised myself in the past, I wouldn’t allow that to happen, even if losing her was slowly killing me inside.

Voices caught my attention, and I looked up from my snow-covered boots to see Whitney and Jessica walking ahead of me, arm in arm, neither of them aware that I was a hundred yards or so behind them. I opened my mouth, almost calling out, but then shut it again and came to a stop.

Whitney was smiling. A huge, sincere smile as she laughed at whatever Jessica said.

I knew that smile would disappear the second she noticed me, so I waited for them to walk out of sight before turning at the fork in the trail leading to my cottage.

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