Page 6 of Bachelor

Chapter Three

Whitney

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HOLLIS HALL FELT LIKEa totally new place after last semester. I could almost feel the shift in my bones as I walked briskly against the crowd heading to their early morning lectures. No longer a student in the Humanities Department, all of my classes this semester were in the arts building.

I was only here to see Rhys.

I smiled at a few students I knew as I walked down one of the long, stone-lined hallways toward the rows of offices that were tucked in the very back of the building, spanning two stories. Rhys’s office was on the first floor and overlooked the garden in the back of Hollis Hall, which right now was nothing more than piles of fresh snow against fields of white and a silver storm that brewed with growing intensity beyond.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen so much snow.

Professor Dan Montague backed out of his office and nearly ran into me. He was balancing several binders in one hand as he turned to lock his office door behind him. “Sorry, Whitney, I didn’t see you there.”

I beamed up at him. I’d always liked Professor Montague, even though I’d only had him for a few required courses my freshman and sophomore year of my undergrad. His soft blue eyes creased as he smiled back at me.

“Meeting with Rhys—I mean Professor Ellis this morning?”

“Yep. I’m the TA for his sociology 101 class this semester.”

“I heard as much. Well, I’ll let you get it to. Tell him hi for me, will you? He’s been locked up in there for the past hour. I don’t think he’s even had any coffee yet.”

“He likes tea,” I remarked, then clamped my lips shut. Why would I know what he liked? I was just a student.

Professor Montague didn’t seem to catch my remark and walked down the hallway, lost amid the throngs of students rushing to their lectures.

I knocked on Rhys’s door and waited, rocking on my heels.

I felt better than I had in a long time. Seeing him at the party two days ago on Friday hadn’t been as hard as I thought. If he could get over me that quickly, I sure as hell could get over him and put all of this behind me.

Right?

The heavy wooden door clicked as he turned the latch and opened it wide.

“Good morning,” he said, his eyes meeting mine before he abruptly looked away and motioned me to come in.

I debated keeping the door open, but what was the harm in shutting it if nothing was ever going to happen between us again?

Rhys pulled a binder off the bookshelf nearest his desk. Every inch of wall space was covered by something, whether it be shelving or small framed scraps of articles. I looked around, my eyes settling on the numerous texts filling the bookshelves in shades of red, green, and brown leather. Waiting, I realized, for him to say literally anything.

Why did it feel like all the air had been sucked from the room the second I shut the door?

I heard him sit, and I tore my gaze from the books and followed suit, settling into one of the leather chairs in front of his desk. I crossed my legs and knitted my fingers over my knee, looking up at him expectantly. His glasses hung halfway down the bridge of his nose as he looked me over once, then twice, then back to the binder. “What is it?” I asked after a moment. The sucking silence was too uncomfortable for me to let it continue.

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