Dear Professor(77)
From: darcyh_345@gmail.com
Subject: (empty)
I don’t want to be rude, but I’m sorry. I don’t know who you are or what you meant in your e-mail.
I hit send and bit my thumbnail as I waited. It seemed like forever passed before I got a response.
To: darcyh_345@gmail.com
From: tina-wilson99@gmail.com
Subject: (empty)
OH I’m sorry! I’m Christina. I went to University of Chicago two years ago. I probably should have started with that, huh? : ) My bad. Your history professor is Dr. Keaton, right?
I narrowed my eyes. That information was all well and good, but how the hell had she found me? And how did she know this?
To: tina-wilson99@gmail.com
From: darcyh_345@gmail.com
Subject: (empty)
Yes… I apologize, but I really don’t know where this is going. Why does it matter who my history teacher is?
To: darcyh_345@gmail.com
From: tina-wilson99@gmail.com
Subject: (empty)
Sorry. This just feels totally awkward. I live just outside Chicago. Could we meet up? I’d feel better about having this conversation in person.
I stopped short of replying. Did I want to have a conversation with this strange woman in person? Not particularly. Did I want to continue this? Yes and no. I wanted to know what was so awkward about whatever she needed to tell me that she couldn’t do it over e-mail. Wouldn’t in person be even more so?#p#分页标题#e#
God. You know what? I wasn’t going to sit around wondering anymore. Assuming had gotten me into a pickle last time, so this time, I was going to see if Jordan was in his office before I tried to throw accusations at him. Firstly, I needed to know if he knew who Christina Wilson was.
To: jkeat@gmail.com
From: darcyh_345@gmail.com
Subject: Hello?
Dear Professor,
Are you in your office? I have a question.
Xoxo, Darcy.
Ten minutes passed without a reply, and that was my answer. He was the quickest replier to e-mails I’d ever met, even in the smartphone age, where you could see them instantly. This only meant he was teaching, so I had to wait to find out.
I closed my laptop and pulled my Kindle out instead. I could have done some work, but I doubted I’d be able to concentrate. Reading was the only other option—as long as it was happier than Shakespeare.
Not that it would have been a challenge in any kind of way. Not much could be more tragic or depressing.
I managed to read four chapters before my next class. Law went slower than I had ever thought it could, and for the first time, I found myself not caring about the defensive side of the case we were studying. I could barely concentrate on anything other than the slow ticking of the clock. I received a second e-mail from Christina halfway through with her cell number so I could call her if I wanted to, but I deleted that too.
I was thankful when class was over and I could find Jordan in his office. I hung back until the halls were pretty clear from everyone being in their classes before I turned into the history department and started the walk down the hall to his office.
I felt a little sick about what I might find out in the coming conversation, but it had to be done. I had enough big-girl panties, and it was about time I pulled them the fuck up.
His office door was ajar. The low sound of voices traveled through the gap, but I couldn’t make out what was being said. Perhaps it was better for me to talk with him later or even tomorrow. He was busy…
No, damn it. It was just one question. Even if he did tell me to come back later, I could always try now. I had to try.
I pressed my hand against my stomach, swallowed, and edged toward the door.
Fuck.
The gap in the door was just big enough that I could see into the room. My heart dropped.
Jordan was standing in front of his desk, and from the back of her head, it looked like he was kissing my English professor. Professor Banks had a grip on his collar, and his hand was on her waist.
I staggered back, pushing my hand against my stomach as hard as I could. My other hand went to my mouth. I bit the inside of my lip so hard that I felt the sting as it traveled across my cheek.
Oh my God.
Adrenaline pounded through my veins, helped by the frantic beating of my heart. I felt sick. Sick and confused and, worst of all, betrayed. I had no idea why—there had been no stipulation in his agreement about him not seeing anyone else. He was free to do as he wanted.
So, why was this hurting?
Why, why, why did it hurt?
I power-walked through the hall and shoved the door to the parking lot open. The rain was still beating down, and it was damn cold with the wind. It was a battle to keep my purse steady and my rapidly dampening hair out of my eyes as I ran between the cars. I reached mine and—shit. I needed to dig for my keys.