The stare they hold picks up where some conversation I haven’t been privy to left off.
“We’ll see,” Iz mutters, turning his attention back to the proposal.
“Yeah, we will.” Callie gathers her backpack and stands. “I need to get to class myself.”
When I glance up to tell her goodbye, that same odd expression she wore the first time she went fangirl on me is back on her face.
“Not to make this weird, but . . .” she says in that voice people use right before they make things weird. “I’ve acted like a normal person all day and think I deserve a commendation for not bringing this up earlier.”
I stifle my grin because I already know where she’s going. “Yes?” I lift both brows sky high and wait.
“Oh my God,” she gushes, unlike any other Rhodes Scholar you would ever meet. “Is it true? Are you engaged?”
So much for stifling grins, because the shit-eating-est grin of all time overpowers my face. Bristol was with Kai for a late-night talk show performance, and some of the production team backstage spotted her ring. A few posts and several tweets later, everyone knew—or thought they did, since we haven’t confirmed anything and really have no plans to. Bristol may promote for a living, but she doesn’t like that lens turned on our private life, not even a little bit, and I can’t blame her. It’s a pain in the ass. We’ll have to eventually, but it’s only been a couple of weeks, and we’re right here at Christmas. Maybe after the New Year we’ll draft something to announce, or maybe we won’t confirm at all. In the meantime, it’s no one’s business that I’m the happiest son of a bitch on the planet.
“Well, are you?” Callie presses, her indomitable spirit infectious.
“If you can keep your mouth shut,” I tell her, shit-eating grin still firmly in place, “then, yes, I am.”
“Eeeeeep!” Callie sits back down and drops her backpack like she’s got all day to hear the details. “Tell me everything.”
“Don’t you have a class in two minutes, Callie?” Iz asks pointedly, flicking his eyes toward his office door. “See you tomorrow.”
Callie holds his glance for a moment longer before retrieving her backpack and heading toward the door.
“Congratulations,” she says over her shoulder. “An engagement and Grammy nominations all in one month. You win December.”
I haven’t even processed the Grammy nominations. The day after I asked Bristol to marry me, I found out about the three nominations. I’m proudest of “Bruise” being up for song of the year.
“Thanks, Cal.” I give her a grateful smile.
“Bristol’s a lucky woman,” she says softly, sincerely.
“I’m a lucky man.”
“Well, I want to hear all the details when Professor Killjoy isn’t around,” she says with a pointed glance at Iz before she leaves. “Good luck on your one exam.”
“That girl,” Iz mumbles, staring at the space she just vacated like she might have left an outline in the air.
There’s no doubt in my mind that Iz jerks off to thoughts of Callie defending her dissertation naked. A few weeks ago, I would have given him shit about it, but things changed after that fateful conversation. Now I pretty much stick to the things we do agree on. Otherwise, I have nothing to say to him.
“She’s something else,” Iz says.
“Yeah, she is, but remember—you don’t fuck your students,” I can’t resist saying.
Iz squints his irritation at me. “I meant Bristol.”
I pause in stuffing the proposal into my saddlebag.
“Even though she’s white, you mean?” I douse the words with sarcasm.
“Look, you know I have nothing against white people.”
“Except when they date Black people, right?”
“It’s just not my preference.” Exasperation cracks his calm façade. “I get to have my preferences.”
“You think I give a damn what color you prefer? Date Smurfette, go blue for all I care. It’s you somehow actually buying into the bullshit logic that me being with Bris is a disservice to our community that bothers me.”