Not that I’m complaining about my gorgeous new tote. I’m not a crazy person.
I descend the steps toward Laurie’s lecture podium. It’s not his office hours, but he agreed to see me after the lecture so I could start writing my midterm today instead of waiting till Wednesday for him to approve my thesis.
And the good thing about Erik Laurie teaching History of Fashion as well as serving as my independent-study advisor is that I’m able to kill two birds with one stone—I can get my thesis green-lit and give him an update on my swimwear line in one shot.
I still can’t quite explain it, but the man continues to creep me out. Everyone else adores him, especially the girls. They laugh at all his jokes. They tolerate his winking disorder.
And then there’s me, who leaves every encounter with him feeling like I need a shower. He reminds me of that intolerable character from Harry Potter—Gilderoy Lockhart, only the film version of him that Kenneth Branagh knocked out of the park. Laurie isn’t as flamboyant, but, like Lockhart, he comes off as a vain egomaniac who wants everyone to love him.
Or rather, who assumes they already do.
I know it’s a harsh assessment, and I try to push it out of my mind as I approach my professor.
“Winter!” he teases. “I enjoyed your thoughts in class today.”
“Thanks.”
He shuffles a few papers, then glances beyond my shoulder and nods at someone. I turn and realize Nora is waiting a discreet distance away.
“There’s another student I need a progress report from, so this will be quick,” he informs me.
Thank God. The quicker, the better.
He reads over my thesis for the midterm, suggests two minor tweaks, and signs off on it. Once that’s out of the way, I fill him in on the fabric order I placed. The Fashion department has a decent selection of free fabrics for students to use, but we’re also able to buy our own if we choose to do so. Since several of my bikini tops are crochet, I had to order a more lightweight yarn that doesn’t stretch or shrink if it gets wet. Laurie approves of the choice, nodding in agreement when I explain the reasoning behind it. I conclude by giving him an update on the models I plan to recruit.
He throws his head back in laughter when I mention I’d like to ask some football players to model the men’s line. “That’s a great idea, Summer. That’ll definitely sell some tickets. And for the women’s pieces?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
He winks. “So you haven’t changed your mind about modeling one of the swimsuits yourself?”
Ugh.
Why.
Just why, Gilderoy.
I force a laugh. “Nope, still not interested.”
“What a shame. All right, let’s touch base at the end of the week.” He rests his hand on my shoulder before giving it a light squeeze.
And either I imagine it, or his fingertips graze the nape of my neck when I turn to walk away.
Disgust crawls up my spine. It takes a serious effort not to Usain Bolt out of the lecture hall. Instead, I move at a normal pace and act as if I’m not completely repulsed by the potential neck graze.
“Nora, I’ll be with you in a minute,” Laurie tells her, stepping away to answer a call on his cell.
“He’s all yours,” I murmur to Nora.
She makes a sardonic noise under her breath. “Doesn’t look that way from where I’m standing.”
I turn to frown at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She checks to make sure Laurie is still on the phone, before sniping, “Don’t you get tired of using your looks to get ahead?”
“What are you talking about? I’m not using anything.”
“You’ve got Laurie wrapped around your little finger. He drools every time you walk in the room. He acts like every word you say is worthy of a Pulitzer. I swear, if he wasn’t already on his feet, he’d give you a standing ovation every time you opened your mouth.”
I clench my jaw so tight my teeth start to hurt. “It’s not like I’m asking him to do that. I’m actually interested in the material we’re discussing.”
“I’m sure you are.” She rolls her eyes, tucking a strand of pink-streaked hair behind her ear. “Maybe if you spent less time flirting and more time learning, you wouldn’t have gotten kicked out of your last school.”
“Uh-huh. Have a good day, Nora.”
My hands are trembling as I stalk off. She is such a nasty person. I can’t believe Fitz liked her enough to go out with her.
I wonder if she gave him a blowjob and he ignored her afterward too.
The reminder floods my belly with the heat of embarrassment. Sexual acts don’t generally embarrass me, not even the ones in high school that occurred when I wasn’t quite sober. But Fitz has made it this way for me. By not even acknowledging that it happened, he’s caused me to feel like there’s something shameful about what we did.