is off. Darren is furious. Grad stu dents don’t take Intro to Art, which means he knows I lied.
I can’t believe I’ve screwed this up already, and this bad. The first guy I really connect with and he turns out to be my T.A.? I want scream. I want to jump out of my seat and tear Darren from this lecture hall. I thought he worked at his parents’ pub. What the hell is he doing here? Did he lie to me, too? My God, maybe everything about last night was one big lie.
No. The way Darren made me feel when he touched me wasn’t fake. It was more real than anything I’ve ever experienced. I can’t give that up. I don’t want to. I stare into Darren’s hazel eyes, which are still locked on me in shock. My T.A.? Seriously?
“So,” Darren says, pausing to clear his throat and most likely his head, too. “If anyone needs extra help or misses a class and needs to get caught up, feel free to come see me.” His eyes finally tear away from mine, and he turns and mumbles something to Professor Monahan, who nods in response. I watch as Darren walks toward the back of the lecture hall and exits, the door making a soft click behind him.
He couldn’t even stay and face me. “I have to go talk to him,” I whisper to Noelle, already getting up from my seat. “Before it’s too late.”
She nods and gives me a half-smile for encouragement. Professor Monahan glares at me as I walk down the aisle, interrupting his lecture, but I don’t care. I have to get to Darren. As soon as the door shuts behind me, I scan the hall. The men’s restroom is by the water fountain. Maybe he ducked in there. I look around, wondering if I’m about to make the stupidest mistake of my college career—well, other than having sex with my T.A. God damn it! I can’t believe my bad luck. I push open the door to the men’s room. Thankfully, with classes in session, the bathroom isn’t occupied. Other than Darren, who’s standing at the last sink in the row.
He furrows his brow at me. I’m sure he’s going to ask what the hell I’m doing in the men’s room, but instead he says, “Grad student, huh?”
“I never said I was a grad student. You did.”
He scoffs. “Oh, okay. So you win that one on a technicality. What about the rest?” He narrows his eyes at me. “How old are you?”
I swallow hard because I know my answer is going to make him hate me even more. “Nineteen.”
“Nineteen?” He runs his fingers through his hair. “I served you alcohol in my father’s pub. Do you have any idea how much trouble I can get in for that? My dad is going to kick my ass for this.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t ask for the wine, and I didn’t know how to tell you I’m only nineteen.”
“So you said nothing?” His eyes widen, and his face turns red.
“You might want to keep your voice down, Mr. McEntire . And speaking of, you never mentioned you’re a T.A. You let me think you just worked at the pub.”
He shakes his head. “My job here didn’t come up, and do you really want to compare that to what you kept from me?”
“You thought I was a grad student. That was the perfect time to mention you were a teacher’s assistant. If you had—”
“What? You would’ve fessed up? Told me you were an undergrad?”
“I would’ve had to.”
“Really? And would that have been before or after we had sex in my apartment?” He clutches the edge of the sink, and I can’t help thinking he’s more angry at himself than me.
“I don’t regret what we did.” Not one bit. Darren made me realize what I was missing where sex was concerned. I finally get why some people crave it. Even looking at Darren now, all agitated, I still just want to tear his clothes off right here in this disgusting public bathroom.
He shakes his head again before leveling me with his hazel eyes. “I could lose my job over this.”
“I’m not going to tell anyone.” Else, at
Learning to Kill: Stories