“I can stay and help,” Fitz offers.

“You already helped enough.” My tone is firm. “Take Brenna and the Kappas, and go to Rex’s. I’ll be there in an hour, tops.”

“I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone here.”

“Pussy whipped,” Hollis coughs under his breath.

“I won’t be alone,” I tell Fitz. “Ben and Nora”—I make a face as I say her name—“volunteered to clean up too.”

“Be nice,” Fitz chides.

“Hey, I’m nothing but nice to her. She’s the one who acts like a bitch to me.” I send Rex a message that the party is still a go, then slide my phone in my pocket. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way.”

Forty-five minutes later, Ben and I have stacked the last of the chairs, boxed up all the hangers, and de-cluttered as best as we could. Someone from the university is supposed to collect all this stuff in the morning and return it to the Fashion department.

I gesture to the raised runway in the center of the massive room. “They don’t expect us to take that apart, do they?”

“No, I think the crew’s doing it when they come to pick up all the chairs and stuff.”

“Okay. Good.” I check the time on my phone. “You coming to the party?”

He rubs his fingers over his bushy eyebrows. “I don’t know… A football party, huh?”

“You got something against football?” I tease.

“No, but I’ve received enough wedgies from football players that it’s left me a bit scarred.” His mouth widens in a cheeky smile. “I’ve also received enough BJs from football players to make up for that.”

I gasp. “Ben, you bad boy! One, I didn’t know you were gay. And, two, we have something in common—we both like athletes!”

“We had other things in common before,” he answers dryly. “We’re both fashion majors? We both love Chanel and Versace?”

“True. So are you coming to the party or not?”

“Sure, what the hell. Do you need a ride?”

“Thanks, but I drove here too.” I’m about to slide my hand in my purse to fish out my keys, when I realize I’m not wearing my purse. I’d left it on the floor of the dressing area when Ben and I were folding up all the curtains. Nora had been helping at one point too, but I don’t know where she ran off to. She probably took off to avoid having to spend time with me.

“I’ll see you at Rex’s,” I tell Ben.

“Sexy Rexy,” he murmurs.

“Oh God, please call him that to his face so I can see his reaction.”

He snickers. “If I think it’ll get me a BJ and not a wedgie, I will,” he promises.

Ben leaves, and I hop onto the runway and walk toward the backstage area, where I quickly grab my purse. Before I can leave, I hear a female giggle.

I freeze, my gaze moving toward the corridor that leads to the Arbor House management offices. It also features a closet-sized bathroom that I used earlier tonight.

Another giggle echoes from the corridor. I’m pretty sure it’s Nora, and my eyes narrow at the shadowy doorway. Who the heck is she with?

In a heartbeat, it dawns on me. Laurie? I suddenly realize I never saw him leave tonight, either. He just sort of disappeared from the party, same way Nora disappeared in the middle of cleanup.

I follow the giggles to the corridor and slant my head. Sure enough, a male voice. It’s coming from the bathroom, and it’s almost certainly Laurie. Then Nora’s muffled voice, followed by Laurie again, as he says something that makes her laugh again.

Good for her, I guess. She’s had a crush on the creep since the first day of classes. Now she gets to live the creepy dream.

I’m about to walk away when I hear her cry out.

It’s not a scream of terror but an exclamation of surprise, as if he startled her. But it’s enough to make me walk toward the bathroom to check if she’s all right. I remember the look of betrayal on Laurie’s face when I rejected his advances in his office. Granted, he released me the instant I said no. But he was also stone-cold sober that day, and on university property.

Tonight I saw him drink at least three glasses of red wine. Plus, he was already in a snit because I thwarted his evil agenda. I wouldn’t feel right if I left without making sure Nora is—

“Stop it.”

Okay, I heard that as clear as day.

I reach the door just as the sounds of a scuffle echo behind it. A thud, as if someone bumped into something. A soft clatter, as if an item fell off the counter and onto the tiled floor. The soap dish, maybe.

Nora’s voice is firm. “Stop it. I said no.”

And then I hear Laurie’s smarmy voice mutter, “Cocktease.”

There’s another crash. Nora cries out again, and I almost keel over with relief when I turn the knob and find the door isn’t locked. Thank God.

I throw it open and shout, “Let her go!”

33

Summer

Laurie’s hand is cupped between Nora’s legs. Her hand is clamped over his as she forcibly tries to push it away. The sight turns my vision into a sea of red. I lunge at the professor, one arm slicing up and then down as I karate chop the back of his neck. He howls in pain and stumbles away from Nora.

“What the hell!” he roars, angrily rubbing the spot that the side of my hand connected with.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I snap back. “Am I interrupting something?” My stomach churns when I notice the bulge in his pants. That bastard. I turn to Nora, whose face is ashen, her fingers quivering wildly as she tries to smooth the hem of her rumpled dress.

“Are you okay?” I ask urgently.

“I’m fine.”

She doesn’t sound fine. Her voice is weak, and her legs are visibly wobbling as she comes toward me. I wrap a protective arm around her trembling shoulders. The fact that she lets me tells me how shaken up she actually is.

“Of course she’s fine,” Laurie says stiffly. “I don’t know what you think is going on right now, Summer, but Nora was not in any danger from me. Your hysteria, not to mention your ludicrous assumptions about what was happening are not only insulting, but you also just left yourself open to an assault charge.”

I can’t stop an incredulous laugh. “You’re going to have me arrested for assault? Are you kidding me? And I know exactly what was going on in here before I came in.”

“Nothing untoward occured between Nora and myself. Isn’t that right, Nora?”

She doesn’t respond. She simply shakes harder in my arms.

“You’re disgusting,” I hiss at our esteemed professor.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he spits out. “You interrupted a consensual intimate moment between me and—”

“A student!” I finish in disbelief. “Between you and a student! Even if it was consensual—and it didn’t fucking look that way from where I was standing—how is it in any way appropriate?”

His lips flatten in an angry line. I wait for a denial, an apology, anything. What I get is, “I don’t need to deal with this.”