Chapter Sixty
Griffin
I time my arrival on campus so I have exactly five minutes to reach my morning class from the faculty parking lot. I don’t want to run into any of other professors or Charles. My phone is still off. I don’t want to talk to anybody.
The lot is empty. So far, so good, I think as I walk past the threshold and into Fullilove Hall.
The name reminds me of Sierra. How hurt she looked on Friday. And the triplets.
I still can’t decide what to think about her. I can’t believe she told people that I was the Midnight God. Actually, that part was fine. But telling people her sex toys are based on me was not cool. She should’ve at least asked first.
Of course, my answer would’ve been an instant no.
I wonder if she’s having morning sickness. Or any weird cravings. She didn’t indicate anything unusual earlier, but don’t hormones take a while to kick in?
Damn it. Stop thinking about her and the babies.
Mulling all this over isn’t going to solve any of my problems. Right now, what I should be focusing on is walking four doors down to the right and delivering the best damn lecture possible on econometrics.
Lori appears, coming out of a closer door. I should’ve known the morning was going too well.
My fingers itch with the desire to strangle her. She might as well have stripped me naked and paraded me around for fun at the party.
I restrain myself. No need to get arrested for assault. That would hit the Hollywood gossip sites faster than a finger snap, adding even more fuel to the fire.
“Good morning,” she says tentatively.
She isn’t blushing, giggling or pointing. Either people find my parents and their scandals disgusting, or they find them ridiculous. In the latter case, they usually giggle and point and whisper—infuriating reactions.
I’m not an extension of my parents. And I’m not some sex toy inspiration for people to speculate over. I’ve done things that deserve respect. I’ve worked all my life to be my own person and be judged for what I do.
“My class is waiting,” I manage between clenched teeth.
She flinches. “Oh. Sorry. Uh, have a good day.”
It’s all I can do not to demand how I’m supposed to have a “good day.” But ignoring her is better than blowing a vein. She’s not worth it.
I resume my march to the classroom. Benson comes out of the huge lecture hall where he teaches Introduction to Microeconomics, jerks to a stop and goes back into the hall.
Avoiding me like I’m a plague carrier. The admiration he used to have for my academic achievements is gone. Poof. And all because of a stupid article and a careless comment.
I stride into my class and take my place behind the lectern then scan all twenty-eight of my students seated in the room. Which one of them told the world about the sex toys?
Naturally, whoever it was did it anonymously. People are extra brave when they’re hiding behind a fake online identity. I wonder how many of these kids have the guts to tell me to my face what they really think. I might just give them an A for having the balls.
A hand goes up, and I cock an eyebrow. This kid never asks anything in class. “Yes, Mr. Farmer?”
“Sir, is it true that you inspired a line of sex toys?”
There are murmurs around the room. I clench my hands on the lectern. “Do you really want to know the answer?”
He swallows nervously. “I just want confirmation. I heard some people talk about it, but I thought they were making stuff up.”
What should I say? And should I give him an A for what little courage he has?
Nah. I don’t like his face. Or his attitude. Or his needless curiosity. “You’ll have to ask the CEO of the company. I wouldn’t presume to know what her company was thinking.” I sweep my gaze across the class again. “Any other questions?”
“Have you met a lot of movie stars?” a bubbly blonde says. Joyce McIntyre. One of the first to barge into my office, hoping to sleep with me.