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He wondered if he was falling in love.

A week later, she dumped him. He was tearfully informed that she was resuming the relationship with her high school sweetheart. He was dumbfounded and not a little angry. “Do I at least get to ask why?”

“You’re going to be somebody great, Roark. Famous. I know it. But I’m just a simple girl from small-town Tennessee. I’ll teach elementary school for a couple of years, maybe, then become a mother and the president of the PTA.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Oh, I’m not apologizing for it. It’s the life I choose, the life I want. But it’s not the life for you.”

“Why do we have to plan the rest of our lives now?” he argued. “Why can’t we hold off making major decisions and just continue to spend time together, enjoy each other, wait and see what happens?”

“Because if I continue seeing you, I’ll sleep with you.”

“Would that be so terrible?”

“Not at all terrible. It would be…” She kissed him deeply, her sweet mouth tugging on his with the restrained passion he had come to expect. “I want to,” she whispered against his lips. “I want to so bad. But I made a pledge of abstinence. I can’t break it. So I can’t see you anymore.”

To his mind, that was totally irrational, but she would not be dissuaded. He was depressed and testy for weeks. Todd, sensing that the budding romance had suddenly withered and died, walked on eggshells around him.

Finally, however, he’d had all the moodiness he could stand. “Christ, get over it already.” He insisted that the only cure for one woman was another woman. He practically dragged Roark from their room. They got drunk and got laid that night.

Roark wasn’t “cured,” but eventually he came around because he had no choice. And, in retrospect, everything she had said was right. Maybe not the part about his guaranteed greatness. That remained to be seen. But regarding everything else, she had been inordinately insightful.

At the end of the semester, she transferred to a college nearer her hometown, where the boyfriend was attending. Roark wished her well and told her that her sweetheart was the luckiest bastard on the planet. She blushed, thanked him for the compliment, and said she would be watching for his name in print.

“I’ll buy a dozen copies of your books and distribute them to all my friends, and boast that I once dated the great Roark Slade.”

That was as close as either he or Todd came to having a serious romantic entanglement. But women consumed their thoughts and fueled their lusts, and on that rainy Saturday evening, it was a girl that brought to a close their conversation about Professor Hadley’s grueling, demoralizing critiques.

A pair of coeds were actually brave—or brazen—enough to enter the testosterone-charged sanctum of T.R.’s just as Roark was advising Todd to deflect Hadley’s comments. “After all, they’re just his opinion.”

Todd, who was facing the door, changed the subject by saying, “Well, it’s my opinion that that is one hot chick.”

Roark glanced over his shoulder at the two girls. “Which one?”

“Blue sweater. Packing Tic Tacs.” That was their coded reference to evident nipple projection.

“She’s hot, all right,” Roark agreed.

Todd grinned at her and she grinned back.

Roark said, “Hey, Christie.”

“Oh, Roark, hi.” Her drawl stretched the single-syllable words into roughly three apiece. “How are you?”

“Great. You?”

“Couldn’t be better.”

When Roark came back around, Todd was swearing into his beer mug. “You son of a bitch. I might’ve known.”

Roark merely smiled and sipped his beer.

Todd continued to ogle. “She’s a fox. I don’t remember you ever going out with her.”

“We didn’t go out.”

“Casual acquaintance?”