Relief flashes on his face, and he pulls me close, rolling us so we can scoot under the covers.
“So is my girlfriend feeling a little better? Sexual tension eliminated?”
“Huh, maybe. You think you’ve got a few more magic moves before we leave in the morning? We need to stockpile my orgasms until Spring Break, which is two months away.”
His face scrunches at me. “Why Spring Break?”
“I figured that was the earliest we’d see each other, unless my project gets picked up for the exhibit.”
“No, babe. We’ll figure something out.”
I nod my head in agreement and cuddle up as close as possible. We both fall asleep somewhere around three in the morning after working out the rest of our ‘sexual frustration.’
Chapter 8
Fourteen days, that’s how long it took me to turn back into a lovesick fool. The fourteen days Bryce and I spent together solidified my mind, body, and soul’s infatuation with him. I’d like to say it was just being in his presence that got under my skin, but that would be a lie. True to his word, he tells me and shows me every day how much I mean to him.
He bought an iPad so we could FaceTime every night before bed. Even when he is working, he’ll take a break for ten minutes when I text him I’m tired. Quinn constantly makes fun of us, and her favorite word to describe Bryce is ‘pussy whipped’, but he doesn’t care.
I, in turn, make fun of her, as well. Her and Dean still keep in touch, and she constantly talks about him. I learned he lives in Atlanta but was in Miami to visit friends. He’s a first year lawyer with a small firm. Apparently, he’s a brainiac and made it through college and law school in five years. He’s twenty-three and seems like a nice guy.
It’s been four weeks since Bryce and I left each other in Miami. The winter weather has been awful in Virginia, and flights have been difficult. I can tell he’s getting aggravated, but there’s nothing we can do about it.
Quinn and I have similar schedules again this semester, and today, we are meeting with our previous World Journalism professor. Several students were invited to a luncheon to discuss the pieces he submitted for the local show.
When we walk into the conference room, it’s already crowded with several people I recognize from class. Professor Davis greets everyone cheerily when he arrives and suggests we get our plates so the meeting can start. As we file through the buffet line, he sets up his computer to the media screen and starts a rolling slide show. Pictures fill the screen with what I assume is all our individual work. My photos come through last, and the slides start over.
Once we’re all seated, Professor Davis stands at the end of the table and stops the show, smiling at each of us individually.
“All of you in this room allowed me to submit your projects to a local contest that was focused on world journalism. The panel of judges intended to bring awareness to different social subjects. I was recently given the news… all of your work was chosen to be included in the exhibit in Washington D.C.!” His excitement is contagious, and we all cheer along with him.
Quinn and I hug tight and high-five our peers. It takes five minutes for the room to calm down.
“This exhibit has been in the works for quite some time so your contributions are being added last minute. As I explained when I asked about submitting your work, there is no compensation. However, you can have as many tickets to the event as you wish. You’re invited to a cocktail party to meet the other journalists, too. The event is scheduled to run from February ninth through April first. I have information packets for each of you.” His PA passes around folders for each of us to review.
My heart falls when I see the cocktail party scheduled for Friday the Thirteenth. I wanted to spend Valentine’s Day with Bryce. But the next page has two tickets to the party stapled to the invitation. The rest of the packet is basically an informative guide and a few forms we must fill out to release our work for the allotted amount of time.
“Now, let’s take a look at the works you rising stars submitted. If you don’t mind, when I get to your piece, please tell the others a little about the subject.” Professor Davis starts the slideshow over and introduces the first picture.
I type a quick text to Bryce, hoping he’ll be able to work his magic again.
Me: Great news! Can you get here Feb 13-15? Friday Night cocktail party in D.C.! Call you soon with details.
Bryce: D.C.??? You did it! Your piece made the exhibit! Congrats!
Me: Thx, don’t say anything to Nate. Need to call parents and him.
Bryce: I’ll be there no matter what! So proud.
Me: Talk soon. Xoxo
Before we even get to my and Quinn’s projects, I’m in tears. The stories that go along with the pictures are heartbreaking and uplifting. One particular piece of work is a story about a wife reuniting with her husband as he departs his ship in Norfolk. The picture captures both of them coming toward each other as his boots hit the ground. I’ve seen thousands of shots of military families reunited, but the angle and editing on this specific one is incredible.
By the time our luncheon is over, I’m humbled and proud to be with such talented people.
“Tell me about some of the other works,” Bryce asks me during our nightly FaceTime.
“I’d rather you see them yourself. My explanations will never do them justice. The talent in that room today was unbelievable. I can’t believe Quinn and I are involved.”