Cad frowns. "Everyone who belongs to you-know-what, obviously."
I feel like I'm going to barf if I hear that term one more time.
"If that's all..." Cad starts to rise from his chair.
"I'm not done."
Cad falls back to his seat with a sigh.
"Do all male members have their marks on their hands?"
"I think so."
"And the women?"
The class bell chimes out from the PA system before Cad can say another word, but the horrified expression on his face is answer enough for me.
Ninety minutes of Istoría lessons go by in a flash, and I'm still beyond pissed when I join my roommate for lunch.
"Can I just say you do not look happy for someone who's supposedly made up with her god of a boyfriend?"
"That's because I'm not," I confirm shortly.
Nia watches me play with my pasta with a frown. "Is it the sex? Are gods not godly in bed? Is that it?"
Just when I've finally managed to feed myself a forkful, Nia just has to say something like that, and now I'm about to choke to death. After taking a huge gulp of water, I quickly put the record straight with just four words. "I'm still a virgin."
It's Nia's turn to choke, and I hand over her bottle of water.
"Gods always fuck at first sight," my roommate bursts out the moment she finishes tossing off her Evian like it's Chardonnay. "Always!"
"I heard you the first time around," I mutter, "but this god doesn't, and I used to secretly think he was being considerate, but after what I found out..." I stab my pasta with my fork for a second time...and keep stabbing it since I've completely lost my appetite.
"I'm just so pissed," I burst out. "I know I should've expected that a god like him would have...worshippers, and that whatever he's done with those worshippers is all in the past, but..."
"You're jealous," Nia gasps.
"I said I'm pissed—-"
"But you really mean jealous."
"It's stupid to be jealous over something like this—-"
"Haven't you heard?" Nia interrupts. “The more you like someone, the dumber you get."
Her words echo in my mind when I see my phone light up with a new text. It's from an unidentified number...which then turns out to be Professor Lucious'. He wants me to be at his office during Mirykasmós, and as I text him back with the affirmative, it's then I realize...
Nia's right.
The more you like someone, the dumber you get.
Chapter Twenty-One
I regret my decision the moment I hit Send on my phone, and it's not even fear of the god's wrath that makes me feel shitty. We each were living our own lives before meeting, and only an unreasonable bitch would hold the god's past against him. And I'm never that. The unreasonable part, I mean. The B-word, well. I was born one, so it's not like I can help it.
The rest of the day passes at an excruciatingly slow pace, with my mind constantly bringing up imaginary scenarios where the god uses his lips to leave the order's mark on his female whatchamacallits. Devotees, worshippers, initiates. It's all the same annoyingly slutty banana, and it's the fact that his lips had to touch another woman's skin I'm unable to stomach.
Mirykasmós is my last class for the day, and it's basically the fancy Post-3rd version of free periods. Rosethorne has it thrice a week, one hour per day, and it's the time students can either do club activities or privately consult their professors...like I'm supposedly doing now.
Isabella's just stepped out of her office as I make it to the second level of 44 Rosemary Square, and I can feel her green eyes following me as I continue up to the third...and the fourth. I'm not imagining it, I promise. I can't...since she has her head stuck out over the balustrade like a divinely spying ostrich.
When I remember how she made me stand for hours, knowing I had a bad knee, it's almost enough to tempt me to give her a show.
Almost.
But because I have too much on my plate, I force myself to simply walk out of view and knock on the professor's door.
"Come in."
My idiotic heart skips a beat at the deep, velvety sound of his voice, and I forget all about Isabella as a horrible pair of twins also known as Guilt and Discomfort start torturing me. Do I even have the right to be jealous about the god's past when my senses still go a little crazy where the professor's concerned?
Entering the professor's office makes me feel like I've willingly gone inside a lion's den, and the twins amp up their conscience-whipping tactics when I see the professor waiting for me, hips leaning against his desk.
He's immaculately dressed like always and is just oozing with more sex appeal than any high school teacher should have a right to. I wish I could ignore these things, but it's like there's this connection between us I can't get rid of, and my hands start getting clammy as my slow and awkward steps gradually eat the distance between us.