Lust (The Elite Seven #1)(15)

I hold my hands up in surrender. Damn, this girl needs to chill out. Since when did hook-up not mean fucking? And since when was saying fuck offensive?

“Well, great to meet you…?”

“Chastity,” she almost whispers.

Of course that’s her name. A grin lifts my lips as I walk backwards a few steps so I can commit all those curves to my memory. It’s been a while since lustful thoughts have taken root in my mind, and it almost makes me feel like the old me.

By the time I get inside, the halls are quiet, with only a few people milling around. I check my watch, and then the map I was given by some high-on-life dude at the entrance.

My hands are loaded with a hundred other flyers shoved at me by students recruiting for frat houses, roommates, and party invitations. Unlike high school, no one appears to be excluded from the parties. Every person who walked by had the papers pushed into their hands.

I navigate the corridor and come to the counselor’s office. Best to get this over with.

Rapping my knuckles on the door, I ignore the pounding of my heart in my chest. I didn’t want to do this—didn’t want to talk about things. About him.

“Come in,” a feminine voice calls out, and as I push open the door the idea of being able to seduce a female so I don’t have to share crosses my mind.

A slim, petite woman stands to greet me, and I’m taken back by how youthful she appears. In truth, I was expecting some old dude, but this woman has to be in her thirties at most—and she’s hot.

Black hair the color of spilled ink is sleeked back into a high ponytail, cat like eyes look over me with intrigue, and thin, red-painted lips offer a hint of a smile as she introduces herself.

“I’m Mrs. Griffin, but I allow students to call me Lillian.”

Griffin…wasn’t the dean’s name Griffin?

“Yes,” she answers my unasked question.

“I’m the dean’s wife, but I assure you that doesn’t affect my job. Anything you say to me doesn’t get spoken of outside this room, unless I believe you’re a danger to yourself or others.”

She’s sitting behind her desk, her hands placed in her lap.

“Okay,” is all I say. This feels awkward as hell.

She gestures to the chair on the opposite side of her desk. “Please, take a seat.”

Dropping my bag to the floor, I sit my ass in the chair and take in the scenery.

The room is filled with natural light from the tall ass window.

A filing cabinet dominates the back wall, but other than that, it’s minimal décor and spacious. Her desk is positioned in the center of the room, and her chair is stupidly large. She looks like a child perched on a throne.

“So, Mr. Masters, Rhett, do you prefer to be called by your forename or is there another name you go by?”

Most chicks call me Romeo.

“Rhett’s fine.” I nod.

“Okay. Is there anything you’d like to talk about today, Rhett?”

“No, I’m good,” I tell her, and an uncomfortable silence ensues.

She definitely got this job because of her husband. She seems out of her depth.

Shifting in her chair, she reads over a piece of paper on her desk, then looks up at me.

“How are you feeling about your classes? You attended summer school to get your grades up? Do you want to tell me why they slipped in the first place?”

No. Why the fuck do they ask questions they already know the answers to?

“I’m sure if that information is on that piece of paper, then so are the reasons why.”

She narrows her eyes briefly, then smiles and nods her head.

“Yes, it does, but I want to hear the answer from you.”

“Why?”

“So I can understand you better.”

Sharp pains stab at my heart as flashes of that night race to the forefront of my mind.

“I got my brother killed and it fucked me up,” I state, irritated.

She looks like she’s trying to frown, but her forehead doesn’t move.

Folding her arms on the desk, she asks, “You feel like you’re to blame?”

“It was my fault.” I shrug. Emotions wash through me, leaving an angry buzz behind.

“Do we have to talk about this shit? It’s the first day, and I don’t want to miss my first class.”

Looking at her watch, she smiles over at me.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. We can discuss this another time. I wanted you to come in and see me because I know how daunting it can be when your life choices change, especially in such a dramatic way.”

She points to something on the sheet of paper. “You were a ball player, but got an injury and decided to go into law?”

“I want to help people get justice when the system robs them of it.”

“So, it’s personal.” She smiles.

“You could say that.”

“Well, that’s another discussion for another day. I’ve recruited a mentor of sorts to help you settle in and help show you around your first week here. If for any reason you want to talk, my door is always open. You’re on my calendar for bi-weekly appointments that are mandatory, I’m afraid. If I don’t see you before our next appointment, I hope you have a good start to the school year.”