The Locker Room(4)
I mean . . . he called Mr. Darcy insufferable. My little literature heart beats wildly because an attractive man has clearly read my favorite book of all time.
“You’ve read Pride and Prejudice?”
“Fuck, no. Watched the BBC special. Colin Firth was the shit, a real dick to Lizzie.”
Poof, there goes my excitement. Only a man could think that being a dick to Lizzie made Colin Firth the shit. This man is completely classless.
“And don’t get me started on the exhausting mother. Stop pawning your daughters off on people. Show a little self-respect, lady.”
We reach a grey stone building with the smallest plaque I’ve ever seen tacked onto the side. MacMillan Building. I would have never found this place.
“It was her duty as a mother to marry her daughters off,” I reply, following him closely as a stampede of students make their way through the narrow halls.
“Maybe if she chilled out and wasn’t so shrillingly annoying, there would have been a longer line of suitors waiting to scoop up the harlots.”
“Harlots? Elizabeth and Jane were anything but harlots. Lydia, on the other hand . . .”
He stops at a door and rests his hand on the handle. “Jane, as a single woman, goes to Bingley’s Netherfield Park at his request and happens to spend the night? Harlot.” He opens the door for me and waits for me to step in, but I don’t budge.
“She was sick. She didn’t spend the night to have relations.” I’m nearly spluttering my responses to this dweeb. But, relations, Emory?
“Sick because the crazy-as-shit mother sent her on horseback during a storm. Fucking insane asylum, that’s where she belonged.” He ushers me into the classroom with his hand to my back. “Maybe if the mom sat back with some brandy, things would have been different. Their love could have matured organically.”
“Without her meddling, Elizabeth and Jane would probably have ended up as old maids or with intolerable suitors like Mr. Collins.”
“He was good enough for Charlotte Lucas.” He shrugs as if the statement doesn’t peel the nails off every Janeite in the country.
“He was a travesty,” I shoot back, literary passion taking over. Now, he was insufferable.
Ignoring me, Knox walks down a few steps into the lecture hall and turns down a row toward two other guys wearing the same sweatshirt as him. Both tall in their seats, the one wearing a backward hat is broader than the other, but they both seem just as commanding as Knox. Just as confident . . . just as cocky.
I stand in the stairway, unsure what to do. Do I follow him? Sit next to him? Or find my own seat? After all, he did consider Mr. Collins a good enough suitor. The horror!
When he notices my hesitation, he rolls his eyes dramatically with a sigh, walks back to where I’m standing, grabs my hand and ushers me down the row until we both join the other two guys.
“What’s up, Gent?” the one with the backwards hat asks and then eyes me over Knox’s shoulder. “Who’s your friend?” Oh, please God, don’t say the girl whose boob made me pass out the other night. I’d rather die.
“Em,” he answers simply while leaning back in his chair and adjusting his hood. “Junior transfer, she slapped me with her campus map.” He glances at me and gives me a sly wink before turning back to his friends.
And right there, in that moment, despite our fresh disagreement, I know he’s a nice guy.
He could have been an obnoxious dick and pointed me out to his teammates, but instead, he kept it simple.
Cool.
I respect him for that.
“He’s been slapped by worse,” the guy with the backward hat says before holding out his hand. “I’m Carson, and the guy sitting next to me with his face glued to his phone, that’s Holt.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, shaking his calloused hand.
Holt barely glances up from his phone and says, “Hey,” and then tunes us out returning to the digital world.
“Where did you transfer from?” Carson asks, leaning on the small desk attached to his chair, fist to his cheek, peering over at me as if he has a schoolgirl crush.
I push a piece of my long brown hair behind my ear and say, “Cal State, Fullerton.”
“She’s a librarian,” Knox adds for me, screwing up the facts.
“Hope to be a librarian. I want to master in library sciences.”
“No shit,” Carson says, giving my bare legs a quick glance. “Never saw a librarian in such a short skirt before. It’s hot. Makes me want to check out some books.”
Oh Jesus.
“Dude, that was lame.” Knox chuckles to himself while shaking his head. “And don’t get all heart eyes on her, she has some fantasized opinions about Pride and Prejudice.”
“Ah, hell,” Carson groans and leans back, as if he’s done with me. “Let me guess, she doesn’t believe the Bennet sisters were whores.”
“Correct.” Knox stares forward with a smirk playing at his lips.
“That is an awfully harsh word for a pair of women who didn’t even show ankle,” I counter, crossing my arms over my cropped sweater vest. I might have taken the sexy-school-girl look a little too far today with my plaid skirt, button-up white blouse, and navy sweater vest. At least I’m not wearing knee-highs. Just simple Mary Janes.