Wicked (A Wicked Saga, #1)(18)

With only a few hours of sleep before my morning class at Loyola, I was Cranky McCranky-Pants, especially since I skipped the pain pill so I didn't risk the chance I'd start drooling on myself any more than normal.

On days like these, when I was recovering from a bullet wound and had little sleep, I wondered the same thing Val did. Why in the world was I going to college? I could be in bed, all cuddled up and shit, dreaming about hot men with abs covered in powdered sugar.

Okay. That just sounded weird.

But I had two classes on Friday—Philosophy and Statistics. The first I didn't mind, and I actually found it interesting. When it came to Statistics, I'd prefer plucking my eyelashes out with a rusty pair of pliers.

I was able to grab a sandwich before Statistics, and forced myself into my seat. As I waited for the professor to find his way, which would be a while because even he seemed to dread attending the class, my thoughts drifted back to last night—to Ren.

One thing that had kept me up almost all night was the fact that I hadn't asked him what he was doing following what he claimed was an ancient—what had to be an ancient. I'd been so wrapped up in the fact that he'd grabbed me and known the fae was an ancient that I hadn't thought to question what the hell he was doing.

The only thing I could figure out was that Ren was hunting the ancient, but what made him—

"You look like crap today."

I turned to the left, watching as Jo Ann Woodward dropped into the seat beside me. "Thanks. I feel even better now."

She laughed softly as she pulled the massive Statistics text out of her bag and tucked thick, almond colored hair behind her ear. "That was mean of me." The text thumped off the desk—the book was so big and thick, I was sure I could turn it into a deadly weapon. "Seriously, are you feeling well?"

I really liked Jo Ann. I met her my first year at Loyola in one of my Intro to Psych classes, and I'd immediately hit it off with the curvy brunette. She was genuinely nice and as sweet as a strawberry dipped in sugar. Like one of those rare people that honestly didn't have a bad word to say about anyone, she was the kind of person I really wanted to be best friends with, and when I hung out with her, I felt . . . normal.

That feeling was rare and priceless.

Although Jo Ann and I had shared many late night study groups and we'd even gone out a few times, she really didn't know what I did or who I was. Keeping the Order a secret put up a huge wall between us that no matter how close we got, would never breach.

And that sucked.

Glancing at my notes I'd taken from Wednesday, I shook my head. "I think I might've had a stomach bug yesterday or something." Such a lie. "I'm feeling better." Kind of not a lie. I wasn't dying from pain, but my stomach was tender.

"Oh no, do you need anything?" she asked as her brown eyes grew to the size of mini spaceships.

For some reason, Jo Ann labored under the belief that I needed mothering. Not in an overbearing way, but it worried her that I lived alone in the city and she knew my immediate family was gone. Unable to tell her the truth of how they died, I'd gone with the trusty and tragic car accident.

"I'm okay. I promise," I told her as I glanced at the clock. Two minutes past the start of class. Maybe we'd get lucky, and the professor would be a no-show.

Jo Ann watched me as she twirled a pen between her fingers. "Are you sure? I can make a mean bowl of chicken noodle soup. Straight out of the can."

I laughed. "Yeah, I'm sure."

She grinned. "You want to grab something to eat before I head into work?"

Jo Ann worked at a halfway home in town, proving she was near sainthood. I almost said yes but remembered I had to head to the Quarter for the weekly meeting. Disappointment surged. "I can't. Maybe this weekend?"

Her lips split into a big smile. "Yeah, just text me. I'm off on Sunday."

Finally, our professor found his way to class, and again it appeared as if he dozed off mid-lecture. I wasn't sure I actually learned anything by the time class wrapped up, and I still hadn't figured out why it was a prerequisite.

I walked out of class with Jo Ann, ignoring the stitch in my side as we tried to navigate the packed hallway. "By the way," she said, nudging my arm with hers, "I like your hair like that."

"Huh?"

"You have it down," she pointed out. "You never wear it down. It looks good like that."

"Oh." Feeling self-conscious, I reached up and my fingers tangled with the curls as we hit the stairwell. "I really didn't do anything with it this morning."

That part was true. I'd showered and let it air dry while I shoved my leftover beignets in my mouth.

She laughed. "Then you should do nothing more often. You . . ." Trailing off, she nearly walked into the railing as we headed down the steps.

"Whoa. You okay?" I asked.

Her naturally tanned checks turned red, and she seemed unable to form a word. A moment later I understood why. Coming up the stairs was Jo Ann's future husband.

Except Christian Tran didn't realize that.

I hid my smile as he rounded the landing and looked up. Black baseball cap twisted on backward, a shock of black hair curled out from under the band. His dark eyes were warm and friendly as they landed on Jo Ann.

"Hey," he said.