Part Thirteen

You Will Find Your Way

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Part Thirteen of You Will Find Your Way
Giselle can be terrifying when she wants to be.


With her chest heaving from exertion, Dallas rolls from her stomach to her side so she doesn’t smother herself in her pillow. She narrows her eyes at the dimness as the guy from the bar climbs off her bed, searches around for his t-shirt which—

Somehow ended up behind her empty dresser.

“Not into cuddling, are you?” Dallas chuckles as she sits up, drags the covers back over her lap when the sweat cooling on her skin makes her shiver.

He looks over his shoulder, and she can barely see his face in the shadows, but she does see his half-shrug, “I’m not trying to be a jerk, but I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow,” he says. “Swear it’s not a line.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if it was,” Dallas brushes her hand through her hair, and then frowns when she feels the burn of his stare, sees he’s stalled getting dressed with his arms pushed into his sleeves, half-holding the shirt to his chest. “What?”

He looks at her for another second, and then shakes his head and pulls his shirt all the way on, “Nothing. You just reminded me of someone for a second.”

Her brow ticks and she bristles a little. She digs around the sheets for her underwear and slides them back on, because somehow this is turning into one of those conversations where clothes are necessary, “You have a girlfriend or something?”

“No, absolutely not,” it’s dark but part of Dallas thinks he might look a little sad, but—they did have a lot of shots of tequila before they left the bar, so it’s probably just her imagination. “Just reminded me of someone. I’ll get out of your hair.”

And then he’s gone, his shadow trailing him down the attic stairs.

When her eyes dry out from staring so long, Dallas blinks, drops back onto the pile of rumpled bedding, “And I’m the weird one?”

Giselle is on the couch, headphones jammed in her ears and surrounded by a mountain of half-open boxes and piles upon piles of books she’s trying to sort into some semblance of order when a hand closes around her shoulder.

She shrieks, yanks her headphones out so hard it hurts her ears, and she whirls around, narrows her eyes at the guy standing on the other side of the couch, “What the hell! Don’t you know it’s rude to sneak up on people? The rule is don’t!”

“I didn’t intend to startle you, Professor,” he says, cheeks a little red as he takes a careful step away since she is brandishing the third volume of a leather-bound encyclopedia. “I didn’t realize anyone was here when we,” he trails off, glances at the stairwell.

Giselle drops the book, waves a that has her now-tangled headphones wrapped around her fingers, “I had a feeling she’d be bringing someone home, hence the headphones,” a wicked grin spreads across her face as he goes sheepish, won’t look her in the eye. “She’s pretty vocal.”

The guy’s face goes a handful of shades darker and Giselle finally decides to put him out of his misery, “Don’t worry about it. You’re free to go, no need for remorse. My lips are sealed.”

“Okay, Professor,” he says, ducks his head in a little, embarrassed nod. “Have a good night, ma’am.”

Before she can say anything, he pretty much flees out the front door, so Giselle just huffs and rolls her eyes, “Ma’am,” she scoffs. “I’m no ma’am.”

She stands for a minute or so, gazing up at the stairs, but there’s no movement, no flickering of shadows indicating that a certain very light-footed someone is on her way down, “Dallas!” Giselle snaps. “Put some pants on and get your ass down here.”

The sound of something that may or may not be a body falling down a set of stairs echoes from the attic, and about a minute later, Dallas limps down, her wet hair dripping onto her oversized t-shirt, “I was cleaning up,” she mutters when she gets to the bottom, leans her weight against the banister as she looks down at her ankle and rolls it carefully. “What? I told you I was coming back with someone.”

“Yeah, a hot someone,” Giselle laughs. “Good job.”

Dallas snorts, “Couldn’t see much of him at the bar, but he definitely knew how to use his tongue,” she shrugs, tests her weight on her foot again. “It’s not like it’s going to be a thing. I don’t even know his name.”

“You didn’t get his name?”

“That wasn’t the point!” Dallas squeaks and throws her hands up in the air.

Giselle tsks at her, “But what if you want to see him again?”

“Oh Giselle,” Dallas waves her hand, pushes away from the banister and limps into the kitchen. “Stop trying to make fetch happen.”

Mean Girls has nothing to do with this!” Giselle huffs, props her hands on her hips. “This isn’t over!”

“Yes it is!” The rattling of glasses jarring into one another echoes down the hall. “Why the hell didn’t the dean leave us a welcome basket full of booze? Isn’t that something you people do?”

Giselle rubs her eyes, turns back around and drops back to the couch, “This is a college campus, what do you expect?”

“That we need to go shopping for wine tomorrow!”

You Will Find Your Way continues with Part Fourteen

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-Kathryn, the Fake Redhead

Author: TheFakeRedhead

A life-long college sports fan and forever bitter about the country's east coast biases, Kathryn, the Fake Redhead, graduated from the University of Arizona with a BA in Creative Writing, emphasis in poetry because she felt the fiction studies emphasis was too pretentious. She is currently helping other writers hone their craft while she pursues her dreams of becoming a published novelist.

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