"It would be, if I could afford to take it to the shop." The Bruiser was the nickname we coined for my piece of shit Camaro the night it died and forced us to walk to a party in high heels. Our feet were bruised from the walking, thus the name.
"You should have called. I could have picked you up."
I shrugged. "I needed the walk."
"Can't you get more student loans to help?"
She'd already ordered me a cup of coffee. I added sugar and creamer and sipped. "I'm maxed out as it is."
"What are you going to do?"
Before I could answer the waitress rescued me by asking for our order. Once she left I changed the subject. "No more dates. I'm so done with men. Besides, I've got a huge paper due before winter break, and I won't get done if I don't get started on my research."
Brig rolled her eyes. "You'll do fine. Your biggest concern is whether you'll get an A+ or an A++. It's in your blood. Are you still using your mom's book as the springboard for your paper?"
"Yes. Her research into sociopaths and psychopaths intrigues me, and I think there's more to uncover in relation to prosecuting them in court. But I have a long ways to go before I'm ready to formulate my own opinions on the subject."
Our meals came and we both dug in, not talking until we finished and sipped another cup of coffee.
"I feel like I never see you anymore," Brig said, pouting her lips like a model.
"I know. You should have come to law school with me."
"Right," she laughed, "because the world needs more lawyers and fewer doctors." She tapped her fingernails on the table. "You could always move in with me. You hate your roommate, I hate mine. It's a perfect scenario."
"Except for the fact that my shitty apartment is half the rent of living on campus, and I'm pretty sure your parents don't want you slumming with me."
"Money is such a bore. We need to find a way to make you rich." She said this with the air of someone who's never had to worry about money, but I didn't resent her. She tried to understand, and she'd been a good friend. My best and only friend, really. It wasn't her fault her parents were richer than God and mine were gone.
"Thanks for the lunch," I said, "but I've got to get going. This paper isn't going to write itself."
Brig paid the check, and we walked out together. "Let me at least drive you home."
"Thanks, but I have to pick up some financial aid paperwork for next semester before I head back. Want to come over this weekend and do a study date? Evil Roommate will be gone, or so she says."
Brig smiled, her cheeks dimpling. "Sure. I'll bring dinner."
"Sounds good. See you then."
I walked away, sad that I couldn't spend more time with her. I missed our undergrad days when we shared a dorm and had time for fun. Law school put new meaning to the "all work, no play" idiom.
Mrs. Hensel sat at her desk when I arrived just before closing. "Ah, Catelyn, there you are. I have your paperwork."
She handed me the stack, and I skimmed through it, frowning as I mentally crunched the numbers. "My financial aid went down?"
Mrs. Hensel furrowed her brow. "I'm afraid so. Not just for you, dear, but for everyone. Budget cuts."
"But tuition has gone up." My palms started to sweat as I considered what this meant.
"At least you have a few months to work and save. Is there anyone you can call to help?"
About to cry, I shook my head and ducked out, cursing mascara and tears. I couldn't make enough in the next few months to cover the difference. I'd spent the start of fall semester living on so much nutritionally-void Ramen Noodles it was a wonder I didn't have scurvy. If I had to budget any more, I'd be living on water and air.
Running through the courtyard, trying to calm my brain enough to figure out a plan, I crashed into someone, and we both dropped everything. When I looked up, it was into the eyes of the sexiest man I'd ever met. He seemed a bit older than me, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties, but had the air of someone who didn't take responsibility too seriously. He wore jeans that hung on his hips just right and a black leather jacket that gave him a bad boy vibe. He scooped up a motorcycle helmet and brushed off the dust.
I sucked in my breath and reached for my books. "I'm so sorry. I wasn't watching."
"It's my fault." His voice was hot and cold and sent a shiver through me. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"
"No, I'm fine."
He picked up the last of the paperwork, and we both stood. His eyes, dark and penetrating, seemed to peer right into me. His black hair flopped over his forehead in that casual "just out of bed" way that men worked hard at achieving but so rarely did. Certainly not like him.
Our fingers brushed against each other when he passed the papers back. His hands were tanned, with long fingers both strong and gentle.
He gazed at my books and smiled. "Law school?"
"Yes. Guess it's pretty obvious. Do you go to school here?"
"My parents wish I did, but no. I'm just meeting my brother."
My stomach dropped as I realized I'd likely never run into him again. "Well, I don't want to keep you. Thanks for the help."