The last thing I expected the next day, when I came to class (Jordan didn't come for breakfast that day; maybe the previous day's dinner sat as heavily on his stomach as it did on mine), was how friendly everybody would be.
"Hey, Bedwen," Jordan said, sitting next to me. "This spot free?"
"Nope," I said, still cranky.
"I kinda thought you were a stuck-up b***h before," he said, talking to me despite my blank, why-don't-you-shut-up expression, "but I see you're alright now. Great taste in men."
How did he get that impression from yesterday's tense, uncomfortable dinner?
"Your fiancé came to my dorm this morning," Jordan continued, "and we had a little man-to-man talk."
I turned fully, examining his face for the consequences of a man-to-man talk. He didn't look much worse for the wear.
