3 - Shopping for a Good Time

Sloane POV

—

The lecture hall smelled faintly of chalk and stale coffee as I slipped in, satchel heavy on my shoulder. Friday mornings had never been my favorite, but today felt different, more tense, more charged. Professor Dalton was already at the podium, straightening papers with meticulous care, and as soon as his eyes landed on my, I felt that familiar twist of irritation.

I slid into my seat, adjusting my notebook in front of me. My hands itched to argue, to challenge, to make a point he couldn’t ignore. But the memory of yesterday’s office hours made me pause. I had survived that confrontation, barely, but I hadn’t backed down, not fully, and that stubborn streak was still alive, still smoldering.

The lecture started, his voice calm but carrying the edge that made every word seem heavier, more deliberate. I scribbled notes furiously, every sentence of his analysis both a lesson and a challenge. I could feel him watching, measuring how much of my defiance I would let show in the classroom. I refused to make it easy for him.

Finally, he opened the floor for discussion. I raised my hand, hesitating just a fraction, then straightened my back and met his gaze. “Miss Mercer,” he said, calm but precise, “would you like to share your thoughts?”

“Yes,” I said, voice steady. “I noticed inconsistencies in the reading regarding the narrative perspective. While it presents a single cohesive voice, multiple viewpoints slip through, which complicates the argument about authorial intent.”

I spoke clearly, deliberately choosing my words, keeping my tone measured. Dalton listened, jaw tight, expression unreadable, yet I could detect the subtle flicker of irritation when I challenged a point he had made the other day.

The rest of the class passed in a haze of tension. Every time I raised my hand, it became a careful game of push and hold, assert myself enough to make my point, but not enough to provoke an outright confrontation. It was a delicate dance, one I had perfected over years of debates, but Dalton was a formidable partner, calculating and precise.

By the time the lecture ended, My chest felt tight, adrenaline buzzing through my veins. I had survived, asserted myself, and despite everything, I felt a thrill of satisfaction. The mental duel had left me exhausted, but I refused to regret it.

As I gathered my things, I caught Dalton’s gaze lingering on me a fraction too long. That quiet, calculating intensity made my pulse quicken, not in fear, but in irritation and anticipation. I had survived his classroom today, yes, but the war wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Walking out of the hall, I exhaled sharply, letting the tension drain just slightly. My mind was still spinning, replaying every look, every word, every subtle provocation. He had challenged me, tested me, but I had held my ground. And I would continue to do so.

—

The moment my feet hit the dorm floor, I kicked off my shoes and flopped onto my bed. The day had been long, mentally exhausting, and Dalton Avery’s calculating glare still lingered in my mind like smoke. I buried my face in the pillow and let out a groan that could probably be heard down the hall.

Lila peeked through the doorway, a knowing smirk on my face. “You look like someone just tried to crush your soul,” she said, stepping inside.

“You don’t even know the half of it,” I muttered, flipping onto my back. “He’s… infuriating. I managed to hold my ground in class, but every word, every look, it’s like he’s measuring me, testing me, and judging how far I can push before I snap. And I swear, he’s getting off on it.”

Lila laughed, sliding onto the bed beside me. “Wouldn’t that be a sight for sore eyes…. But I’ll be getting some tomorrow night, right?” she giggled again. “But we can’t wait until then. We need retail therapy, instant stress relief.”

I groaned, sitting up and running a hand through my hair. “Fine. But only because you insist. And only because I need to breathe without seeing his smug little face in my head.”

I didn’t even want to imagine him getting off to anything. Sure, he was super hot, but no man can be attractive when he is that infuriating.

An hour later, they were weaving through the crowded mall, arms linked and laughter spilling out despite the early Friday rush. I had tried to focus on shoes first, hoping that a pair of sparkling heels might distract me from replaying Dalton’s every word. It worked for a few minutes, until I caught a glimpse of myself in a full-length mirror.

Lila tugged me toward a rack of dresses, waving a glittering bodycon in front of her. “Try this one,” she said, grinning. “You’ll be the hottest one at the club.”

I rolled my eyes but slipped it over my head in the dressing room anyway. I adjusted the straps, spun once, and caught my reflection. The fabric clung to my curves in all the right places, with a slit moving slightly too high on my left thigh, and for a second, I forgot about Dalton entirely.

“See?” Lila said from the doorway, phone in hand. “This is what I’m talking about. Confidence. Fun. Saturday night freedom. Don’t think, just own it.”

I laughed despite myself, stepping out and striking a dramatic pose. “Fine. I’ll admit… it feels good. But one dress is not enough. We’re going all out, clearly.”

The next hour blurred into a whirlwind of racks, mirrors, and laughter. Sequins, satin, and glittery accessories piled into the shopping bags. But just as they were checking out a row of heels, Lila’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Okay, Sloane. You’ve got the dress. The heels. The clutch. But you’re missing one thing.”

I frowned. “What now?”

Lila leaned in conspiratorially. “Lingerie. Something bold. Something you’ve never worn before. You’re going to the party, you’re going to let loose, and you deserve… a little one-night fun.”

My cheeks heated, half from embarrassment, half from curiosity. “Lingerie? At the party?”

“Yes!” Lila practically bounced on her toes. “You’ve been stressed, frustrated, and let’s be honest, you’ve been obsessing over Professor Arrogant all week. One night to feel dangerous, to feel sexy… trust me, it’s necessary. Pick something that makes you feel unstoppable.”

I hesitated, biting my lip. My pulse picked up. I had never been the type to casually buy a daring set of lingerie, but the idea of indulging myself, of claiming control over my own pleasure and rebellion, sparked something in my chest.

“Fine,” I said, smirking despite the fluttering nerves. “One set. But it better make me feel like a queen.”

Lila clapped her hands together, practically skipping toward the lingerie section. “Oh, it will. And we’ll make it fun. Let’s find something black, lacy… mysterious. Dangerous. Like you.”

The next half-hour was spent in hushed giggles, fingers brushing over delicate fabrics, debating between silk and lace, daring cuts versus understated elegance. I held up a black lace set, examining it in the mirror. It was bold, seductive, and completely unlike anything I’d ever bought for myself. And yet, I could already imagine how it would make me feel empowered, unrestrained, ready to own Saturday night entirely on my terms.

At the checkout, I clutched the small bag containing my daring new purchase. My heart beat faster, not from embarrassment, but from anticipation. This was my choice. My rebellion. My escape from the tight coil of frustration and tension Dalton had wrapped around me all week.

Walking back through the crowded mall, bags swinging, laughter spilling again, I felt lighter. My anger toward Dalton hadn’t disappeared, but it had shifted. It wasn’t just irritation anymore; it was a combustible mixture of defiance, excitement, and that spark of anticipation for a night where I could be completely myself, uninhibited and unapologetic.

“Oh! I forgot to mention. It is a masquerade party, so I got you a mask. Only rule is that no matter what happens, you do not remove the mask. Club rules,” Lila stated with a shrug.