“For a start, do me the honor of letting me finish before rudely interrupting.” Her teeth were gritted together and her eyes alight with ire. “What I agree with is the idea that individuals do, in many situations, live for pleasure over pain, at least for the most part. Surely you’d agree with that, Mr. Oh-so-fantastic QB. Don’t you make the majority of your decisions based on your illustrious football career, something that brings you pleasure?”
So she was going to go for the jugular, try and bring me down. I wondered what the f**k I’d done to deserve her wrath. “You’re right, I do, but I also do it for the spectators, for my teammates. They find joy in football, unlike some,” I said pointedly.
Her hands landed on her hips. “Meaning what?”
“Meaning that in Alabama, Shakespeare, football is the greatest pleasure there is—playing it, watching it, coaching it. My training and therefore my success benefits both me and others. You seem to be the only one who don’t like it.”
Her lips twitched and a victorious smile settled on her face. “Then you’ve proved me right. In Alabama, the greatest good for the greatest number of people is football, as it brings pleasure to the majority of the population.”
“In this respect, you may be right, but it’s not always that simple.”
“Go on,” she said, her arms folded under her chest, her foot tapping loudly against the wooden stairs.
“You talk about individuals doing things for pleasure and to avoid pain, things they dislike?”
“Yes.”
“But many individuals do things that cause themselves pain or displeasure to suit other peoples’ wants and desires.” She should’ve gotten that reference. Christ, she’d been the only person I’d ever confided in. Only she knew about the pressure from my folks to marry Shelly and do their bidding. I’d be damned if I was going to let her start spouting it back at me in front of total strangers.
“Oh, I’m not sure they’re always that painful—doing certain things or certain acts that others want, I mean.” Yeah. She was going to go there, and I almost snapped the desk in rage.
“Be completely clear, Shakespeare. What you getting at?” I gripped onto the pencil like it was a stress ball.
“Well, let’s use sex, for example. One of the two people partaking in the act might want it more, and the second person may be altogether quite indifferent in their affections, but the second person ultimately gives in and does it anyway to make the first person happy. However—and herein lies the irony—the one that is unhappy still finds sexual release. Therefore, that party doesn’t really experience displeasure at all. Do they?”
Shit. Realization hit. This was about Shelly. She thought I’d f**ked Shelly the night we talked on the balcony, and she clearly didn’t like it.
The pencil in my fingers snapped, along with my patience and tolerance for Molly’s public form of revenge… And for something I didn’t f**king do! She wanted to air all the dirty laundry? Then I’d air it the f**k out.
“Or how about a person decides it would be a good idea to kiss another, due to some weird, unexplainable pull, but then, in hindsight, decides it was a f**kin’ mistake? That they spoke about personal things for the first time ever with someone different, someone new, thinking, Maybe I can trust this person with knowing the real me? Only to realize that what you did was stupid and should never have happened at all. Cementing that people are just one big ol’ disappointment!” I ran my hands through my hair, letting the now-shredded pencil fall to the floor.
“Jeez, Rome,” Ally whispered from beside me, her sympathetic gaze falling on Molly. I lifted my eyes to see what had her so upset. Molly was still standing on the second stair, eyes watering, complete embarrassment in her stance. Shit! How the f**k had all that just happened? It was meant to be a stupid debate, not a full-on verbal massacre. Fuck, but the girl could rile me—in more ways than one.
Golden eyes quickly left mine, and she glanced at the clock, announcing quietly, “Next seminar will look at Bentham’s personal notes. The essential reading is on the course outline. Class dismissed.”
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I raced down the stairs, not even looking at Molly at her desk, the need to get the hell out of the stifling room taking precedence over everything else. Shelly stormed past me, almost taking off my shoulder in the process, and the other classmates scurried past with hurried whispers. Walking to the corner of the hallway, I leaned against the wall, breathing deeply.