Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“Ah. Fifty-two.” Jose smiled sheepishly, as if he already knew the answer was wrong.
“It’s actually ninety-seven. Let’s talk about how the book got that answer.” Pike went to the white board, grabbing a black marker. What he really wanted was some colorful ones, but he hadn’t figured out yet who to talk to about supplies in the classrooms.
Click. Click. Click. Pike whirled around to discover the source of the strange noise. Damn it. Suzanne’s seatmate, whose name escaped Pike, was knitting. Again. Some sort of socklike thing and it was distracting as all hell, just as much as the guy in the back row with earbuds in, faint sounds of music drifting Pike’s way every so often. Or the kid using his open laptop to stage a silent War Elf battle. Pike could give him some pointers on what he was doing wrong, but even talking to the kid after class hadn’t managed to dissuade him from gaming in class.
“Hey, it’s four thirty!” called a younger guy at the back of the room with three eyebrow rings.
Hell. Only of course Pike couldn’t say that. “See you all on Friday. Don’t forget to do the homework! And Monday there’s a quiz!” That I haven’t written yet.
After class, he had to make copies for his early class the next day, so he headed to the smaller building that had the administrative assistants for his department, all their mailboxes, a bank of copiers and the math faculty offices, including the small office with a paper sign proclaiming Visiting Professor Reynolds for him. He stared at the copier, trying to remember how this one operated. He’d built his last several computers, could do all the handyman stuff required around their place, but the copiers here seemed determined to outsmart him. All he wanted to do was run double-sided and stapled copies of the handout he’d spent most of yesterday crafting. Not that hard.
“Stupid thing.” Pike hit the back button and somehow ended up at the screen that needed his ID number again.
“Problem, Reynolds?” His department chair, Professor Hu, a short woman with gray hair and a stern voice, came up behind him.
“Nope,” he lied.
“Your originals are facedown,” she pointed out, not unkindly.
Heck. He flipped them, then tried again with the code. “Thanks.”
“Don’t forget to duplex your copies. No paper wasting! The duplex button’s right there.”
“Got it.” Pike gave her what he was sure was a tight smile, but she had hired him. “Thanks.”
“And I’m glad I caught you. Are you going to the campus art gallery show on Saturday evening?”
“Um...” So far, Pike hadn’t yet plugged in to community campus life, and his weekends had all been devoted to the house or gaming.
“You should. Professor Morganstern is a friend. The gallery talk is at six thirty, and my partner, Joanna, and I are having people over for a late dinner at eight o’clock. You should come meet people.”
“I’m not sure if I have plans, but I’ll check—”
“Oh and do feel free to bring someone. We’re all a bunch of old married biddies around here. You live with someone, right?”
Now who had she heard that from? Pike had been careful to not mention Zack too much at school. No way would Zack be cool with Pike gushing about anything they did, even just how awesome their painting looked. And besides, the house and Zack felt a bit like his own personal oasis, the place he returned to and was still just Pike, not this Professor Reynolds person he was trying so hard to be.
“A friend,” Pike allowed.
“Well, bring him or her. Or a date, whatever you choose.”
“I’ll ask, but it might just be me.” Pike could tell by the serious glint in Professor Hu’s eyes that an outright refusal wasn’t going to work. This wasn’t anywhere near optional.
He would ask Zack. As friends. Zack was never in a million years agreeing to be Pike’s date, but right in that moment, Pike wanted that more than anything. Forget the hot SEAL arm candy for the party or having someone to talk to. He wanted the simple. He wanted to text his guy, tell him he was in a bind with needing to impress the department chair, and have him readily agree, because that was what boyfriends did.
Except Zack wasn’t his boyfriend, wouldn’t ever be his boyfriend, and it didn’t matter how sweet things were behind closed doors, they weren’t ever taking this...thing out for a stroll.
* * *
Zack routinely put in ten or fifteen miles without feeling the least bit ill or fatigued, but that Thursday, listening to Harper, Cobb and Rodriguez running behind him had him wanting to hurl.
“So at the bar, this guy—like the gayest gay guy ever—is ordering a pink drink.” Harper laughed like his observations from being on the prowl that past weekend were the funniest thing in the world. “And he asks if I’m there with anyone.”