3. 3
3
Dexter
“ S chool starts next week?” Maximus Steele sits beside me at the bar, with full pints of local IPA in front of us. The last Thursday night in August means baseball on television, outdoor patios full despite the heat, and fans blowing full speed to push around the hot and humid air.
I nod, not pulling my attention from the large screen across the room where the Cincinnati Reds are playing the LA Dodgers. One of our best friends, Nick Klaussen, is the catcher for the Reds. Max and I like to watch his games here at Ye Olde Sports Bar.
I believe his girlfriend owns the place. I love Cady to bits, but she’s got to come up with better names.
Max is the son of a billionaire, dating another billionaire, and yet I buy the pitcher of beer and a platter of wings and things we’re sharing.
Not that I mind buying a round or three for my friends. I may not be a billionaire, but I make good money as a professor teaching English at City University.
Another place that needs a better name.
“You good for this year?” Max continues. I feel his questioning gaze and turn to look at him. “No… issues?”
The issues Max is referring to have nothing to do with the subject I’m teaching or my methods of teaching it. The issues he’s referring to is the fact that I’m an English teacher and most of my students are female.
Smart, attractive and eager females.
“No problems this year,” I assure Max, trying to feel as confident as I sound. “I’ve got this Taylor Swift course I’m teaching for the semester, but the other is—”
“You’re teaching a course on Taylor Swift? I thought you were an English teacher. Writing and books and stuff. Not a pop star more famous for who she dates than anyone else.”
I’ll leave it to his girlfriend Cady to sort out Max’s opinions on certain things. She would be much more effective than I could be.
“I know you’re not that big of a fan, but she’s really quite impressive. Very talented. We’re going to be discussing her songwriting abilities,” I explain.
“I guess she must be okay, seeing as she’s got university courses created about her. You’ll have to be careful, though, Dex. Lots of pretty young things in that one.” Max raises his eyebrows, waiting for reassurance that I can handle things.
“Young,” I repeat. “It’s a first-year course and I’m definitely too old these days to catch the eye of eighteen-year-olds. And they are definitely too young for me.”
I hope.
Hopefully, no one will catch my eye, or sit in the front row with a short skirt and no panties. I’m looking forward to another year of smooth sailing without getting mixed up with any pretty coeds.
I’ve started playing basketball with the Dean of the English department and I wouldn’t want to do anything to break up the team. Not to mention, I really like my job.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Max says in a lazy voice. “Finding a pretty young thing who thinks the world of you…” He gives a leering smile.
“Does Cady know how you feel about that?”
The smile vanishes. “I’m kidding.” And I know he is. Max might have had a fully indulged childhood, but he quickly figured out the important things in life, no thanks to his father. He’s a good guy, one of the best.
“I know you don’t, because your girlfriend would bust your balls if she heard you say anything like that.” I laugh.
“Yeah. She would.” He grins. “And you know,” he lowers his voice. “That kind of turns me on that she can do that.”
I make a face. “I didn’t need to know that, but thanks for sharing.” It’s one thing to be happy that your friend is hopelessly in love, but it’s another to have to listen to details. “Cady does think the world of you, you know,” I concede.
“She does, but not as much as she thinks of you. I think you’re her favourite person.” He punctuates this with a mouthful of beer.
I roll my eyes. “I have no idea why.”
I’ve never had a good track record with women. While I can get my share of dates and hook-ups, I’d rather wait for something more serious. But you have to go on the dates to find someone serious, and during the school year, it’s hard to find time or energy to bother.
“The ladies love you, bro. Which you need to remember… and stay away from your students.” He knocks me on the shoulder for emphasis.
“Believe me, I know.” I take a deep breath as I lift my pint glass. I never told Max how close I came to losing my job because of my extra-curricular activities with my students.
I take a mouthful of beer and repeat my vow to stay away from the girls in my class. Women. When you hit thirty, you should start referring to them as women.
“He’s up,” Max points out and I turn back to the television to watch Nick step up to the plate.
I’ve known the two of them since we lived together in university. There were four of us—Marcus is a businessman, married now and expecting his first child—and while our lives all took different tangents, we’ve stayed close.
“He’s been hitting pretty well this month.” I’m not a huge sports fan, but I follow Nick’s career out of loyalty. Plus, it’s pretty cool when your best friend plays professional baseball.
“Two eighty-nine average,” Max says.
We watch Nick take a practice swing and take his stance with a frisson of anticipation.
The first pitch is a ninety-one-mile fastball that hits Nick on the wrist.
He goes down.
“Jesus Christ!” Max jumped up, his chair skidding into the table behind us. “Did you see that?”
“That looks bad.” On-screen, the coach and trainer jog out to where Nick is still lying on the dirt, cradling his hand. I reach for my phone.
“There’s nothing we can do,” Max frets. “He’s not gonna pick up his phone.”
“I’ll leave him a message, tell him we saw what happened and to give us an update.” My message goes straight to voice mail and I text him the same thing. “I hope he’s okay.”
“Yeah.” Nick’s whole life has been baseball, which has messed up any chance at a serious relationship he’s ever had. He’s a good guy who deserves the best, and a fastball to the wrist is not the best for anyone.
He’s out of the game and hopefully on route to a good hospital. We continue to watch the game, but my heart’s not into it. I feel sick for my friend.
I look around the bar and my gaze falls on a couple a few tables away. He’s gesturing energetically with his hands, looking pleased with himself and she’s—
She looks bored.
There’s no other word for it. She manages a hint of a smile and nods at what he says now and again, but it’s clear she’s not impressed.
She catches me looking at her. I smile, but she looks away.
Until she glances back with a tiny smile at the corners of her mouth. “Hey,” I mouth, but she drops her gaze.
She’s pretty.
I shift on the stool so I can see her better but hopefully not make it obvious I’m staring. Max is still into the game, talking back to the commentators who are speculating on Nick’s injury. I should be paying attention too.
Instead, I turn back to her and catch her looking at me.
She’s everything you’d want in a woman checking you out in a bar—straight blonde hair falling past her shoulders, big blue eyes. Her lips are covered in some sort of shiny pink gloss, which will come off on her wineglass before her date can kiss it off.
For some reason, I really don’t like the thought of him kissing her.
“You look bored,” I mouth when I have her full attention. I fake a yawn and she does her best to hide her smile.
I’d say close to my age and way too attractive for the guy she’s with.
But it’s when she stands up that I really take notice.
Curvy curves on a compact figure. She’s shorter than I expected and the curves are mouthwatering. Delicious.
She walks right by me on the way to the washroom, with the tiniest of glances toward me. If I wasn’t watching so closely, trying to tuck my tongue back into my mouth like some sort of vintage cartoon character, I would have missed it.
“Back in a minute,” I tell Max.