11. Blake
11
BLAKE
F or what it’s worth, I’ve now made it through an entire month of classes without another wardrobe mishap, but it may be because I check my fly obsessively before I head to each class.
My gamble on the first day paid off, though. The way I managed to play off being called out on my fly being unzipped on day one is now the stuff of campus legend, and I’m firmly established as a “cool” professor.
We’ll see how cool they think I am after I grade this exam, though. I drop the stack of papers on my desk with a satisfying thud and push a hand through my hair.
“This a bad time?”
Turning around, I see Dean Kashman at my office door. He seems like a squirrelly kind of guy, the type who made it to where he is in life through back-room deals and being sneaky, but maybe I’m being judgmental.
“Not at all. Just getting started on some grading. Come on in.” I settle into my desk chair as he steps into the space.
This chair finally got delivered last week. It’s a high-backed leather chair, its armrests at the perfect height, and it rolls on its casters effortlessly. If it were possible to be in love with a chair, this would be the one.
Dean Kashman sits in one of the two chairs on the opposite side of my desk and crosses one leg over the other, his ankle on the opposite knee. “How are things with Kathleen?”
A gossip session was not what I anticipated when the dean of faculty appeared at my door.
I keep my face impassive. “Good, thanks.”
He nods once. “Good. As I said a couple weeks ago, I think the two of you make a cute couple. She’s a nice girl. It’s given me an idea.”
Oh boy. I hope he cleared this with Kat first.
I also hope she’s never heard him refer to her as a “nice girl.” I can just imagine how that would go over .
“A crossover class, Biology and Econ. You two can co-teach. Economics of the American Healthcare System.” He looks at me expectantly.
I scratch my jaw. “Interesting concept. Intriguing, even. But I teach Game Theory. I’m not sure I’m the best person to be teaching something like that.”
He waves his hand in the air, dismissing my concern. “You have a degree in Economics, and this will be more of a non-major’s course. I see it appealing to pre-med students, mostly. A non-science that’s relevant to them.”
He has a point, and I can see a class like this being particularly popular. But I’m not sure I’m the one most qualified to teach it. The one with the least on his plate as a new faculty member, sure. But not the most qualified.
More importantly, I’m not sure about co-teaching with Kat. From our time together so far, I know we work well together. That’s not the issue. It’s whether Kat would agree to it.
I press my lips together, trying to come up with a response that toes the line between remaining professional while still turning him down. “Hmm. Well, I’m not sure she’d want to co-teach a class with me. ”
Put it on her to make the decision.
Dean Kashman raises one eyebrow. “You wouldn’t want to co-teach a class with Kathleen? I thought you two were dating. It seemed like things were going well.”
Alert. Alert. Alarm bells go off in my head. Is he sensing that this isn’t real?
If anyone gets wind of the fact that this relationship is a ruse, our careers are tanked. Done for. Cooked. We’ll be dragged in front of the Honor Council for violating professionalism, being untrustworthy, and God knows what else.
I know how hard Kat’s worked to be where she is, how close she is to her goal of being promoted. I’m not going to be the one who takes her down with me.
I lean back in my chair, trying my hardest to appear casual. “Oh, things are going very well, thanks. We’re looking forward to a vacation together over Thanksgiving break.”
He schools his features quickly, but not before I catch his eyes widening for half a second. He doesn’t think this will last, does he? Good old Dean Kashman is waiting in the wings for Kat and me to break up so he can swoop in for his chance.
I fold my arms over my chest. “Of course, I’m happy to work with her, although I know her course load and research are time-consuming. You know how it is when your career is taking off.”
He clears his throat, trying and failing to hide an expression of discomfort. “I see. Of course.”
“If Kat is on board”—I use her nickname deliberately—“then I’d be happy to teach with her. But the ball is in her court.”
Dean Kashman nods. I have him where I want him, which is pretty damn convinced that Kat and I are solid.
“I’ll check with Kathleen.”
“Thanks.” I reach for the top paper in the pile of exams and pull it toward myself, picking up a red pen as well. “Could you shut the door on the way out? I have a lot of work to get done.”
He pulls the door shut as I set down the pen and pick up my phone instead, sending a text to Kat.
Kat
Heads up, Kashman is headed your way.
Kat
Well, that was interesting.
He ask you about teaching a class together?
Yes. On US Healthcare Economics, of all things. What does that have to do with Anatomy? Or Game Theory, for that matter?
I told him that, but it was almost like he was looking for clues that we’re not solid.
What did you tell him?
That you were super busy and that I’d defer to you.
I told him I’d talk with you about it.
Are you in your office?
Yes. Come on over.
“Heading somewhere important?”
I cringe at the voice. Randi has been poking her head into my office less frequently since she learned I had a girlfriend—and because I learned to keep my door shut—but she’s like a fruit fly. You think you’ve gotten rid of it, but it keeps popping up when you least expect it.
“Headed to a meeting,” I say.
The less information I feed her, the better .
Randi taps her acrylic nails—hot pink this week—against the coffee mug she’s holding, the Ardmore College crest partially visible. “Do you need me to make coffee? Or file anything?”
“I’m all set. Thanks.”
Maybe she isn’t like a fruit fly. Maybe a more apt comparison would be herpes. Not only does it never really go away, but it comes with an unfavorable reputation, and appears at inconvenient times. Or so I’ve heard.
Yeah, that may be a little harsh. She’s backed off a lot since I told her I’m dating Kat. Apparently, the reputation Kat has for being a hard-ass works for this situation as well as keeping her students in line.
“Hey, Randi.” Jeremy appears behind me, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “You mind making some coffee for me?”
Talk about a true friend.
“Looks like you’re busy, Randi. I’ve got to run. Good seeing you.” I mouth a thank you to Jeremy behind Randi’s back for falling on that grenade and take off before Randi can try to dig her talons into me again.
The path from the Econ department to Kat’s office is second nature to me now. I’ve made this trip so many times over the past weeks. Turn right, head down the sidewalk, another right, and I’m at the Biology building. Kat’s office is the third door on the left once you enter the building, and I hear Angela’s voice before I knock on the mostly closed door.
“How is he in bed?”
I bite back a smile, waiting to hear Kat’s answer.
“Um, how is that an appropriate question to ask at work?”
“It’s an appropriate question to ask my best friend.”
“Over tacos and margaritas, maybe. Not when we’re in my office. You’ll notice that Naomi is in her own office, minding her own business, Ang.”
So Kat likes margaritas. I file this information away for later. Maybe I can take her to the Mexican place I like that’s over in University City.
Angela’s voice grows louder. “I’m just saying, you’re my best friend. I tell you everything. You’ve been dating Blake for what, a month? I’ve seen the way you look at one another. There’s no way you’re not fucking.”
An exasperated sigh from Kat. “Maybe I want to keep some things private, Ang. He’s a coworker, too. He probably doesn’t want gossip all over campus.”
“I bet he has a big dick. You can tell from how big his hands are. ”
I smile to myself. She’s not wrong.
“We are not talking about his dick.”
“Oh my God. It’s tiny, isn’t it? Is that why you don’t want to talk about it? It’s okay if it is. It’s how you use it, or that’s what I’ve heard. The motion of the ocean or whatever.”
I choose this moment to knock on the door that’s cracked open.
“Come in?” Kat’s voice sounds strangled. Probably trying to come up with a response to the “motion of the ocean” comment.
Pushing the door open, I give the women a dazzling smile. “Hi, Kat. Angela.”
Angela has the good grace to look slightly embarrassed at being caught discussing the size of my package. “Hi, Blake.”
“Having a nice conversation?” I say innocently.
They exchange a glance.
“Just talking about a class I have coming up. You know, teaching stuff,” Angela says.
I stifle a laugh. “Ah, well, sorry to interrupt. Can I talk to my girlfriend for a minute?”
Angela practically sprints out of the room, and once I close the door, I let the laughter out.
“Did you hear that whole thing?” Kat asks .
Sitting in one of the chairs in front of the desk, I shrug. “Part of it.”
She drops her head into her hands, elbows on the desk in front of her. “She’s one of my best friends, but sometimes she takes it a little far.”
“I don’t care if you talk about my dick. Just don’t let her think it’s small.”
Raising her head, Kat narrows her eyes at me. “I don’t want to talk about your dick.”
“It’s not small. Remember?”
She rolls her eyes. “Sure. Whatever.”
“You want to check? Remind yourself?” I motion to my groin.
I’ve got nothing to hide.
Despite our appearing together in public, Kat and I haven’t done anything remotely close to physical since that one night. It was part of our initial agreement, after all. This “relationship” is just for show.
But fuck, it’s getting hard. Pun intended, because every night I have a boner thinking about her legs in those pencil skirts. The way her high heels make her calves look long and slender, the way the fabric skims along her thighs and her round ass. The way her pussy felt clenching around my length.
If anything, my only regret is that I can’t sleep with her now. Normally, I’d be the first to charm her right into my bed, but I don’t do more than one night.
And with this, there would be strings. So many fucking strings. So as ironic as it is, my fake girlfriend is the one woman I can’t have.
“No thank you,” Kat says primly, but I don’t miss the way her pulse quickens in her throat at the thought of my cock.
So I’m not the only one affected here.
“Care to move on from dicks to curriculum?”
“Please.” Kat pulls her ever-present legal pad toward her and lifts a pen. “So, if we were to do this, what would we cover?”
“You sure you want to move forward with this? I told Adam that the ball was in your court.” I study her face, but it’s unreadable.
For someone who has made an awful lot of money reading expressions, it bugs the hell out of me that I can’t read Kat. Occasionally she slips, but she has a poker face to rival the most seasoned players.
Nodding, she writes something at the top of the page. “As annoying as it is to come up with an entirely new class for next semester, I see Adam’s point. This would be a unique course, and a real selling point for the college.”
“Fair enough.” Leaning forward, I cover the hand that holds the pen. “But let’s have fun with it. I don’t want to come up with a concept while we’re in your office. Let’s do it over dinner. Mexican?”
Kat bites the inside of her cheek. “You heard the entire conversation, didn’t you?”
“I did. And it’s got me craving tacos and margaritas. What do you say?”