Page 2 of Tenure

My cock twitches like it’s been connected to a Dr Ho.

“I’ll do the reading on my own andspare youmy attendance. The papers you get this term that are all perfect? Those will be mine.”

And then she’s gone.

Everyone gapes at her, staring dumbly at the doorway. I have to fight to keep my own jaw from falling open.

Who—in the actual fuck—was that?

2

Kiernan

Great start, Kiernan. Well done.

I slump against the wall, temple stuck to the cool cream-coloured plaster, and gently hit my head on it a few more times.

I promised I’d stay out of trouble. I promised I’d keep my head down and my mouth shut. But one look at that silent classroom and thatsmug fuck’sface, and I could tell he was just there to torture everybody who had made the gross misjudgment to sign up for his course.

My dad had always warned me about tenured professors.Arrogant pieces of shit,he called them.But then he’d never gotten tenure, so grain of salt and all that.

I’d spent the better part of the morning catching up on the lecture notes which—I had to admit—were wildly informative. Some of what he covered was familiar to me, but some of it was new. I’d expected to stumble a little, but the way he structured his lectures . . . It basically looked exactly like the notes I made for myself when I was breaking down problems.

I’d been so intrigued by his slides and descriptions—lyrical, almostemotionalwhich was kind of shocking given the topic—that I’d read ahead to chapter six and then realized I was actually missing the damn tutorial slot.

What amonumentaldisappointment.

I had been so intrigued to meet the man behind the math, and he was something to look at, that much was for sure, but the way he practically boned his lecture material was a stark contrast with the dark-haired iceberg who looked like he jerked off to the requests for students to drop his class.

Why am I even here?

This whole thing was my guidance counselor’s idea. I’d made a joke about Mathletes being more interesting than school, and he suggested I get permission to enroll in university early. I didn’t think he was serious until he started showing me course catalogs and a permission letter from the Dean of Admissions.

My parents weren’t thrilled. They were spending most of my senior year of high school in Paris, a rare research opportunity for my mother that they couldn’t pass up, and felt bad enough about leaving me home alone for close to a year, never mind missing the start of my post-secondary education. But SJ cheerfully reminded them it was nobody’s fault that I was a big nerd and starting early.

Maybe I’m not ready for this after all.

I’ve always had a temper, but teachers in particular have always chafed. Too many years of assholes trying to prove me wrong, trying to catch me making a mistake in front of the class or worse, set me up for one. I can smell a self-righteous teacher a mile away.

Deep breaths, Kiernan. Just calm down.

“You okay?” someone asks.

“Peachy,” I sniff, without looking to see who it is.

“McGrath is a lot.”

I open my eyes and look at the guy with the backwards ball cap and York hoodie on. Tall. Cute. Strong jaw. Looks like a hockey player and—judgy as it is—I’m surprised he’s in this class.

He grins, like he can sense my skepticism.

“Notallathletes are bad at math,” he says.

“If you say so.”

“Can I buy you a coffee? To make up for the heinous crime of being an athlete?”

I sigh, wishing SJ were here. She’d been running interference on men for me since Tony Fotula tried to tell everyone he was taking me to the Halloween dance in sixth grade.

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