Page 43 of Ulune's Daughter

“Can you keep a secret?”

He clears his throat. “Sure.”

“Meet me at the college museum at six. I’ll give you a private tour of a big secret and show you the best make out spots.”

“Deal. If I bring a picnic basket, can we sneak off into the woods behind the museum for a picnic and more groping?”

“Fried chicken?”

“Without any cinnamon? You bet.”

The reminder pulls a laugh out of me. “I’m so sorry about that. I have no idea how all that cinnamon got into the chicken. I must have mistaken the cinnamon for something. Chili powder, maybe?”

“Easy mistake to make,” he says, letting me off, but Benighted Mother, he looked like he was suffering at the time. Definitely no cinnamon rolls for breakfast if he sleeps over.

“Can I make it up to you? I’ll bring the picnic and beer?”

“Deal,” he says. “Do you have class in the morning?”

“No, I’m at the museum all day.”

“Mmm, when I’m crawling out of bed for my seven a.m. swim practice, I’ll be jealous.”

“That’s dedication, coach,” I tease. “That’s why you guys in the athletics program get paid the big bucks.”

He scoffs. “The head coach, maybe.”

“What’s the career path for coaching staff?” I ask, curious since I know nothing about Bevvy’s athletics department. “How many years do you have to suffer it out as an assistant coach?”

“It’s not like tenure track. The assistants are assistants until the head coach retires.”

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Stuck as an assistant indefinitely? That sounds like purgatory. Maybe there’s something to Jane and Carrie pushing me toward tenure. Once tenured, always tenured. I’ll never be an assistant anything again.

“How close is the head coach to retirement?” I ask.

“Nowhere close. But coaching staff move around a lot and then there might be an opportunity for advancement.”

“That sounds very amorphous and uncertain,” I say, my brow beetling.

“Mmm, it’s not as clear cut as tenure track, that’s for sure. But it’s not my end-game.”

“No, what is?”

He swallows with a small click. “Prosecution. I want to prosecute magickal crime. I’m just, uh, waiting for a spot with the Aedis Astrum to open up.”

“Those must be competitive,” I offer, commiserating.

“They are. But I think I have a good shot.”

“That’ll be a change, from the pool to the courtroom.”

He nods, drumming his fingertips on the back of my hand. “I wouldn’t ever be your competition.”

“Oh, no. I know. I didn’t think that.”

“Even if I was, I’d never do anything like that to someone I care about.” He shakes his head. “Your ex really married your sister? I can’t get over that.”

“Me, neither,” I admit ruefully.

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