Page 124 of Tight End

“Dean Armbruster?”

He wasn’t the only one there. A cluster of professors from our department was waving and smiling. Beth Throckmorton. Meredith Jones-Smith. John Conningsworth. Even Lamar McHolmes, who flashed me two thumbs-up.

“What are you doing here!” I asked.

“We were given tickets to watch you perform,” the Dean said. “And to watch the game, of course. But you, mostly!”

I frowned. “You were given tickets?”

Brody wrapped an arm around me. “I wanted them to see you perform first-hand. So they’d understand how difficult it is being a cheerleader on the side. So they’d appreciate how impressive you are, Foxy.”

Brody waved to one of the security guards, who stepped aside and let the professors descend the stairs onto the field. They were all very excited and enthusiastic. Beth and John held hands and began dancing. Dean Armbruster grabbed one of the pom-poms from the ground and tried shaking his eighty-year-old butt in a circle.

“You are all far more enthusiastic than I expected!” I said.

Dean Armbruster beamed at me. “Brody gave us a voucher for unlimited drinks! A voucher which we made sure to take advantage of as much as possible!”

I laughed and said, “I can see that!”

The Dean tossed the pom-poms in the air, then let out a boyish laugh. But then his smile faded, and he adjusted his glasses while regarding me.

“Professor Fox, I must sincerely apologize for this business with the fourth class in the spring semester. I allowed my own embarrassment to overrule my sense of right and wrong. You are a wonderful member of our department, and we are incredibly lucky to have you on our faculty. I hope you will stay with us for a very long time!”

“I hope so too.”

He hugged me, a gesture I never would have expected from the proper man. Then he seemed embarrassed about the whole thing and stepped away, mumbling something about the altitude getting to him.

“I’m glad you played in the early game,” I told Brody. “Our flight lands in Salt Lake City around nine. We’ll have plenty of time to go out and party!”

“I bet the whole city is buzzing after the game.” Brody cocked his head at me. “But don’t you have class tomorrow? Including that new class you’re taking back from Eric?”

“If I have to teach it with only a few hours of sleep, I don’t mind—and the students probably won’t, either,” I said. “We need to celebrate, Brody. You’re going to the Super Bowl!”

He took me in his arms and kissed me, which drew some jeers and hoots from the academics around us. “We’re not just going to the Super Bowl, Foxy. We’re going to win the Super Bowl.”

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