Page 86 of Dirty Dix

“Oh, you will be getting off at ten, sweetheart,” I say with a confident nod. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Her cheeks instantly flush, and her mouth parts. Yes, I feel like a dirty old man, seeing as she looks no older than twenty-one, but hey, when in Rome—or Boston. She reaches into her apron pocket, pulls out a notepad, and quickly writes something down.

“Here, handsome.” She slips me her number across the tabletop. “Make sure you call. I’ll be waiting.”

I reach for it, but she stops me by placing her palm over mine. “Oh, and by the way,” she says, daringly. “You’ll be getting off at 10:05.” She gives me a coy wink before walking away, leaving me with a clear view of her tight behind.

Watching until she disappears from sight, I fold up her number and place it in my pocket. I really should steer clear of women, seeing as five minutes ago, I had the intention to dedicate all my free time to research. But all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.

I cringe the moment the phrase enters my mind, as it reminds me of Madison. But a lot of things remind me of her. This past month has been tough, and I’m man enough to admit that I do think about her from time to time. I wonder how she is, what she’s doing,who’sshe doing, but more importantly, I wonder if she’s thinking about me half as much as I’m thinking about her.

Blowing out a frustrated breath, I tell myself this is the last time I will allow my thoughts to stray to her because the lack of contact is a sure sign she’s forgotten about me—just as I should do with her.

“Dixon?” a voice asks, and I look up to see the kind, weathered face of my old college professor Dr. Wellington.

“Dr. Wellington?” I say, unable to keep the surprise from my voice. “Whatever are you doing here?” I ask, standing up and shaking his hand.

“Oh, I’m the guest speaker for the awards ceremony, which is nonsense. I can’t imagine what they think an old fool like me would have to say that would be of interest to you young folk,” he modestly replies, and I laugh.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You taught me everything I know. Without you, I dare say, I would have given up in the first semester.”

Dr. Wellington chuckles, which gets caught in his throat, and he coughs while patting his chest. “Well, thank you, I’ll take that as a compliment, seeing as I’ve heard you’ve made quite a name for yourself, Dr. Mathews.”

“Only thanks to you. Please, won’t you sit?” I say, gesturing to the booth.

“I better not. I’m here with someone.”

“Oh, you Casanova,” I say with a playful wink.

Dr. Wellington chuckles once again and shakes his head, his thinning gray hair moving with the movement. “It’s not like that at all. I’m old enough to be her grandfather. She’s a student of mine.”

“I didn’t realize you were still teaching,” I say, and he nods.

“Yes, only part-time. Just basic psychology,” he replies. “This one student has shown great potential, and the facility asked I take her and another student with me, as they see the potential in both pupils. I think they just want me to show her off to all the bigwigs. You know how much Columbia likes to brag about their students when they become a big deal.”

I nod because he’s right. Colleges love to boast they schooled the next big thing, as it warrants them charging astronomical tuition fees.

“She actually reminds me of you in a way,” he says with a playful gleam in his eye.

“What? She’s a pain in the ass?” I counter, and Dr. Wellington grins.

“Yes, that too. Well, I best be off. Never leave a beautiful woman waiting.”

“So I’ve heard,” I reply, as he’s preaching to the choir. “It was lovely seeing you again, Dr. Wellington.”

“Please, it’s Max. Formalities are only for the classroom, and even then, they are totally unnecessary.”

I smirk, pleased his humility is still intact. “I look forward to hearing you speak at the ceremony.”

“Thank you, Dixon. If I’m boring you to tears, please feel free to throw a bread roll at me.”

“You never could, but yes, I promise.”

“Are you staying here for the week?”

“Yes, I am. I needed to get away from the big smoke,” I confess. “And I’m also working on a paper on the links between neurobiology and addiction, focusing on the nature versus nurture principle. I needed the downtime to get it finished.”

“Oh? How interesting. I would be intrigued to hear your findings,” Max says, the scientist in him coming through. “Would you be interested in catching up tomorrow morning? Around eight thirty for breakfast?”

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