Page 19 of Shiver
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“Sounds to me like you’re in a dry spell and want to live vicariously through my exploits,” I say.
“You’re trying valiantly to divert the conversation. But, if it helps, yes. I can’t somehow seduce the virgin Michael as if it were a born skill like you can. So, because my bed is cold, tell me about yours.”
Son of a bitch. “I don’t have time right now.”
A beat goes by as Rykka looks at me. I’m beginning to question why I agreed to be friends with him. Does he really know me well enough to know that the lines I built in foot-thick concrete are getting a little hard to see?
“Tell me about your student,” he says, enunciating each word as if I’m slow. The slight narrowing of his eyes means he’s fishing. Trying to find the truth I’m not telling him. Fill the holes in my story. Not that there are any. It’s the truth, even if it’s not the entire truth.
“I’ve already told you. He’s on my uncle’s team and on scholarship. So, he needs help to keep his ride and his hockey position. He’s not taking the easy out like so many boring jocks and therefore needs help.” I shrug and take a sip of my coffee. The last sip. Shit. “What else do you want to know?”
“How long have you been seeing him?”
“I’ve been tutoring him for about a month.” Can’t slip me up so easily!
“Is he pretty?”
I raise a brow. “Objectively, yeah. He’s your typical athlete. Muscles. Big guy. Confident. Loud and smiley.” I shrug again, glaring down at my empty cup.
“Right,” Rykka says.
Sighing, I roll my eyes and drop both my hands on the table. “Look. Maybe I’ll get him into bed or maybe I won’t. ButI amtutoring him and becausehe needs help with four classes, it’s taking up a lot of time.”
My phone pings and fuck if I don’t wince. I know it’s Egon. Because who else would it be? No one texts me as often as Egon does.
The way Rykka’s smile begins climbing his face says that I’ve made some kind of expression—a fucking crucial mistake. Or maybe he spotted the flinch I tried to hide. “Who’s that?”
“I’m looking at you. How would I know?”
“So look at your phone. It might be important.”
“If it was, they’d call. No one’s going to tell me that someone’s dead through a text,” I say and sit back. I glance at my phone and flick it on. Sure enough, the notification is from Egon. But it’s the time I’m looking for. “And now that you’ve harassed me into an irritated mood, I need to go. I have a meeting with Dr. Deena.”
I stand. Rykka does not. He’s lounged in his seat looking smug. Rolling my eyes, I walk away. I also refuse to take my phone out from where I’ve dumped it in my bag. Not while he’s watching. And I know that fucker is watching.
I’m also not going to give myself time to consider what he not so subtly is hinting at. But as I replay the conversation we just had, I can’t help but assure myself that he’s got nothing to base his accusatory smirk on.
Except maybe me flinching at the phone notification.
The notification I haven’t looked at and is currently burning a hole in my bag. Thankfully, I really do have a meeting with the professor I’m assisting. I knock on his open door, satisfied with the six minutes early arrival.
Dr. Miles Deena is one of the tenured professors at Eastern State University, but unlike so many in his position, he’s actually a good teacher. He hasn’t let the security of his position slacken the effort he puts in with his students. It’s why I sought him out when I was looking to fulfill this part of my graduate program.
It’s easy not to care once you find job security. So, it's admirable to remain present, reliable, and approachable.
He’s in his fifties, with graying hair and a pudgier physique than he should have, but he’s got a pleasant smile when he flashes it at me. The kicker—his smile is genuine. I rarely receive true smiles. Probably because I’ve been told I have a mean resting ‘fuck off’ face.
“Mr. Aahnu,” he says, and I give him a nod. “Come in. Have a seat. I’ll be right with you.”
I drop into the chair across from him, watching as he taps away on his keyboard. When he stops typing, he turns to me. “Sorry about that. If I didn’t finish my thought, I’d forget it.”
“Totally understandable, Dr. Deena.”
He smiles. Folding his hands on his desk, he leans forward. “So, tell me how the research is coming.”
I’m beginning to pull together all the pieces of my dissertation on determining the atomic matrix of an RNA. I explain my progress in further supporting the potential to make the determination of atomic-resolution RNA ensembles routine.
