Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 51902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
I huffed. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“He was driving half this speed, and it was pitch dark. The roads near his parents’ cabin are windy and narrow. It’s a beautiful place on the lake, but it’s a schlep,” he continued in an obvious effort to steer my attention elsewhere. “A bunch of the guys were heading there this weekend to fish and chill.”
Okay, the distraction worked. Darn it, he was clever.
“You’re supposed to be with them.” It was a statement, not a question.
“I was invited, if that’s what you mean. I chose not to go.”
“Oh.” Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask. “Do they know you’re with me?”
Dagnabit!
“I told them I had plans. And I do.”
I nodded. “I hope this isn’t making trouble for you.”
His furrowed brow made his sunglasses lift from his face in profile. “Why would it?”
“It’s one thing to befriend someone for scholastic purposes and quite another to take an overnight trip clear to the Canadian border.”
Jett snickered. “Buffalo isn’t on the border.”
“It absolutely is on the border,” I gasped.
“Are you sure?”
I proceeded to give coordinates with the city’s relation to the Niagara River, the Falls, as well as a few facts regarding trade routes. My lecture extended to the international bridge crossing from Fort Erie to Ontario, and was bound to lead to a short history lesson—built in 1764 as a supply base for the British troops, in case you were curious.
But I stopped abruptly. “You did that on purpose.”
He checked his sideview mirror and exited the interstate. “What did I do?”
“You let me babble till I’d forgotten the original thread of conversation. Very crafty of you.” I snorted.
“It worked,” Jett singsonged. “By the way, I’m not ‘supposed’ to be anywhere. I’m here ’cause this is where I want to be. It was my idea, remember?”
Oh. That was romantic.
“I know.”
Jett reached over and squeezed my knee. “Do me a favor and check the directions to the hotel. I think it’s on Genesee Road.”
He did it again. This time I barely noticed.
We checked into the hotel and walked through the town square toward St. Clement’s main campus. A cold wind whipped off the river and whistled through the bare trees on the quaint streets. I zipped my winter jacket to my chin as I took in the scenery—the Majestic Brew coffee shop, the Quirky Quill bookstore, Calamari’s Italian restaurant, the Striped Tiger Café. The colorful windows were decorated with holiday cheer amid college pennants and random knickknacks featuring pictures of the grand pillared student center.
I loved it already. The town looked and felt a lot like Smithton.
“This is cool,” Jett remarked as if reading my mind.
We strolled around the quad and made our way to the physics building.
“This is it. My appointment is in ten minutes. I shouldn’t be long. I’m not sure what we’ll discuss. The usual interview-style inquiries, I imagine. This is an interview…sort of. I think. I’m not a hundred percent positive. It might be more of a visit, and that’s okay, too. A friendly hello. Strange to drive two hours just to pop in and give one’s regards to—”
Jett grabbed my face and slanted his mouth over mine…on the steps of the McKinley Building in the middle of the week in broad daylight where anyone might see us.
He released me, brushing our noses and meeting my gaze. “Relax. You’re gonna be amazing.”
Shock rendered me speechless. I nodded, barely resisting the urge to touch my lips as I headed inside.
Professor Gomez was a painfully thin man in his sixties with an absent smile and a sharp sense of humor. I liked him immediately. He went out of his way to set me at ease, chatting about everything from recent discoveries in our field to his plans for how he wanted to allocate funds for a generous new department endowment. Research was vital, and publishing was equally important.
“And get this…he’s read my work. Everything I’ve written. He knows who I am.” I skimmed my spoon over my bowl of split pea soup, blinking at my amused lover in wonder as I recounted my meeting.
“I hope so. You’re a player, baby,” Jett teased, eyes twinkling. “You know your shit. If he hadn’t read ‘Finding Balance in Motion,’ I might advise you to reconsider this place. That was a big deal.”
I snickered and sipped my soup, relishing the warm food and pleasant company on a blustery late autumn day. Dark clouds had gathered and rain was definitely coming, but it was cozy in this corner of the café and—
Wait.
“How did you know about that article?”
He paused mid-bite, chomping into his turkey sandwich and chewing slowly. Too slowly.
After what felt like ten minutes, Jett leaned his elbows on the zinc tabletop and replied, “I read it.”
“You did?” I couldn’t keep the incredulity from my voice. I hoped he didn’t take offense, but…really? Why would he read my treatise on linear motion and the effects of gravity and friction?