Our Little Secret Read online

  I pulled open the door to the student building that held the massive dining hall, a meeting room, and plenty of couches and seating for those that wanted to hang out in the large open space. A lot of people disparaged cafeteria food, but nowadays, college campus cafeterias were like a food court at a mall. Back when there were malls. Damn, I was getting old.

  I heard my name called. “Lukas.”

  I knew it was Brad. Anyone else would call me Professor Constantino. I scanned the busy space and quickly spotted my friend and colleague sitting at a small round table. I made my way to the table. “Watch my stuff,” I said.

  “Yes, sir. The hot lady is working at the taco place.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Why don’t you just ask her out?”

  He scoffed. “Do you know how many guys ask her out?”

  “No, I don’t. I don’t understand why you can’t.”

  He made a big show of acting like I asked the dumbest question ever. “Because everyone asks her out. I have to be cool. I have to find her outside of the taco place and ask her then.”

  I shook my head. “You’re making it way harder than it needs to be.”

  I left him at the table and went to get a sandwich on wheat. I tried to eat healthy. I wasn’t always successful, but I had to make an effort. I wasn’t going to be youngish forever. I was fortunate right now I was able to keep in shape without a lot of effort. I had no idea when my metabolism was going to crap out. I figured it was better to stay ahead of the game.

  I made my way back to the table and sat. Then I remembered the envelope in my jacket pocket. I opened it and scanned the words. I dropped it on the table without bothering to read it through. I didn’t care.

  “You got one too,” Brad said.

  “You did?”

  “We all did,” he said. “Staff mixer. I’m staff. You’re staff. Use that big brain in there and put it all together.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Are you going?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Man, come on,” he said.

  “A mixer? Is this nineteen fifty?”

  “What else are you going to do? Sit at home and count pennies for fun?”

  “You’re just on a roll today, aren’t you?” I said with a sigh.

  “I’m going,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s a good chance to mingle with the people we work with,” he answered.

  “Why?” I asked again. I thought about the art teacher. I didn’t want to mingle with her. She made me feel like a cockroach. I sensed disdain from her and I didn’t know what I had done to deserve it. It shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did.

  “I bet you don’t know half the professors here,” he said. “You know me. You know a few of the people that teach in your building. That’s it. You work and you go home. How are you going to meet a woman if you don’t get out and do a little mixing?”

  I chewed my sandwich and got an idea. A really good idea. “You’re right,” I said.

  “That you don’t get out? Yes, I know. It’s like being friends with a seventy-year-old.”

  “No, you’re right,” I said. “I need to start cozying up to my colleagues. And the dean.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m going to get tenure,” I told him. “I need to make sure everyone knows me. I need the other tenured people to like me. Getting out and mingling will get me one step closer. I have to be an integral part of the staff if I want them to let me into the inner circle.”

  He slowly shook his head. “Only you could make what is supposed to be something fun, boring. It’s a mixer meant to help everyone relax and get to know each other. You are going to make it suck.”

  “I don’t have that kind of power,” I said. “I haven’t done a great job getting to know people. I figured that out thirty minutes ago.”

  “What’s that mean?” he asked.

  “I met an art teacher,” I said. “Not really met. She didn’t like me. I can’t figure out why. I’m a likeable guy.”

  He laughed. “You sure about that?”

  “Fuck you. I’m likeable.”

  He shrugged. “You probably get along with other finance types. You guys sit around and talk about stocks and money. That’s boring shit.”

  “I don’t sit around and talk about money,” I argued. “I know those guys because we have stuff in common.”

  “And you know shit about art.” He laughed.

  I shrugged. “I know it’s collectible and anything collectible is valuable.”

  He groaned. “No, no, no. We need to give you a crash course in being a normal human. You are attractive enough. You’re not poor. You’re smart. But damn, you lack all social skills.”

  I gave him a dirty look. “I’ve got fantastic social skills.”

  “When’s the last time you got laid?” he asked bluntly.

  I almost choked on my sandwich. “Will you keep your voice down?” I hissed. “We’re supposed to be professionals. There are students all around us.”

  “Half these students are our age,” he reminded me. “You don’t think they look at us and think about taking us to bed? You could have any one of these women. You don’t even look at them.”

  “Duh, because they are students, asshole. You shouldn’t be looking either.”

  “I’m not saying I’m going to do it,” he said. “I’m saying there are plenty of single women out there and you’re worried about tenure. You’ve got this goal in mind and you can’t seem to think of anything else, including sex. Celibacy isn’t sexy.”

  “How in the hell did we go from talking about attending a mixer to my sex life?” I growled. “You always do this. You’ve got some serious issues. I think you’re the one who should go get laid. It’s obviously at the top of your list.”

  “Do me a favor,” he said.

  “No.”

  “Go to the mixer with a social attitude,” he said. “Don’t go in there looking for an angle. People will know you’re working them.”

  “I need to be friendly with the dean,” I said. “I’ve got a plan in mind. I’m not going to fuck up my whole life plan because I get waylaid by sex.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You can do both. Your life plan could use a little excitement.”

  I wasn’t so sure that was true. I’d been on this path for most of my life. I remembered the day it came to fruition. I came home from school to find Mom crying at the kitchen table. When I asked why, she said she didn’t know what to make for dinner. She didn’t know what to make because we had no food. My dad was always out looking for work, but it didn’t matter. We were poor and hungry. I vowed never to let myself be in that position.”

  “You’re not broke,” he pointed out.

  “No, but that’s only because I’m financially savvy. I know how to invest. I know how to be frugal. That’s why I’m a damn good professor of business and finance.”

  He did a dramatic slow clap. “Can I toot your horn too?” he joked.

  “You asked.”

  “All right, you’ve got a plan, great. Was becoming a monk part of that plan?”

  I grabbed a napkin and wiped my hands. “Okay, I get it. I’m a boring stick in the mud. But going to a staff mixer does not change that. There is a strict no-fraternization policy. I couldn’t hook up with one of those women even if I had the chance.”

  He shrugged. “Rules are made to be broken.”

  “Not rules that could have a direct negative impact on my future.”

  “Let’s call this a trial run,” he said. “We’ll get you back into the land of the living. We’ll test out your flirting chops and make sure they still work. Once I know you aren’t going to embarrass me, I’ll take you out. Then we’ll get you laid.”

  3

  River

  The warmth of the sun felt good on my skin. Yesterday had been chilly. Today, it was beautiful. I couldn’t bring myself to sit inside my office or even in my bright studio. I needed to b
e in the sun. Days like this were going to be hard to come by soon. I wanted to take advantage of every minute.

  I pulled the next folder from my stack and opened it up. I immediately burst into laughter. I looked around the open quad to make sure no one heard me. They were all too involved in their studies or conversations. I looked back at the comic strip. It was the assignment for my drawing class. The assignment was to put a story from their lives into a comic strip. This particular story detailed what I assume was one of the most embarrassing times in the student’s life. It depicted a young woman in a cheerleader uniform tripping and falling in front of a football team. It was the expression on the young lady’s face that had me laughing out loud.

  “Definitely an A,” I said with a laugh and quickly filled out the grading sheet with some notes. I stuck it into the folder and moved it to the graded pile.

  “You look like such a teacher,” Gwen said and dropped a stack of books on the little table I had commandeered for myself.

  I looked up at my best friend. “I think that’s the goal,” I said dryly. “I don’t want to look like a mechanic.”

  “Ha, ha, very funny,” she said. “I’m exhausted.”

  “What class do you have today?” I asked as I reached for another folder.

  She sighed. “Psych and chemistry.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “I don’t understand you.”

  “Me either.” She laughed.

  “Are you looking to go into the medical field?” I asked.

  “No. I don’t know. I’m just covering my bases. I failed chemistry twice. I’m hoping this is my semester.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t understand why you torture yourself. I think you could probably be in a world record book.”

  “For what?”

  “The only human on the planet that has taken every single class offered at any university. You probably have more knowledge about everything than anyone else.”

  She shrugged. “I’m still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up.”

  “Sweetie, you’re twenty-nine. The grow-up process ended about five years ago.”

  She scowled at me. “Not true. My goal is to know what I’m going to do by the time I’m thirty. I had to explore my options. I didn’t know what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. I didn’t want to get stuck in a career I ended up not loving. You’re lucky.”

  “I’m lucky?” I asked.

  She bobbed her head up and down. “You knew what you wanted to do the moment you were old enough to know better. You had a passion for art. You knew you wanted to be an artist. You have a job that pays you to do what you love. I don’t know what I love. I’m trying to figure it out.”

  She did have a good point. “I do love my job. Psych and chemistry. Are you thinking about the psychiatric field again?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “No. I’m in no position to counsel anyone. I’ve got my own baggage.”

  “Do you know which way you’re leaning?” I asked. “You seriously have to have more credits than anyone on this planet.”

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “I think I’ve got it narrowed down to three. I just have to wrap up a few more classes to get my requirements.”

  “Are you going to tell me what those three are?” I asked with a smile. I already knew what her answer would be.

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if I change my mind, you’ll give me shit,” she said.

  I laughed again. “Your career is being a student. You are a professional now. You’re lucky you can afford it.”

  “I’m guessing that trust fund my daddy set up for me was not meant for this,” she joked.

  “It’s not a total waste,” I said. “You can run a business, work in the medical field, be a photographer, or pretty much anything you want. It’s not like you are going to struggle to find a job once you do decide you are ready to join the working world.”

  “Hey, I’ve worked.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You’ve interned.”

  “I worked at the vet place for a few months and I did work in that photography studio,” she said. “Not to mention the waitressing and barista jobs I had.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “My bad.”

  “So, did you decide?” she asked.

  “Decide what?”

  “Are you going tonight?”

  I groaned. “I don’t want to. The last thing I want to do is hang out with some stuffy sweaters. That is not my idea of a good time.”

  “It will do you good to get out and hang with people you have things in common with,” she said. “The clubs are no fun anymore. Going to a bar is always a gamble. You can’t expect to meet Mr. Right in the produce aisle at the grocery store. Those days are gone. You have to put in a little more effort.”

  “You make me sound like I’m headed for spinsterhood,” I said.

  “You will be if you don’t start making some moves,” she teased.

  “What about you? What moves are you making?”

  She spread her arms wide. “Look around you. There are hundreds of eligible men in my dating pool.”

  “Uh, I’m right here,” I countered. “Wouldn’t we be in the same pool?”

  “No. I’m a student. You’re a teacher. Not the same pool. You’re over in the old people hot tub. I’m swimming in the deep end.”

  “That makes no sense. Don’t go into psychiatry. You suck at it.”

  She laughed. “It’s true. You can’t date a student. Go flirt with the hot guy you met earlier in the week. I bet he’ll be there.”

  “No thanks.”

  “Come on, he’s the first guy you’ve even mentioned as someone you thought was hot. I was beginning to wonder if that little part of you died.”

  “He’s a faculty member,” I said. “He can’t swim in my pool either. Anyone here on this campus is off limits. Going to a mixer with fellow faculty is not a matchmaking event. It’s a waste of time.”

  “Rules shmules,” she said and waved a hand.

  “He is not my type anyway,” I said in an attempt to switch tactics. She was worse than a dog with a bone. She’d been trying to set me up for months. Probably years really. I tried to forget the number of bad dates I had.

  “You don’t know your type,” she said. “You are looking for your type of man like I’m looking for a career.”

  I laughed. “Oh god, is it that bad?”

  “Very funny. Go. Check it out. See what’s out there. It can’t be that bad. You go, you have a couple of free drinks and appetizers, and then you leave.”

  I groaned. “I am going to hate it.”

  “Maybe, but what else are you going to do? You’re going to sit home and grade papers.” She started knocking her fist against the table in a slow rhythm.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Me? Nothing.”

  I put my hand over her fist. “What’s wrong with you? Did you develop a tic or something? You’ve been spending way too much time in those psychology classes.”

  “Oh, that noise? That’s the sound of your biological clock beating away.”

  “Do they offer classes to become a comedian?” I shot back. “You should sign up for those because you are so not funny.”

  She giggled, obviously not offended by my comment. “Come on. Let’s go pick out what you’re going to wear.”

  “I’m not going.”

  “Sure, you are. I’d be your date, but I’m just a lowly student. You need to make a friend on the faculty now. The Christmas party is coming soon. You don’t want to go alone, do you?”

  “You are not going to let this go, are you?”

  “Nope,” she said with a smile. “I think a cute, flowy skirt with that black sheer blouse is perfect.”

  I sighed and stacked the folders together. “Let’s go. You’re not going to leave me alone until you have your way with me. I’m not going overboard on this. I don’t want to look like I’m going to the club. These a
re professionals. Most of them have kids my age. I don’t want to live up to their bad preconceived ideas about who I am.”

  “You’re going to look hot,” she said enthusiastically.

  She met me at my apartment. I walked into my bedroom and sat on the bed and watched as she dug into my closet. It was like watching an animal burrow. She was pulling out this and that and tossing it all on the bed.

  “What exactly are you looking for?” I asked. “I could tell you where it’s at or if I have it.”

  “I’m not sure yet,” she said. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

  I looked at the clothes flung across my bed. I picked up one of my favorite pairs of slacks. They made my ass look good, but they also made me look like a box. If I could just back into every room, they’d be great.

  She walked out of the closet with a few things draped over her arm. She was holding the shirt she mentioned earlier. “This is the one,” she said. “I love this shirt on you.”

  “I don’t know if it’s appropriate for a work thing,” I cautioned. “Sheer isn’t professional.”

  “The sleeves are sheer. The goodies are covered. It gives the illusion of being sexy but it is still safe.”

  I wasn’t quite so sure. I liked the blouse but it felt a little risqué for a work function. “We’ll see.”

  “Now, I was thinking cropped ankle pants with those black strappy sandals, but I think we need to stick with fall colors.”

  “It is fall,” I pointed out.

  “No comments from the peanut gallery,” she shushed.

  She laid out a black skirt that hit mid-calf. Then a black and white floral short skirt. I was not wearing that. No way. It chopped me off at the knees and made me look much shorter than my five-five height. I was holding on to every inch.

  “Maybe I should wear a sweater,” I suggested.