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“I don’t have to like someone to get my dick sucked by them, do I?” I shot back with a smirk, playing it off as a joke.
“You deserve so much better. He’s our lecturer, too. That’s probably…I don’t know if it’s against uni policy, but it’s…it’s?—”
“It’s Dr. fucking Wilder,” Ander finished for Elliot, giving a dramatic shudder. “He’s like, everything you’re not. Boring and uptight, and he has a major attitude problem, not to mention anger issues. The man seriously needs to get laid and not by you. You’re far too good for someone like him.”
“This is all hypothetical, right?” Elliot studied me intently, and I hoped that nothing I was thinking was showing on my face.
“Obviously. Look at all the choices I have here. I’m never short of options, you know that.”
They both visibly relaxed, and I bit back uncharacteristic words that wanted to fly from my mouth. Words of defence. It was ridiculous. I didn’t know anything about Dr. Wilder other than the fact he was an extremely good fuck and extremely moody when he was caught off guard. I didn’t even know his first name. And what I did know was that a repeat was very much off the table.
It was time for a change of subject. “Come on. It’s Throwback Tuesday. Let’s get you both a drink, and then we can hit up the dance floor and make the most of this retro music.”
The subject of Dr. Wilder was instantly dropped, forgotten as Ander struck a pose, fist pumping the air. But by the end of the night, after I’d uncharacteristically turned down the fifth person who had propositioned me, I was beginning to worry that he wasn’t so forgettable after all.
4
“Working late again? You do realise that everyone else has left the building, don’t you?”
I glanced up from my computer to see Gage peering around my door, frowning.
“You’re still here,” I pointed out.
“Only because I had that meeting with the vice chancellor. Stuart left hours ago.” He leaned against the door frame, folding his arms across his chest. “It’s time to leave. We can grab a drink on the way to the Tube if you want.”
The “if you want” was heavily emphasised. I knew he wouldn’t leave me alone unless I agreed. To be fair to him, he left me in peace most of the time…until his conscience prodded him to do something, and then he made it his personal mission to get me to socialise. He couldn’t seem to understand that I didn’t fucking like socialising. I hated making awkward small talk. It was pointless, in my opinion.
With a heavy sigh, I exited out of the university portal, beginning the process of shutting my computer down. “One drink. Then I need to get back. These essays aren’t going to mark themselves.”
Gage rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I know.” As I picked up my briefcase and flipped the switch on my desk lamp to turn it off, he shook his head. “I know you’re the principal lecturer, but you don’t have that much more work than me. You need a better work-life balance. And you don’t even have the excuse of being married to be boring like Stuart.”
My jaw clenched. We’d gone round and round with this discussion so many times. “Stuart being married doesn’t mean he’s boring. It means he wants to spend time with his wife. And I do plenty of things in my free time.”
“Course you do,” he muttered, stepping aside to let me exit my office. “Sitting alone in your flat doesn’t count. I’m single, and you don’t see me staring at the same four walls for hours on end.”
“Gage.” The warning in my tone was implicit, and he immediately relented.
“Sorry. I’ll say no more. Let’s have this drink, and I’ll consider my social duty done.”
“Until the next time you pester me about it.”
“Until then,” he agreed, shooting me a grin. “Speaking of the next time, are you planning to bring anyone to the spring faculty dinner?”
“I’m not planning to bring anyone because I’m not planning to go.” My voice echoed in the empty stairwell as we made our way down to the ground floor. “It isn’t compulsory.”
“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. If you want to go from principal lecturer to professor and department head—which I know is in your two-year plan, so don’t even bother denying it—you have to put in the work. And I’m not talking about the academic work. You need to show that you’re worthy of the position. It’s never too early to make an effort.”
“Two-year plan,” I muttered.
“Kill. Your plans have plans. Your life is structured like a…” He cast around for words, settling on, “A straitjacket.”
“Sorry, did you want a drink, or did you want to list my faults? Shall we make a plan to do that another time?”
“It’s not a bad thing.” His hand lifted as if he was going to pat my shoulder, but at my narrowed eyes, he thought better of it, dropping his arm with a sigh. “Mate, listen to me. You’re, like, an academic genius. You’re the youngest principal lecturer LSU has ever had in our faculty. You’ve put in the work, and it’s taken you places. All I’m saying is if you want to further your career, which I know you do, you have to start putting in a different kind of work.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” As we strode across the campus, I clenched and unclenched my fists, my hands hidden in the pockets of my light wool coat. Gage was right, of course. My dream was to earn a professorship and the position of head of the LSU business school in the next two years, and yes, I was well aware that it would involve a level of socialisation I was uncomfortable with. I was still weighing up the pros and cons. It was ridiculous, but I had neither the patience nor the ability for successful small talk, let alone schmoozing with the people who made the big decisions.
“Consider the subject dropped. Let’s move on to a more important discussion—what are we going to drink? I hear The George has a new seasonal IPA on tap.”
