Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 81248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
I give him a blank look that sets off more gut-quivering laughter in him. Do I love my job? Of course. It’s fulfilling to know that what I teach has purpose and provides the building blocks for students to go on and do great things—even if it goes completely unappreciated. But I’ll never be anyone’s favorite professor. I’ll never see the excited passion that exists in a classroom like this. “Simply thrilled to come to work each day,” I say.
“Okay, grumpy pants, let’s get some alcohol in you.” Dave locks up the supplies, and we leave.
Most Wednesday afternoons we head to McIntyre’s, a bar just off campus. Being midweek, there are barely any students there yet, but when they start piling through the doors later, we take it as the sign it’s time to get our old asses home.
I might only be thirty-eight, and Dave is almost fifty, but he acts younger than I do most of the time.
He goes to get the first round, and when he comes back and slides a beer toward me, he pins me with a look. “What’s going on with this frown?”
“I’ve had one too many run-ins with hockey players this week.”
“Ah …” Dave is one of the few people who knows what high school was like for me. When I get drunk, I get chatty, apparently. “One of your students?”
“Yes. And his older brother, the assistant coach, and Paul.” I shake my head. “Three times the amount of hockey players I want to deal with.”
“So, what was the problem?”
“Wanting extra credit, which you know I don’t do.”
Dave snickers.
“Don’t start. You know why I don’t.”
“I’m only saying”—he holds out his hands—“it wouldn’t kill you to cut some slack. You know what people call you.”
“Fuckstain,” I mutter. “You’d think they’d come up with something original, like I didn’t hear that a million times since junior high.” It doesn’t bother me. Well, it shouldn’t. I’m a grown-ass man. “It sounds nothing like my name.”
“Sure it doesn’t.”
“Ek-steen. Ek-steen. Not stain.”
“Your argument is compelling. After all, when people are coming up with shitty nicknames, accuracy is their number one priority.”
“Fair point.” I smile despite myself. “When did I become my father?”
“Don’t beat yourself up. We all go through it. One day you look up and you’re getting old, and you can either choose to complete the metamorphosis … or join me on my level.”
“How about somewhere in between?”
“Your loss.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
Dave drains his glass. “Tell me more about these sexy hockey players.”
“New topic.”
“Fine. Tell me more about your high school reunion—”
“So, about the hockey players …”
He looks proud of himself, knowing he’s won.
“What do you want me to say? Westly came barging into my office wanting me to cut his brother a break, I said no, then when I went to fill Paul in on what his coach was up to, he informed me the Daltons had lost their parents and have about a hundred kids to look after.”
“Well, that’s an exaggeration.”
“Five. One hundred.” I shrug. “Seems the same to me.”
“Lucky you don’t need to be good with numbers … oh, wait.”
I pretend to wind up my middle finger.
“How didn’t you know? About the parents?” he asks.
“You mean you did? Thanks for filling me in.”
“I wouldn’t need to fill you in if you’d cut those kids a break.”
“Again, not kids. We teach adults, and they need to be treated that way.”
Dave smiles indulgently. “You know what happens when one of my adults tells me they need extra credit to pass? I believe them. Then it’s on them if they put in the effort or not.”
“Can we not get into this again?” I rub my temples. “You’re supposed to be helping me destress.”
“Fine, back to the hockey players.”
“There’s nothing else. I gave the extra credit, then Westly stopped by again to thank me and drop an IOU.”
Dave starts to laugh. “After all that, you gave in anyway?”
“Sue me.”
“You’re getting soft in your old age.” He tilts his head to the side and cracks his neck, making me cringe. “Tell you what … next time you see Westly around, send him my way.”
“What? Why?”
“You blind? That man is …” Dave makes a drooling noise.
And as much as I don’t want to, I can see his point. He’s basically textbook handsome. Black hair, green eyes that look dangerous when he’s angry, tall, fit, and has the kind of cocky strut that comes built in with years of being worshipped. Everything that Westly is … is everything I actively work to avoid.
“What does Greg think of your opinion on Westly Dalton?”
“He agrees with me.” Dave sighs wistfully. “If we were twenty years younger …”
“Either way, it’s done. I won’t need to see him again.”
“But he owes you one.”
I shake my head. “He owes me nothing. I’m not bribing people for a chance at passing my class.”