You Should Smile

by Lee, Renee

  I felt a particular set of eyes staring, as I slowly turned...and was faced with eyes of pure blue, dancing above a semi-creased smirk.

  I almost forgot he was sitting at the table behind me. He was still smirking and staring. I noticed the briefest, slightest glance at my chest before he returned to my face. No one else would’ve noticed, unless they’d been specifically looking for it. I blushed again. Why did Pickup Grinner make me blush so much? I didn’t even know I did blush until I met him, dammit.

  I glanced behind him and noticed who he was sitting with.

  Oh shit. Eye contact. “Dean Sullivan? Ummm….Hello,” I stammered.

  Dean Sullivan was the Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences. She oversaw our department among others. I’d interviewed with her in order to get my graduate assistantship. She was probably in her early 50s, but was still a very attractive lady, I thought. I wondered if they were there on a date. Maybe Pickup Grinner liked them in all ages. For some reason, that thought made me frown.

  Dean Sullivan smiled and said, “Why hello there, Shay. I didn’t realize it was you who was the victim of the spill.” Then, she did the unthinkable. She introduced me to her table mate.

  “Shay, this is Thad Reeding.” She gestured toward him. “I’ve just offered Thad a job and I’m hoping he’ll accept. I figure Keno’s beer is a good enticement.”

  I nodded and smiled, trying to avoid his blue-eyed gaze. I kept my eyes on her instead. She turned toward him and continued, “Thad, this is Shay Elliott, one of our best and brightest political science graduate students.”

  Thad’s eyebrows shot up and he cleared his throat. He finally extended his hand to shake mine, “Nice to, uh....meet you....Shay.” I liked the sound of my name coming out of his mouth. I thought of some ways I could get my name to come out of his mouth again….Then, I had a split second moment of panic as I realized his hand was still out there and I would actually have to touch him. It would be rather difficult to explain why I snubbed this guy to the Dean, of all people.

  You know when you watch a movie with two actors who have real-life chemistry and you can almost “feel” the heat coming off of them through the screen? That’s what this was like. His hand met mine and I shook it firmly, as the heat from his touch pulsed through my body. Like electricity. I felt my nipples perk again and I prayed no one would notice. “Nice to meet you....Mr. Reeding.” His hands were warm and calloused, like they’d been used for something....something that required real labor.

  His voice, seemingly deeper than before, drawled, “Please, call me Thad.”

  I couldn’t help it. I glanced up and met his eyes. Then he did it again – gave me a full-out, creases smile. I felt the rush between my legs. Good lord, who was this guy?

  Without thinking, I blurted out, “So what type of work are you doing for Dean Sullivan, Thad?”

  I don’t know why I said it that way and as soon as the words left my mouth I realized how ridiculous they sounded. I just assumed he was a laborer or something from the truck he drove, his casual demeanor, and his hands....right?

  His eyes flashed confusion for a second before they smirked with something else – realization at my stereotyping. The smirk was back now, full force, as he held my gaze. I despise uncomfortable silences. All moments, in my mind, exist to be filled with something, yet this guy seems perfectly content with hanging moments as if he’s got all the time in the world to fill them with whatever he wishes.

  He still stared at me, smirking. Finally, Dean Sullivan ended the silence. “Well, Shay, Doctor Reeding is actually being offered a position as an assistant professor in the Psychology department. We need someone in the position right now. He’s currently at a nearby college and I’ve been trying to steal him away for years. He’s a helluva teacher and researcher.”

  Mmm Hmmm....I just bet he is. As my brain filtered this new information, I suddenly had a vision as to how ridiculous I looked – standing there with a drenched t-shirt, hard nipples, mouth open, and staring in awe. This was the perfect time for my patented, awkward and hasty retreat. “Well, of course you are! Of course you are a psychology professor. Why wouldn’t you be?! Most Pickup Grinners are, I suppose. Uhhhh....nice to meet you and, uh, good luck. Good to see you again, Dean Sullivan.”

  Did I just call him Pickup Grinner out loud? Yep. Sure did. Maybe no one caught it.

  I turned around quickly and headed toward the door. Of course, Grant stood by the door, watching the entire fiasco as it transpired. I met his eyes and gave him the meanest, most badass don’t-mess-with-me-right-now-motherfucker stare I could muster. He grinned broadly, chuckled, and theatrically held out his arm as he escorted me toward the door.

  As we left, I heard a low, sexy-as-hell voice say something, but I couldn’t make out what it was. Something fluttered in my chest. I tried to convince myself it was heartburn from the pizza.

  Chapter Three

  The next morning, I headed up to the political science department floor. I had a meeting with the Department Chair, Dr. Grambling, for the final approval of my dissertation committee. Ph.D. grad school basically works like this: You take classes for three to four years and then you start working on this huge paper called a dissertation. No, it’s not “like a thesis” or “some paper you wrote in undergrad” or that “thing you wrote when you got your master’s degree online.” It’s hundreds (some are thousands) of pages long and it takes years – years. Many give up altogether and I was starting to see why……and I was just at the beginning of the process. I was already done with classes and I’d already passed my oral exams, which put me at what’s called “ABD” status (“All But Dissertation”). Creative title, I know.

  So, I just had to write the actual dissertation. No biggie, right? My first step that fall was to set up my final dissertation committee. Basically, you get one faculty member who does research in the area of your topic to be your main advisor and then ask four to five other professors who also do similar research to join your committee as other members. Once you finish writing the dissertation, you go before your committee to “defend” it. They ask you a bunch of questions about your project and you basically have to “defend” it by answering the questions to their satisfaction. If they’re satisfied by your defense, you become a full-fledged Ph.D. At least that’s how it all worked at my university.

  Anyway, so I was trying to get my committee finalized to start the dissertation process. The main advisor I would’ve chosen just retired and was in poor health, so Dr. Grambling wanted to meet with me to talk about a replacement. Grambling was an old, pompous ass who hated women – and made the fact that he thought we belonged in the kitchen and not the field of political science pretty clear.

  “Ms. Elliott, my dear, let’s talk about your committee. Your dissertation concerns political communication, so I think our new hire, Dr. Hanover, will be perfect as your main advisor. You should walk over to his office and introduce yourself to him today.” This was more of a directive than a “discussion”, I quickly realized, but he was right that the choice made sense. Dr. Hanover’s specialty was political communication.

  “Your remaining committee members you’ve listed are fine, but you still need a faculty member from outside the discipline. Interestingly enough, there’s a new political psychologist hire with a direct interest in your study. I’d like you to add him, as well. His name is Dr. Reeding.” He was looking down at me patronizingly.

  My heart lurched. No, no, no, no, no. I couldn’t work with Reeding all the time! Dear lord, I’d die. Or implode. Or something.

  “Uhhh…..I, uh…..What about Dr. Forrest in Psychology?” Dr. Forrest was the first person I could think of. He was around sixty years old and had a bunch of long, wiry hairs that hung out of his nose. He was perfect. I didn’t care what his specialty was.

  “Dr. Forrest??” The condescension dripped from his voice as he peered at me above his horn-rimmed glasses. “He doesn’t do any research in your area. Academic specialties exist
because people become experts in those areas, Ms. Elliott. You want to explain why you don’t want someone who’s a perfect fit on your committee when he’s here and available?”

  I coughed out loud at the words “perfect fit” and “available”. Was Dr. Reeding “available”? I had no idea, but he’d tried to hit on me less than a week earlier. And I liked it. A lot. Heck, I wasn’t technically “available”. Decent Pete loomed in my mind. I tried to break up with him again, but it still didn’t work. I had to be more forceful and I hated being mean….but still, I technically wasn’t “available”. What a strange word. “Available.” There I went again, off in random thought.

  I shuffled my feet and stared at the floor. Dr. Grambling was right. Plus, I wasn’t about to explain to a man who still lived in the 1960s that Dr. Thad Reeding lit me up like a freaking Christmas tree just by shaking my hand. Grambling probably would’ve had a heart attack right there and I didn’t know CPR – and I was not giving him mouth-to-mouth, either.

  So there I was. I had no choice.

  “Okay. I’ll talk to Dr. Hanover and see if he’ll serve as my advisor……and I agree that Dr. Reeding makes sense. I’ll talk to him, too.”

  “Good girl,” Dr. Grambling gave me a fatherly smile as if I had pleased him. In the 1960s, I bet he would’ve just slapped my ass as he told me I was a “good girl.” I wondered if he used to do that back then. Probably. I heard the squeak of his chair turning around and realized I’d been dismissed.

  I headed off to Dr. Hanover’s office first. I was going to put off the Reeding meeting until later. I just didn’t want to face him yet. I turned into a blithering idiot when he was around and I needed time to prepare.

  Dr. Hanover’s office smelled like Old Spice. Old Spice is terrible. It reminds me of rednecks who think Applebee’s is a fancy restaurant. He was behind his desk, head down, unpacking something from a box on his desk. I knocked softy on his door and he looked up at me.

  He smiled. His front top teeth were a little bit crooked and his smile was just ‘okay’. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy – sandy-blond hair, well-built, around 6 feet tall. It did nothing for me, which was good. The last thing I needed was to think my main advisor was hot, too.

  “Hi. Can I help you?”

  I quickly explained to him my situation and my topic before asking if he’d serve as my advisor.

  His eyes lit up with something I didn’t like. I couldn’t place it, really, but it was weird. It was like he was a little too excited about working with me. You know how in movies you get that weird feeling about a character early and then they turn into a psycho or something later? That’s the feeling I got. I tried to tell myself it couldn’t be that bad, but when he shook my hand and his eyes started to roam over my body, my “perv” radar was going way off. This was going to be a long dissertation process, I thought.

  After the creepy feeling I had from meeting Dr. Hanover, I decided to keep delaying the Dr. Reeding meeting. It could wait. I needed to get ready for the semester kick-off party that night anyway, so I headed home.

  Chapter Four

  Grant showed up at my door later that night at a quarter til seven.

  “I hate it when you do that. You come just early enough so that I’m not fully ready, but still within the time frame where I feel guilty for making you wait!”

  He frowned. “Princess, please tell me you’re not wearing that dress tonight.”

  I looked down at the plain brown dress I had on. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Oh, honey. First of all, brown is not your color. Second, it doesn’t show off the goods. Third, you never know just who one might see at these functions.” Before I could even reply, Grant sashayed around me and began rummaging through my closet.

  “No......No......Ugly......Hideous......Gross.....AHA! Here we go!” He pulled out a cute red dress and handed it to me. “You shall wear this, my love.”

  Then he grabbed a pair of silver strappy pumps from the bottom of my closet. “And these. Off you go....” He nudged me toward the bathroom.

  I was still too stunned by the day’s events – and Grant’s comment about just who might be there tonight – to argue. I slipped into the dress and put on the shoes before taking a look at myself in the bathroom mirror. “Not bad,” I muttered, avoiding saying it loud enough for Grant to hear. No way was he getting that satisfaction.

  I stepped out. “Okay. This will do….but what the hell is wrong with the rest of my wardrobe?”

  We argued over styles and shades and shoes all the way to the banquet. One thing we will never, ever agree upon: There is a time and a place for a girl to wear a worn out baseball cap. Keep it to a minimum, of course, but it shall remain in the wardrobe. Grant just didn’t get it. I mentally reminded myself to hide my baseball caps, lest he go on a “what not to wear” trashing spree of my closet someday.

  ***************

  The College of Arts and Sciences holds a grand banquet at the beginning of each semester. It’s a chance to mingle with others in the college, network, talk about research, and try to one-up one another. “Oh, you were published in a national conference journal in sociology? That’s great. You know, it’s so strange, in political science, our regional journals are becoming just as prestigious than the national ones.” Claws will come out. Pissing contests will ensue. And so it goes in the world of egos and academia.

  An academic! That’s it! I turned to Grant excitedly. “I’ll tell you who has the balls to try to pick up a girl at a gas station in a pickup truck – an academic! Only academics could possibly suffer from such delusions of grandeur.” Grant beamed with pride, then his smile faltered as he looked past me.

  Immediately, I knew that Dr. Reeding was behind me – and that he’d heard everything I just said. Slowly, I turned around to face the inevitable smirk.

  Yep, there it was.

  Goodness, did he look fine, though. If I thought Pickup Grinner in jeans and a t-shirt looked yummy, I should have held out for Dr. Reeding in a suit. He wore a black pinstripe suit with a royal blue button down underneath and a silver tie with an inlaid blue design. I’m not sure how his shirt made his eyes appear even bluer, but it did.

  Please don’t blush this time, I begged my traitorous body. Silence hung in the air again as he smirked and held my gaze. Finally, he spoke.

  “Would one suffering from delusions of grandeur drive an old pickup truck, though? Wouldn’t something, say, like a Range Rover be much more ‘grand’?”

  Ignoring my inner pleas, my face blushed at his obvious cutting remark about Pete’s vehicle. The blushing is what finally did it. I was getting tired of feeling like a fool around this guy.

  “Well, I think it’s entirely possible that someone driving, say, a pickup truck could believe he is ‘grander’ than he really is – because he is in fact delusional. On that same note, let’s say someone in a position of authority hits on students for fun. Would that person suffer from delusions of grandeur or something else psychologically messed up, Doctor Reeding?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Grant grimace, turn his back and slip off into the crowd. Queen Benedict Arnold! And though it felt good getting all of that off my chest, I thought, for the briefest moment, that I saw a look of hurt run across Pickup Grinner’s chiseled face.

  Then the smirk came back. No creases. Just the slight smirk….and the silence. The awkward, awful silence, hanging….

  Immediately, I regretted my blurting stupid mouth. “I..uh….I….I don’t know why I said that….”

  He stepped forward, closing the space between us, still smirking. He cleared his throat and his voice was low, so that only I could hear.

  “It’s okay, Shay. It was the white elephant in the room. We need to talk about it.” He ran his hands through his thick, dark hair and I glanced away, unable to watch him carry out even that smallest gesture for fear of my sanity.

  He shook his head. “I didn’t know you were a grad student. I’m not like that. I wouldn�
��t have said anything if I’d known…..I’m surprised I did anyway.”

  I looked up and our eyes met. “Why did you then?” I wanted to know. I had to know. I clarified, “Say something to me, I mean.”

  He looked away. I didn’t think he was going to answer. The silence loomed again.

  Finally, he whispered, “I don’t know. I mean, yeah, I know why I wanted to say something. You’re obviously gorgeous…” My heart leapt at those words. He thought I was “gorgeous”?

  “But I’m not sure what made me do it. I’m not usually so brazen….not to hit on someone with her friend ten feet away…” He looked at me and smirked again.

  I blushed. Dammit. The stupid blushing again.

  He noticed my embarrassment and gave me a huge smile, creases and all. I could die of embarrassment and happiness at the same time. I think it’s possible. My death certificate would say, “Cause of Death: Embarrassment with a Case of Happiness. Too much for her to handle.”

  He continued. “I know it sounds weird, but I also felt like I’d seen you somewhere before, like I knew you. I don’t know. That sounds crazy, doesn’t it?….” He trailed off again and chuckled lowly before meeting my eyes once more. “I think the biggest thing was that you looked so sad and bored. I just wanted to see you smile.” He smiled again and I couldn’t help but smile in return.

  He stepped in even closer and I could feel the heat of his body next to mine. I wondered if he could hear my heart beating erratically. He whispered in my ear: “See? There it is. That’s what I’m talking about.”

  I swallowed and shifted my feet, uncomfortably aware of my wetness below. I bit my bottom lip as hard as I could – just to remind myself of where I was and to keep from imploding into a mass of blithering lust in the floor.

  He was still so close to my body, his hot breath in my ear. With all of the courage I could muster, I turned my head and met his eyes. Lost in them yet again, I unconsciously flicked my tongue over my sore lip.