by Claire Adams
His eyes darted back and forth, and his nerves made sense. Thomas had been trying for a year and a half to ask me out, but he'd never gotten up the courage. We were friends, and I never encouraged him past that. Now he was warning me as a friend, but also as a jealous rival. Thomas couldn't stand the idea of Professor Bauer getting close to me when he wasn't.
"Thanks, Thomas," I patted his arm and walked away.
"I'll see you at the football game tonight?" he called.
I waved over my shoulder and kept walking. Our class was meeting at the football game to practice capturing quick details and to try the fast pace of sports journalism.
It was just my luck that when I arrived at the game, the only available seat was right next to Ford. I had intended to spend the whole game thinking of ways to insulate myself against gossip, but now with Ford cheering beside me, my good intentions were scattering.
"More important than the game is the crowd," Ford told me and the students near us. "The reader is one of the cheering fans, so it's important for them to know how the real fans reacted in the stands. Look around and take note of what you see."
"I see Professor Appleyard in face paint," I said.
Ford looked where I pointed and burst out laughing. "You've got a good eye for details, Dunkirk," he said.
It was casual, and none of the other students even noticed, but I felt his thigh bump against mine as if an explosion had rocked the entire set of bleachers. I had to find a way to put some serious distance between us.
After the game, Ford led us onto the field to interview the players. The players had been prepped by their coach, and it was a learning opportunity for them too. That didn't explain why the players jostled each other to answer my questions, but Ford put an end to that quickly.
"Why don't you talk to Brian Tailor? You met his father at the art opening, remember?" Ford asked me.
"The star running back?" Thomas asked. "I have questions for him."
Ford frowned, but before he could steer me in another direction, the quarterback appeared in front of me.
"Hi, I'm Adam," he said with a charming smile.
I smiled back, despite Ford's gunmetal glance. "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions, Adam?"
"If you answer one for me first," the quarterback said. "Would you go out with me tomorrow night?"
His teammates cat-called, and the nearest ones landed punches on his shoulder, but Adam kept smiling at me with his bright-blue, hopeful eyes. He was perfect.
Ford hovered near by and a few of my journalism classmates whispered about the look on his face.
"I'd love to, Adam." I squashed the rumors, shut down my own inappropriate feelings for a professor, and accepted a date all in one sentence. "Now, how about that interview?"
Chapter Four
Ford
I met Jackson outside the bar and waited while he made kissing noises into his phone.
"Sorry, I haven't seen Alice all day," he said. He dropped his phone into his pocket and opened the swinging door of the bar.
I patted my friend's shoulder as I went inside. "That's alright, 'cause you're buying."
We both stopped immediately inside the door and scanned the room for students. Landsman College was in the midst of a smaller outlying town, and the chances of running into students was high everywhere I went. Normally, it was fine, fun even, but tonight I wanted to drink.
Seeing only a few quiet couples and scattered regulars, Jackson and I found seats at the bar. The standing lamps mixed in amongst the shelves of booze was almost the only light in the place. Weak lightbulbs encased in dusty, red, glass shades hung over us with barely enough glow to light a bowl of peanuts.
I felt the knots in my shoulders finally start to loosen. "Beer and a shot," I ordered.
Jackson handed the bartender his credit card and ordered a beer. "Was the blind date really that bad?" he asked.
The bartender chuckled as he moved over to the taps. I caught his sympathetic glance and nodded. "What made me think going on any date in front of students was a good idea?" I wondered.
"Alice thought she was fun, might break you out of your perpetual bad mood," Jackson said.
"Since when is fun discussing the details of a pet iguana's eating habits?" I picked up the beer the bartender passed me and took a long, grateful gulp. "At full volume in the middle of an art opening?"
"I thought she was at least pretty." Jackson clacked his pint glass against mine.
"Yes, in a bright, cartoonish sort of way. She didn't let me get a single word in between the iguana, her bathroom grout, and plans to host a karaoke Christmas."
My friend choked on his beer. "Yeah, Alice warned me that Tara was really into karaoke. I just figured you wanted the fun of meeting someone knew. I didn't think you'd be singing duets or anything."
"Singing duets?" The thought was horrifying. The openly laughing bartender poured us both a shot of whiskey.
I knocked it back neat and smiled. "Did I tell you Dean Dunkirk's daughter saved me? She had questions about class and suggested I meet with all the journalism students before they left."
Jackson gave me a curious, sideways glance. "Saved you from a blind date?"
"Not like that," I shook my head. Why had I told Jackson about Clarity? "Besides, I thought you liked to be up on campus gossip. She's dating the star quarterback."
Jackson breathed a sigh of relief and started talking football. All I could think about was Clarity smiling up at that young jock. Adam was tall, with black hair and blue eyes. Was that Clarity's type? I ran a hand through my own wild, black hair and scowled.
"I know what's bothering you," Jackson said.
I took another long sip of beer. "I doubt it."
"You want to get back into journalism. You never wanted to leave. And now your department head is breathing down your neck, you took on the student paper to appease her, and it's only made you miss the real thing."
"Macken doesn't bother me," I said.
"God, how can she not? I'm not even in your department, and that woman frightens me." Jackson leaned his elbows on the bar. "She's had you on unofficial probation since you started. Doesn't that drive you insane?"
I ground my teeth and finished half my beer. "You and I both know I deserve to be on probation."
"One accidental indiscretion your first year does not make you the scourge of the School of Journalism. There was no complaint, no proof, and it was a one-time thing. Macken needs to find a new hobby," Jackson said.
It was more than once. Just one unforgivable week. I crushed a peanut against the polished wood of the bar. "At least we have a winning football team this year. Not that I think the sun shines out our quarterback's ass. He's good, but too showy, and it's gonna cost the team. The star running back, Carl, on the other hand. He's got his head on straight."
Jackson swiveled on his bar stool to study my face. "Not a fan of the quarterback, huh? I've got him in class, and he's a good guy."
I snorted, thinking about the special considerations college football players thought came with their talent. "Wait 'till you try to give him an honest grade."
"Better a football player than the Dean of Students' daughter. No wonder you're not into the flow of the semester yet. It has to be hard thinking the dean is getting the lowdown on your class every day."
"Clarity's not like that." I put my beer down too sharply. "She's hard-working and ultra-focused. Too focused, actually. Dean Dunkirk keeps hinting that he wants her to break out of her career track and try a few other things before graduating."
"Hmm," Jackson said, considering me. "Maybe she should try out my creative writing elective. I'll let you suggest it if you want to score points with the dean."
"Somebody's got to do something about this music," I stood up. "Order me another beer, will ya? I'm going to go stock the jukebox with something good."
"Sure. Two beers and shots for a bad date sounds about right."
I left Jackson chatting with the b
artender and made my way across the bar to the jukebox. It stood just outside the hallway to the restrooms, and I was relieved to see the pop playlist was almost over. I selected a few blues pieces and slipped something a little harder in between. My mood was definitely darker than the upbeat chorus that was currently repeating.
"Ford Bauer, what a surprise! Wasn't sure I'd ever see you again."
The hairs on the back of my neck bristled. "Barton," I bit out.
Wesley Barton sauntered down the hallway from the restroom and held out a hand for me to shake. I crossed my arms and looked the disgustingly wealthy entrepreneur over. The suit was Italian, custom-made, and his shoes flashed with a high polish. Despite his husky build and his salt and pepper hair, Barton was attractive. His jovial smile had the women that passed us to the bathroom fluttering their eyelashes.
I imagined punching him in the face and almost returned his smile. "Slumming it?" I asked.
"Meeting a friend. He's got connections up at Landsman College. Maybe you know him? Michael Tailor?" Barton nodded towards one of the tables in the front window. "How about you join us, and I buy you a drink?"
"Back off, Barton." I stepped forward and made him rock back on his heels. "We both know you deserve to be in jail, and you would be if you didn't have my editor in your pocket."
"Former editor," he reminded me. "And I don't think it counts as 'in my pocket' when I own the entire media outlet."
"If you're going to censor stories and only present the facts that you approve, then it should be called entertainment, not media."
Barton slapped me on the shoulder. "Don't be so sore just because we killed your story. I gave you a chance to stay. You could have found other stories to cover and kept your career. Who knew you'd tuck tail right away and run for a cushy academic job?"
I knocked Barton's hand away. "You forced me out. You used all your money and connections to make the facts disappear, and then you sent that shark of a lawyer to warn me about libel."
"To warn you, yes." Barton tried to step around me. "It was your decision to leave Wire Communications."
"What choice did I have?" The volume of my voice was edging up past the jukebox music. "I'm a journalist. I can't work at a place that kills the facts to protect its own."
"You were a journalist. From what I hear, you're now a professor. That can't be all bad. In fact, I met a Landsman College student the other day. Patrick Dunkirk's daughter."
"Clarity?" My throat closed around her name.
Barton nodded with a reptilian smile. "She's interested in journalism internships. Quite ambitious, oh, and beautiful. I can't feel bad about where you ended up when the students at Landsman look like her." Barton kissed his fingertips.
I grabbed his hand and crushed it in my palm. "I know you think you're untouchable, but I'm ready to get my hands dirty."
"Whoa, hey, sorry for the misunderstanding. We were just leaving." Jackson grabbed me by both shoulders and yanked me away from the rich man.
I jerked free of my friend and tried to get back into Barton's smug face. Jackson dodged in front of me. "Move, we're not done."
"We're leaving," Jackson said.
For a lanky English professor, my friend was deceptively strong. I could have taken him out with one, well-placed punch, but he knew I wouldn't, so he shoved me towards the door with impunity.
"Nice to see you, professor," Barton called.
The bar door swung shut behind us, and Jackson let out a tight breath. "What in the hell was all that about?"
I paced up and down the sidewalk. "That? That slimy worm of a man is Wesley Barton, owner of Wire Communications."
"The man you tried to take down?" Jackson asked.
"The man that discredited me and forced me to leave journalism." Something snapped, and I lunged for the door.
"Whoa, not tonight," Jackson groaned as he pushed me back. "That conversation is over."
"My whole career is over because of him. Right now, he should be rotting in jail while I polish a journalism award. The only reason it all turned out like this is because he's rich." I stalked up and down the sidewalk again and wished Barton would try to leave the bar.
Jackson held out his skinny arms and tried to corral me towards my apartment. "I'm not sure you can regain your professional or personal integrity by caving his face in."
The burst of laughter surprised us both. "You're right, but, god, it would feel good." My shoulders slumped. Slowly, all the reasons I needed to keep my job came flooding back into my conscience.
Jackson slapped me on the back as we walked away. "Remember, I've seen you fight before. You're lethal. My wife's a great lawyer, but even she couldn't get you out of assault with a deadly weapon. And I really like sleeping in my bed."
"Alice would make you sleep on the couch for getting into a bar fight?" I asked with a chuckle. "Fine, then for your sake, I won't go back and put my fist through his nose."
"See? What are friends for?" Jackson grinned and stopped next to his car. "Need a lift?"
"Nah, I gotta walk this off. My place isn't that far if I cut across campus," I said.
"As long as you keep walking." Jackson gave me a mock salute and drove home to his new wife.
The steep walk uphill to Landsman College cleared my head, and by the time I looked up, I was far off course. Music pumped from the row of old Victorians along the last side street before campus. The sorority and fraternity houses were always lively on the weekend, but my stomach sank as I saw which house was overflowing with a party.
The majority of Landsman jocks were Kappa Sig, and I remembered overhearing that Clarity had a date with the quarterback that night. I was still confused over why she would accept a date with a jock. Sure, he was good-looking and popular, but neither of those were important factors to Clarity. I thought she was more interested in debating current events and discussing world news. It was hard to imagine her having fun at a keg party.
I walked closer just in case she realized her mistake and was trying to leave the party.
"Psst, Bauer. Over here."
The whispered voice was hidden in the deep shadows of an oak tree. "Dean Dunkirk?" I asked, shuffling through the dry leaves to join him.
"I know, I know, this looks a little crazy," he said.
"Isn't it your job to monitor student activities on campus?"
Dean Dunkirk gave my shoulder a squeeze. "Exactly. Just doing my job. It has nothing to do with the fact that my daughter is in there with a football player."
I chuckled even as the same thought sent a stabbing pain through my chest. "You don't think her last name alone keeps her safe?"
"Clarity can take care of herself. She'll kill me if she knows I'm checking up on her. But, dammit, I'm her father, and she's my only daughter, and..."
"You don't have to explain it to me. What's the plan, captain?" I asked.
Dunkirk leaned gratefully on my shoulder. "We're going in. I drop in on the fraternities regularly, so it won't be too weird."
"Unless Clarity sees you."
"That's where you come in," Dean Dunkirk said. "I'll distract the frat boys, you check on Clarity. Once you see that all's well, we leave. Easy, right?"
"Easy," I agreed. "And not weird at all."
It would only be weird if there was something between Clarity and I, like a stolen moment in the treetops that kept playing over and over in my head. I shook off the tempting memory and followed the Dean of Students across the lawn to the frat party.
"D.O.S. in the house!" The student calls from the front yard were friendly, but also a warning to the partiers inside. They neglected to account for the volume of the music, but it was a good try, anyway.
Dean Dunkirk stopped on the front porch to shake some hands and say hello. I plastered a neutral smile on my face and strode up and down the porch, peering in the front windows of the old Victorian. There was a beer keg by the front staircase and another one in the corner of the dining room. Laser lights swept across the da
ncing crowd in the living room, and a small, terrible student band knocked out the coolest guitar riffs they could manage. The house was crowded, but the party was under control.
I couldn't see Clarity anywhere.
The dean caught up to me and chuckled as two students leapt off the porch and disappeared in a puff of suspiciously sweet smoke. "That smell takes me back. Shhh, don't tell the kids," he said with an easy-going grin.
I laughed. "Whatever you say, captain, sir."
"That's right, I always forget you were in the army." He straightened his shoulders. "You've got the look."
I brushed a hand across my wild hair. "Not so much anymore."
The dean shook his head. "Nah, it's there. That toughness. Good thing, too, in case I need an enforcer."
I followed him in the front door and laughed again. Dean Dunkirk didn't need an enforcer. Only a few students here and there slipped away. Most shook his hand or smiled and waved. A few even offered him a beer. He was very, very good at his job.
"We're keeping it under control, sir," the star running back, Carl, informed Dean Dunkirk. "IDs have been checked, and we're ready to cut off anyone that can't handle their liquor."
The dean clapped an approving hand on Carl's shoulder. "Know your limits. Always good advice."
"I prefer the motto 'Stupidity will be punished,'" I said and stepped up to a particularly red-eyed student.
"I've got him, sir," Carl said and helped his stoned friend outside for some fresh air.
"What do we do if we actually see drugs?" I asked.
Dean Dunkirk leaned in so the curious students couldn't hear. "That's not what we're looking for, remember? How about we fan out, cover more ground?"
"Yes, sir," I said. It was impossible not to like Dean Dunkirk.
I was thankful when the dean dove into the dancing crowd in the living room. I turned from the gut churning music and headed through the dining room. A keg stand stopped as soon as my feet crossed the threshold.
"Professor Bauer?" A slim brunette student blinked big eyes up at me. "You party?"