“I feel the same!” he replied cheerfully. “I often find that the spring semester is slow to begin, because students are sluggish after the holidays. But I am quite pleased with the quality of students I have. They’re not always this bright. Aren’t we lucky?”
A student brushed past on the other side of Galloway, and before seeing him I knew from his cologne or deodorant orwhatever that it was Jace. He glanced over and gave me a private little wink that the other professor couldn’t see.
While watching him shove his hands in his jacket pockets and walk away, I said, “We are lucky indeed.”
One of my favorite routines from the previous semester was treating myself to a drink at a local bar after my last class on Friday.Frankie’swas the bar I liked the most, because it was one block away from campus, next to the parking garage where I parked for class. I found an empty barstool and waved to the bartender when he glanced my way.
“Gin and tonic.”
He stared at me for a few seconds, then said, “Coming right up.” I pulled out the quizzes from class today and a red pen. Grading papers or tests always went faster when I did it at the bar. It felt like less of a chore.
While making my drink, the bartender kept glancing over at me. Eventually, I realized how he knew me—and how I knewhim.
“One gin and tonic,” he said, placing a tumbler glass in front of me.
“You’re Brock Radley, right?” I asked. “From my Criminology class?”
His smile was almost apologetic. “Evening, Professor Carrington.”
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised about running into students in a college town.” But something about his face was tickling another memory. A few heartbeats later, it fell into place.
“Wait. You’re the guy who… shit. You’re friends with Jace Strickland.”
He planted both palms on the counter and cocked his head at me. “I wouldn’t say we’re friends. I just met him in class on Monday.”
“Yeah, well, you’re friendly enough to know about our situation. Or am I wrong?”
“None of my business,” he replied bluntly.
Sighing, I lifted my bag into my lap and started putting away my papers. “I’ll take the check.”
“Where are you going?”
“To find another bar.”
“Hey, wait,” Brock said. “You really don’t have to do that. I don’t care about whatever dumb situation happened between you and Jace. I’m just a bartender, and you’re just a customer. Besides, there’s no check to bring. That drink’s on the house.”
“Is that a bribe?”
“Depends on what you give me on the quiz.”
He held my gaze a moment later, then went down to the other end of the bar to help two sorority girls who had just sat down. Heseemedgenuine about not caring about the situation with Jace, so I decided to stay and enjoy the drink.
As I went back to grading quizzes, I occasionally glanced over at Brock. He had jet-black hair and a full, but short-cut, beard. He was broad-shouldered and carried himself like an athlete. And, like Jace, he seemed older than the rest of the Freshmen in my class.
“How’s the drink?” he asked a few minutes later.
“It’s excellent. How old are you, Brock?”
He blinked, then answered: “Twenty-six. I’m the one who’s supposed to be checkingyourage, though.”
I chuckled wryly. “I didn’t have any older students in the fall semester. Now I’ve got you and Jace, who’s twenty-seven.”
Brock snorted. “It goes both ways: I was expecting some gray-haired former cop with a beer belly to be my Criminology professor. And I didn’t think I’d still be in school by this age. It’s a long story. But I’ll graduate before I’m thirty, which is something, I guess.”
“Professor Galloway doesn’t have a beer belly,” I said, “but he’s a former detective with gray hair. You’ll probably have him next year.”
“I’m actually in his Forensic Science class on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He’s not bad.”
