A throat clears. “Audio porn, Jenny?”
That familiar smooth English accent sends a jolt of embarrassment up my spine.
“Miles… Hi,” I breathe.Oh god, did he just hear that?
“Hey, gorgeous,” he greets me with a chaste peck on my cheek.
“Hey… Hi,” I repeat with a wince. Brushing my hair behind my ears, I shift in my seat. “I thought the English Department had its midterm mixer tonight.”
Seriously!I bite the inside of my cheek in mortification. It sounds like I’m keeping tabs on him. In my defense, I only knew this because my best friend Catherine is a fellow adjunct professor in the department.
“Those things are dreadful. I bounced.” Miles leans close, his hot breath scented by alcohol. “And I’m glad I did because I’d much rather hear about this audio porn.”
Kill me now!
“It’s erotic audio.” Garrett’s interjection is curt.
“Erotic? Scandalous… And from our sweet Jenny. Tell me everything,” Miles purrs with all the swagger of a rogue from an Austen novel.
While Garrett is all Mr. Darcy, Miles is Willoughby territory. He’s charming, carefree, and always makes me smile. With him, I never doubt that he likes me. It’s just unclear in what way he likes me—friend or the something more that I so desperately want from him.
Anker coughs. “Jenny?”
“Miles calls me Jenny.” I nibble on my lower lip.
“Why?”
Miles drapes his arm over my shoulders. “Because our sweet Jensen here has Jenny Wren vibes.”
“Jenny Wren? From Dickens?” A pinched brow is audible in Garrett’s question.
“Yeah.” I shift in my seat.
Besides my annualA Muppet’s Christmas Carolwatch with Anker, I’m not much of a Charles Dickens fan. Give me the swoon of Jane Austen or the angst of Elizabeth Gaskell. The only thing I know about Jenny Wren is that she’s a character from Dickens’Our Mutual Friend. I could just Google it, but part of me is scared to know what those vibes are. They may keep my relationship strictly platonic—minus the mini make-out sessions—with Miles, and I don’t want to lose the last flicker of hope for more with him.
Shifting in my seat, I change the subject. “So, you bailed on the department happy hour?”
“Naturally. A bunch of out-of-touch scholars droning on about the death of literature. A few of us skipped out.”
“Is Catherine with you?”
He scoffs dismissively. “No. Presently, she’s playing up to our department head.”
After four years as an adjunct, Catherine is vying for an associate professor gig. For my bestie, who adjuncts at two other universities, this will offer her higher pay and a tenure track.
“And you didn’t want to kiss up to Professor Bay-Cheng?”
“I prefer the freedom that an adjunct position affords me. Nothing tethering me. I can just pick up next semester and teach somewhere else or backpack around the US writing about my experiences, if I want.”
“Just like Kerouac,” Garrett drawls.
“Exactly!” Miles pounds his fist on the table, seeming not to catch the thinly veiled ridicule in Garrett’s comment.
But I do and purse my lips. Most people may be blind to Garrett’s mockery-filled undercurrent, but with him, I have perfect vision. Since their first meeting over the summer, it’s clear that Garrett doesn’t just dislike Miles, but he has zero respect for him.
“Are you a fan?” Miles shifts beside me, his body leaning onto the table. For whatever reason, Miles doesn’t seem to notice. Though I’d imagine for a man like him the idea of somebody not liking him is like an undiscovered planet.
“Not reallymything.”
