Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
“I think he’d see past that now. He’s been here for almost a month.”
“You missed your chance. You’ll have to think of some other excuse.”
“I don’t need an excuse. I’m not going over there. I’m not spying on him because I’m trying to think of some lame way to introduce myself. I’m happy being single.”
“Right.” Leanne rolls her beautiful baby blues. They’re the kind of blue that seriously puts the sky to shame. Her waist-length blonde hair and her tall and slim frame kind of make her look like a fairy.
“I am!” I insist. “Anyway, even if I wasn’t and I was trying to catch a glimpse of the hottie next door to try and indulge in some dirty fantasies, it would still be better than dreaming about Professor Old Balls all day.”
“Stop!” Leanne nearly chokes on her wine. She sets her glass down on the island where she uncorked the bottle.
“Sorry.” I decide that what I said was unkind. I pick up my glass from beside hers and do my best to look contrite. I take a small sip of the wine. “This is good. I’m glad I decided to try this one. They had it on sale, and the label was kind of exciting too.” I attempt to change the subject, but Leanne isn’t having any of it.
“He’s not old balls! He’s fifty. That’s not that bad. Anyway, it wouldn’t be like a permanent thing.”
“Gag me with a spoon.”
“No, it wouldn’t be kinky like that. He’s hot because of his mind. I’ve never met anyone who was so all-encompassing. He knows literally everything there is to know about history.”
Leanne is currently doing her Masters in History. She’s crazy serious about her education. We went to the same community college. She took History. I took English. I always wanted to be a writer. I know you don’t have to have an actual degree to do that, but my parents insisted I do something, and Leanne didn’t want to go and experience the joys and heartbreaks of college all by herself, so I gave in. My brother, on the other hand, studied freaking chemical engineering. My mom works at a hospital here in Chicago, doing blood testing, and my dad is a civil engineer, so I guess I’m a bit of a letdown as far as our family education goes. Whatevs. I’m happy keeping strange hours, working in my pajamas, spinning mysteries, and creating love matches to make up for my own lack of a love life to worry about how I barely make ends meet.
“Yeah, but he’s still fifty. Isn’t that kind of old? Don’t you think he’d be too shriveled up? And would it be hot if he started talking to you about some ancient civilization or some war while you’re in the middle of doing it?”
“Yes. Extremely,” Leanne sighs. She tops up her wine, filling her glass nearly to the top before she pads off towards the living room. I follow her, and she pats the seat next to her with her free hand. “Come on. Tell me all about the dirty crush you have on your neighbor.”
“It’s not a dirty crush. In fact, I don’t have a crush at all. I just think he’s weird.”
“You’ve mentioned the whole black clothes, always covered up, keeping weird hours thing. It’s not really that strange. People work all sorts of jobs now. Maybe he does the night shift or has a sun allergy.”
“Or maybe he’s actually affiliated with an underground crime organization.”
“You have been watching, reading, and writing waaaaay too much crazy shit lately. It’s like the trifecta with you.”
“Don’t bang old balls until after you’re done with his class. It might seriously affect your grades if you bail out midway because he does indeed have a shriveled-up sack.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“He’s probably as creepy as the neighbor over there. How is he still single at fifty?”
“Because he is someone who dedicates his entire life to learning, writing about, preserving, and teaching history,” Leanne sighs dreamily. She takes a sip of wine like she’s trying to console herself. “It probably won’t happen. He’s oblivious, and I keep sending him signals. The class is over in a few weeks.”
“Who takes summer classes? If you weren’t so crazy studious and took them during the fall and winter like everyone else, you wouldn’t have class every morning every single day, and you’d get a little bit more time to dream about wrinkles and white chest hairs.”
Leanne screws up her nose. “What exactly is wrong with either of those things? Seriously? You’re a fine one to talk. I’ve read your books. You write about all manner of crazy shit. Mysteries, check. BDSM, check. Mob stuff, check. Biker clubs, check. Age gap, check, check, and check.”
“I haven’t written about a student who jumps her professor’s bones, though, because it’s weird and gross. And what if he spoils your reputation with the other professors?”