Page 10 of Fundamentals of Being a Good Girl
In the interest of fairness, our department divides the 100- and 200-level courses among the teachers evenly, and while I know some professors prefer the smaller, upper-division assignments, I never mind teaching the early stuff. It’s mostly first-years, and yes, they are exhausting, but they’re kind of adorable too. And nothing beats watching a student discover that theylikescience, that they can begoodat it, that this is only the beginning and there will be more and more and more, as much science as they want.
“By the way,” Leo says, in a voice that is too casual to be truly offhand, “that cute little hookup of yours was scurrying to Salih while I was walking in.”
Salih Hall houses the psychology and gender studies departments... and the political science department.
And I knew Maddie was teaching here, Iknewshe’d be in the building next to me, and yet—
I guess I thought it wouldn’t affect me. That I wouldn’t immediately think of Saturday night, of the plush curve of her ass while I had her bent over a kitchen table in an abandoned apartment above a dive bar.
Of how wet my cock had been every time I slid free of her body.
I look over at Leo and find him regarding me with a shrewd silver stare. His lidded eyes and bored expression might fool the poor souls who are ensorcelled by his angelic features and enviable hair, but not me. Leo and I have enough history that I can recognize when his interest has moved past curious tohere be dragons.
“Yes,” I say finally, having found mythis is neutral informationvoice. “She’s adjuncting here.”
“Mm.” Leo gives his apple an indolent toss. And then another. “And this is information she disclosed to you while you were upstairs explaining local parking regulations to her?”
The tips of my ears burn—one of the few things from my awkward childhood that’s followed me into my thirties—and I look back at my laptop. “She’s going to help out with the twins. Actually.”
The apple stops.
“The twins,” he says.
“And Fern. Sometimes. Maybe.”
“Bram,you slept with the nanny?”
“She’s a childcare provider,” I say, a little sternly. “And we didn’t have an employee-employer relationship when it happened.”
“Sure, sure,” reassures Leo. “I mean, itwouldbe the most interesting thing you’ve done since you and Sara went allFernGullyon construction equipment in your twenties, but I know our rebellious Bram is all mature and well-behaved now.”
I’m not really listening at this point. I have the semester course listings pulled up on my laptop, and I’ve already found the classroom Maddie is teaching in today. If I go now, I can still catch her.
I stand up before I have a chance to talk myself out of it, and Leo blinks up at me. Then he grins. “Are you going to gofindher? Your childcare provider?”
“I should make sure she has everything she needs for this afternoon, since it’ll be her first time alone with the kids,” I say. I think it’s plausible. It’s plausible enough that I believe it myself.
I just don’t know if it’s the entire truth.
Leo surges up from the love seat. “Excellent, I’m coming with you.”
“Absolutelynot—”
But he’s already up and walking toward the door, his expensive shoes gleaming along with the apple in his hand. It only takes me a few strides to catch up with him—despite being much shorter than him for the first part of high school, I’m every bit as tall as he is now—and then we’re pushing out of Gerhart (molecular biosciences, ecology, and undergraduate bio) and into the late August sun.
Leo tosses his apple as he walks, silver watch flashing on his wrist, the lines of his Italian cotton shirt pulling at his shoulders and arms. His trousers have somehow kept their perfect crease even after he’s sprawled all over my office, and the sun catches the sharp perfection of his jaw and cheekbones. Undergrads of every gender stare open-mouthed at him as we pass, something we both ignore. When it comes to Leo Saint James, admiration is to be expected. Particularly when the admirers have no idea how cutting, cunning, and cruel Leo can be when he’s in the mood.
Leo suddenly stops just before we reach the steps up to Salih’s glass doors. “Bram,” he says in a whisper, yanking at my arm. “What the fuck is that thing?”
I follow his eyes to the bench by the stairs, where a gray and brown beast is watching us with unimpressed gold eyes. Its ears barely emerge from its fluff, its face is framed by drooping whiskers and what looks like a beard, and it’s so round that the shadow it casts on the sidewalk is a perfect circle. It gives a low growl of warning.
“Oh. That’s Dr. Monty Python.”
“Dr. Monty Python?”
“The humanities department gave him an honorary doctorate inlitter-aturelast year,” I clarify.
“I— This makes no sense.”
