Technically, we’re on a dry campus and it’s a school-sponsored trip, so drinking is forbidden. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t done. I’ve never taken this course as a student, but this is my third time being here as a research assistant. I’ve got to keep my nose clean, which means I steer clear of the shenanigans a lot of the students get up to.
“Half of freaking Jock Block is here,” I tell him, referencing the nickname we have for Thurston Street.
“The year I went, it was like freaking Greek Week.”
“Oh, yeah. The Sig Delts are here in full force. One of them tried to climb me like a tree to get me to come to their impromptu mixer tonight.” I say, casting a glance at my station as I head back to the beach.
“Hell, yeah, man. Let loose and have a little fun,” Van says.
I know he means well, and even I can admit that I could do with a little relaxation, but spending any more time in the presence of Kinsey the foot-stomper is not on my list of fun things to do.
“So nice of you to join us.”
I’ve got my ear to my phone, but I know Van’s not the one talking to me. Dropping my bag onto the sand, I turn to see Claire Fowler skewering me with her fiery gaze. If I meet her eyes head on, there’s a fair chance she’ll turn me to stone. That’s why I let my eyes wander down every curve of her body. Yeah, that’s totally why. It’s self-preservation.
“My deepest apologies for taking a lunch break,” I deadpan.
For half a second, I think she might apologize or at least concede that I have the right to sustenance. But just as quickly as that flash of humanity descended, it’s gone. And in its place is the shield I know all too well.
“While you were on your break, your little girlfriend decided to sunbathe. But there’s too much shade here, so she wandered off in search of the best place to tan.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” I stammer, because for some strange reason, that’s the only part of her rant that my brain latches onto.
“Ok, your fuckbuddy. I don’t care what you call?—”
“Don’t have one of those, either,” I say, cutting her off. I know I’m fixating on a detail that’s not remotely important, but I can’t worry about that now. What I need to worry about is where the hell Kinsey traipsed off to. Dammit. Why couldn’t she sit still and, I don’t know, do her job for half a freaking hour?
I scan the beach for a good minute, but Kinsey is nowhere in sight.
“She’s at the pool.”
Claire’s voice cuts through my internal rant. “Kinsey is?” I ask, knowing the answer before I even finish the question.
“If clingy koala-girl goes by the name Kinsey, then yeah,” Claire affirms.
“Shit,” I mutter, grabbing the tablet from the table and cursing again when I realize she didn’t even bother to collect any data.
“Don’t you guys get paid for this?” Claire asks. “Or are you all volunteers?”
I shake my head. “It’s basically a paid internship,” I tell her before stalking away to check in on the various groups Kinsey left behind. I know I’m being uncharacteristically rude. I know it’s not Claire’s fault that my co-worker ditched her shift to get some rays. Claire Fowler may have been the bearer of bad news, but she wasn’t the cause of it, so I have no right to be curt with her.
But, dammit, she pushes every one of my buttons. Andthat’s some bullshit, because I’m famous for being buttonless. I mean it. My cool is legendary. My patience is endless. I teach middle schoolers, for shit’s sake. When it comes to dealing with attitude, I’m a pro.
But when it comes to dealing with my attraction to Claire, I’m a fucking novice.
3
Claire
It’s been a long damn day. I’m enjoying my courses, and the fact that my classroom is a beach. But the curriculum is a lot more demanding than I thought it would be. Or maybe I just presumed that since half my classmates don’t actually show up to class, and that one of the TAs walked off in search of a better tanning locale, the actual coursework wouldn’t be quite so rigorous. But it is. And since Kinsey didn’t record our actual data, a bunch of us ended up having to come back at the end of our other rotations just to get the work done.
Pete wasn’t on duty when I went back for round two, and I’m counting that as a win. But the fact that I missed dinner because I was redoing work I’d already completed? That goes in the loss column.
I have just enough energy to swipe my badge and let myself into my room. I’m mustering up the willpower to drag myself across the tiny space and crawl into bed. The dull throb of a headache has been surfacing for the past hour, and I know I need water, meds, and sleep, in that order.
Willing myself to function for just a few more minutes, I drain the contents of my water bottle and swallow my headache meds. After turning off the lamp that must have been lighting up an empty space all damn day, I strip out of my bathing suit, slip on the t-shirt I slept in last night, tug on my satin sleep mask, and burrow under the blankets.
For about five glorious minutes, I lie in the dark and do my best to push the crappiness of this day into my mental trash dumpster.
