“Wait, let me try that again.” She flipped back her ponytail, and cleared her throat. “Next week Dean Sutter is having his annual reception for the students who are completing the graduate program. If you aren’t doing anything…what I mean is…would you like to go with me? As my date. Well, not really a date of course…just someone to sit with at dinner.”
Jake stared at her a moment longer, yawned and then walked away, clearly unimpressed.
She glared at his retreating back. “Thanks, you ingrate. See if I bring home any more kibble.”
He didn’t even turn around. Instead he gave her “the tail.” She was fairly certain it was the feline version of flipping her off. The persnickety tabby often turned and stiffened his tail when he was displeased about something.
“I heard they’re serving salmon for dinner,” she called after him, but he ignored her and disappeared down the hall.
Emma sighed. She didn’t know why she was going through this futile exercise anyway. If she didn’t complete her thesis, she wouldn’t be going to the reception. Which meant she’d be stuck in school for another several months, assuming Professor Peters’s patience didn’t run out. Or her funds did. Both were serious contenders to screwing up her degree.
God, she had to be the oldest graduate student in history. She sank onto the edge of her bed and dropped back onto the mattress and stared at the chipped ceiling. Of course that wasn’t true—many people returned to school after raising families or whatever, but it felt as though she’d been in the graduate program forever, lagging behind because money had run out, or her job as a teaching assistant required too much time, or her mother was calling her back home to Utah for some ridiculous reason.
Emma fell for it every time, no matter how flimsy her mom’s new excuse. Guilt would start gnawing at her for not having been the perfect child her parents had dreamed of having, and she’d drop everything to go be her mother’s crutch. Usually even without her mom’s subtle reminders of how much she’d sacrificed to work with Emma, the years she’d spent helping her learn to read so she could be a “normal” child.
She blocked the destructive thoughts from her mind. Her energy was much better spent finding a new subject for the final phase of her thesis, not that she honestly had much hope. It had taken her best Bob Seger CD, a nerve-wracking dinner with the lascivious Martin Stanley, and a promise to clean Norman Cove’s apartment for two months to secure the last three male subjects.
She sighed. Now that Norman had backed out, at least she didn’t have to scrape together a few hours a week to do his cleaning. Time was becoming more of an issue. As it was she didn’t know how she could continue to volunteer at the animal shelter.
She loved working with the strays. It was a way of giving back for the kindness her elderly neighbor had shown her when she herself had been a kind of stray, roaming the neighborhood after school when she’d felt unwelcome in her own home.
There was a bright side. Not having to clean Norm’s apartment would allow her time to work an extra shift at the pub. Or more time for her thesis.
If she still had a shot.
She was so screwed.
The phone rang, and Emma leaped off the bed, foolishly hoping someone was answering her new ad from the library bulletin board.
“It’s Brenda,” her friend said before Emma finished getting out her hello. “How you doing, kiddo?”
“Better than roadkill.”
“That good, huh?”
“I can’t believe this is happening.” She carried the phone back to the bed and flopped down. “I am so pissed at Norm I could strangle him.”
“Why did he bail?”
“He claims he’s flunking chemistry and he has to use the time to study more.” Emma snorted. “Flunking my butt. I got a glimpse of his new lab partner.”
“What a jerk! He’s a whiz at chemistry. Did he actually think you’d buy that excuse?”
“Hard to believe he beat a million other sperm to the finish, isn’t it?”
Brenda laughed.
Emma joined her, and then sighed. “Men. If they put one on the moon, they ought to be able to put them all there.”
“No argument from me.” Brenda hesitated. “This isn’t like you to be joking at a time like this. You’re not going over the edge on me, are you?”
“I think I’m in shock. I’m so close to finishing—this is like a bad dream, no, a nightmare. If I don’t find some humor, I’ll do something—I don’t know what, but it won’t be pretty.”
“Well, you can thank me with a hot fudge sundae because I’m about to save your butt.”
“What? You’re going to dress in drag and be my final male subject?”
“Are you ready for some good news or not?”
“I am so ready.”
Brenda paused dramatically. “I’ve got a guy for you.”
Emma frowned. This had better not be one of Brenda’s setups. Although it seemed she’d given up trying months ago. “Define that further.”
“My brother.”
“The womanizer?”
Brenda cleared her throat. “That’s not exactly how I’d categorize him. Women are drawn to him.”
“You said once he had a different ‘flavor’ for each week.” Emma stared at her pathetically short fingernails. At least she wasn’t biting them anymore. Maybe they’d look halfway decent in time for the reception.
“I know, but not because he necessarily encourages it.” Brenda sighed. “Nick’s one of those guys women do silly things for…even the ones you’d never expect to behave like that act like brainless morons around him.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “And you want me to go out with him?”
Her friend laughed. “Oh, God, no. He’s volunteering to be your test subject.”
Heat singed Emma’s face. She knew she was bright red right now, a curse of her fair Irish skin. “I knew that.”
Brenda chuckled. “I wouldn’t do that to you, Em. He’s my brother and I love him…I even like him most of the time. But I would never try to fix you two up. Trust me.”
“I’d been thinking about the Dean’s reception and my mind was on a different track so I—” Emma’s muttering came to an abrupt halt as realization sunk in. “He’ll do it? For the whole two weeks?”
“Yup.”
“Why?”
“He owes me a favor.”
Emma got a funny feeling in her tummy. “Does he want to do it?”
“No.”
“Great.”
“Have any of your subjects wanted to do it? If I remember correctly, you did an awful lot of bribing and bartering.”
“True, but this is the end of the line. He can’t bail out on me because he has something else to do, or decides he doesn’t like being asked a gazillion questions.”
“He won’t bail. We have an understanding.”
Emma hesitated, not that she had much choice. As she’d said herself, it was the end of the line. Heaven help her if she didn’t finish her thesis. Not only was she flat broke, but the job they’d promised her at the clinic would be given to someone else who already has their master’s. “Does he have any time restraints?”
“I