Divine: A Novel by Aven Jayce

you?”
    “Time,” I shrug. “I’m tenure-tracking and
I’ve been writing a lot, so it’s like working two full-time jobs. I’m also a
bit of a recluse so it’s not very often that I come across a guy who seems
approachable. I mean, how do you meet someone when you’re always home?”
    “You slip a note under his door,” he
grins. “But, I understand what you’re saying, the working and writing part at
least. It’s also hard to find a date in a small university town. Seems
everyone’s between eighteen and twenty-one, and I don’t want to be one of those
townie creeps who hangs out on campus and goes after the college girls until
he’s forty. You know the type. Plus, my last girlfriend took me for a ride. She
stole half my savings and disappeared. I wanted some time alone after that.”
    “Really?”
    “Unfortunately,” he nods. “She asked for
a loan to put a down payment on a house, but instead she took the money and
ran.”
    “How long were the two of you together?
Did you call the police? Have you heard from her at all? What the fuck? I
thought you said you weren’t one of those broken men?”
    He laughs. I can’t believe he’s laughing,
what a shit-ass thing for a woman to do. I wonder if her name is Margaret Cole.
    “She didn’t break me. It was a bad
decision I made, but I can’t dwell on it or punish other women because of her.
She’s a bitch and I’ll leave it at that.”
    Smart. I’d dwell. I’m a dweller.
    “It will be a year this summer.”
    I nod. My voyeuristic pursuits through
his bedroom window started three months ago. He’s always alone. “And that was
your last girlfriend?”
    “Serious one, yeah. I had two flings a
month later, but nothing I’d pursue; more like rebounds. Then I felt like I
needed some time alone... so what are you writing? Is it scholarly? A
textbook?”
    He changes the subject quickly and I get
the drift. I noticed that at dinner as well. He focuses on the present more
than the past, which is good, because my past isn’t for the faint-of-heart. I’d
like to keep it to myself for as long as possible.
    “I’m writing novels based on women’s
issues, or maybe you could categorize them as ‘women’s studies,’ how about
you?” I lie, kind of. I guess you could call erotic novels ‘women’s studies.’
    “Men’s studies,” he jokes. “A side
project, actually, on fishing. The proper way to catch, prepare, cook, and eat a
good fish.”
    “You’re writing about gutting and eating
fish?”
    “Men like it, just like I’m sure women
enjoy your books. Right? Are they published yet?”
    “I’ve self-published three, working on a
fourth.”
    “Same here.” He takes my hand while
carrying my two bags in the other.
    “Professor Hallowell.” My name is called
out by a high-pitched voice. “Professor!”
    There’s no escape from the university.
The town’s too small and the campus enrollment too large to go anywhere without
bumping into a colleague or a student. Oh, Jesus. It’s sorority girl Hannah’s
sorority friend; sorority girl number two. Same pink sweatshirt and blue jeans
as Hannah. It’s hard to tell these girls apart sometimes, Greekers all look the
same, don’t they? Is that racist?
      “Hi Bridgette,” I smile. She takes out her
cell and snaps a photo of Dan and me then asks the most dumbass and
inappropriate question. It’s like I’m back in the classroom with the ditz.
    “You getting married? Did this guy knock
you up?”
    Dan releases my hand while Bridgette
chomps her gum, waiting for an answer that will never come. She blows a bubble
resembling a growing red pimple that’s taking over her face. I want to pop it
so it splatters and gets stuck in her hair. A big sugar bubble explosi...
    Whoa.
    He did it. Dan did it.
    “Oh my gosh,” Bridgette whines. “Like,
why did you do that?” She starts picking at the gum, only to have it stick to
her fingers as she pulls pieces away in long strings not unlike