Teacher's Pet

I knocked it back neat and smiled. "Did I tell you Dean Dunkirk's daughter saved me? She had questions about class and suggested I meet with all the journalism students before they left."

Jackson gave me a curious, sideways glance. "Saved you from a blind date?"

"Not like that," I shook my head. Why had I told Jackson about Clarity? "Besides, I thought you liked to be up on campus gossip. She's dating the star quarterback."

Jackson breathed a sigh of relief and started talking football. All I could think about was Clarity smiling up at that young jock. Adam was tall, with black hair and blue eyes. Was that Clarity's type? I ran a hand through my own wild, black hair and scowled.

"I know what's bothering you," Jackson said.

I took another long sip of beer. "I doubt it."

"You want to get back into journalism. You never wanted to leave. And now your department head is breathing down your neck, you took on the student paper to appease her, and it's only made you miss the real thing."

"Macken doesn't bother me," I said.

"God, how can she not? I'm not even in your department, and that woman frightens me." Jackson leaned his elbows on the bar. "She's had you on unofficial probation since you started. Doesn't that drive you insane?"

I ground my teeth and finished half my beer. "You and I both know I deserve to be on probation."

"One accidental indiscretion your first year does not make you the scourge of the School of Journalism. There was no complaint, no proof, and it was a one-time thing. Macken needs to find a new hobby," Jackson said.

It was more than once. Just one unforgivable week. I crushed a peanut against the polished wood of the bar. "At least we have a winning football team this year. Not that I think the sun shines out our quarterback's ass. He's good, but too showy, and it's gonna cost the team. The star running back, Carl, on the other hand. He's got his head on straight."

Jackson swiveled on his bar stool to study my face. "Not a fan of the quarterback, huh? I've got him in class, and he's a good guy."

I snorted, thinking about the special considerations college football players thought came with their talent. "Wait 'till you try to give him an honest grade."

"Better a football player than the Dean of Students' daughter. No wonder you're not into the flow of the semester yet. It has to be hard thinking the dean is getting the lowdown on your class every day."

"Clarity's not like that." I put my beer down too sharply. "She's hard-working and ultra-focused. Too focused, actually. Dean Dunkirk keeps hinting that he wants her to break out of her career track and try a few other things before graduating."

"Hmm," Jackson said, considering me. "Maybe she should try out my creative writing elective. I'll let you suggest it if you want to score points with the dean."

"Somebody's got to do something about this music," I stood up. "Order me another beer, will ya? I'm going to go stock the jukebox with something good."

"Sure. Two beers and shots for a bad date sounds about right."

I left Jackson chatting with the bartender and made my way across the bar to the jukebox. It stood just outside the hallway to the restrooms, and I was relieved to see the pop playlist was almost over. I selected a few blues pieces and slipped something a little harder in between. My mood was definitely darker than the upbeat chorus that was currently repeating.

"Ford Bauer, what a surprise! Wasn't sure I'd ever see you again."

The hairs on the back of my neck bristled. "Barton," I bit out.

Wesley Barton sauntered down the hallway from the restroom and held out a hand for me to shake. I crossed my arms and looked the disgustingly wealthy entrepreneur over. The suit was Italian, custom-made, and his shoes flashed with a high polish. Despite his husky build and his salt and pepper hair, Barton was attractive. His jovial smile had the women that passed us to the bathroom fluttering their eyelashes.

I imagined punching him in the face and almost returned his smile. "Slumming it?" I asked.

"Meeting a friend. He's got connections up at Landsman College. Maybe you k

now him? Michael Tailor?" Barton nodded towards one of the tables in the front window. "How about you join us, and I buy you a drink?"

"Back off, Barton." I stepped forward and made him rock back on his heels. "We both know you deserve to be in jail, and you would be if you didn't have my editor in your pocket."

"Former editor," he reminded me. "And I don't think it counts as 'in my pocket' when I own the entire media outlet."

"If you're going to censor stories and only present the facts that you approve, then it should be called entertainment, not media."

Barton slapped me on the shoulder. "Don't be so sore just because we killed your story. I gave you a chance to stay. You could have found other stories to cover and kept your career. Who knew you'd tuck tail right away and run for a cushy academic job?"