...“Professor Wells? I need to speak with you about my paper.”

He kept walking, heading for his appointment with a cold beer, a Valium, and bed. He fucking hated the beginning of a semester, when everyone still believed they could break the rules. Especially these days. Christ. “My office hours are Tuesday and Thursday, one to two-thirty.”

“I have a class then.”

He shrugged. Not his problem. “Talk to the TA, then. He’ll help you out.”

The kid sighed, the sound frustrated. “I need your opinion.”

He graced the kid with a look. “Obviously I gave it to you. You have a grade.”

The look back was his mistake; he walked right into someone tall and solid enough that he went sprawling back on his ass, butt skidding on the crunchiness of the autumn grass.

“Shit! Are you okay?” A good-looking, clean-cut face leaned over him, green eyes concerned.

He blinked for a second, then hauled himself, his bag, and his pride up. “Of course. Excuse me.”

At least that scared off the questioner.

“Sorry about that, man. I should have been paying more attention to where I was going.” The guy grabbed a phone and a pile of books up before batting at him. “God, you’re covered in grass.”

“It’s fine. I was headed out.” He was not going to snarl. Not.

“Yeah, it’s Friday, isn’t it?”

He got a warm grin. The smile made the man even more good-looking, crinkles appearing at either side of the pretty eyes. The guy was a little older than most students, now that he’d gotten a better look.

“Was on my way to the pub, actually, looking for a beer to celebrate the beginning of the weekend.”

“Have a good time, son.” He nodded once, refusing to pay attention. He didn’t need any bigger of a target painted on his ass, thank you very much. No noticing pretty students. No way, no how. Not with the scandal just really dying down.

“Whoa! Hold on just a second there. Son?” The guy laughed. “No fucking way are you old enough to be calling me son. Unless you’ve got one of those pictures in your attic. Or was that a heart under the floorboards? I can never remember which.”

“The Picture of Dorian Gray, and not the last time I checked, which, honestly, hasn’t been that long.” He’d been up there setting mouse traps just this summer.

“You’ve actually got an attic? Too cool.”

“I do. Stores the Christmas tree, the dead bodies.” Was he actually standing and talking to this man? Seriously?

Those green eyes stared at him for a moment, definitely nonplussed, then the corner of the guy’s mouth twitched and those eyes just twinkled. The twitch turned into a laugh and the sound settled right in his belly. “Oh, damn, that was a good one.”

Thad winked, telling himself, very firmly that he was not flirting with Mr. Pretty. Not. Not not not. “Thanks.”

“Hey, you want to go to the Corner Pub with me?”

He blinked. “You don’t know who I am, do you? I guarantee you, I’m bad for your career, but thanks.”

“Well, no, but that’s what having a drink together is about, right? Getting to know each other. I assume you’re a prof.” Those lips twisted into a half-smile, this one self-deprecating. “Or are you one of those profs who won’t socialize with TAs?”