Page 8 of American Love Story

He raked his eyes over me as he leaned against the door. “Patrice, you’re on brand, as always.”

What the fuck did that mean?

He waved a hand in my general direction, which I guess was his way of presenting me with the evidence. “You’ve got the dapper thing down to a T.” His eyes were literally glomming me, and I tried my best to suppress the shudder coursing through my body.

He was such a fucking creep.

“Can I help you with anything, Brad? I’m in the middle of office hours right now and may have a couple of students coming by to talk about the next assignment.”

He ignored my attempt to get him out of my office, and walked in, parking his skinny ass in one of the chairs. “Oh I won’t take long, just wanted to check in on how you’re getting on. I know that your research topics can be a little controversial and was wondering how it had gone over in your sessions.”

This was one hundred percent not his business, and the controversy he was talking about was my research focusing on how people of color experienced discrimination through government sanctioned public policy. It was apparently a little too real for Brad’s brand of academia. He also knew I was teaching Statistics 101 like the fucking grunt I was, and that my research was not likely to come up in those classes. He still had to ask, to be an asshole.

“They’re handling the class fine, thanks.”

“Oh good,” he said, sounding fake as hell, and shifted on the seat like he was getting comfy for a long chat.

Fuck. My. Life.

“Have you had time to get around town, get to know some folks?” He stressed the wordfolks, and it was very hard to control the eye roll itching to come out.

“Actually yes, my best friend lives here. He’s one of the owners of OuNYe, the new restaurant downtown, and his partner has been here for a few years. We hang out a lot.”

He nodded with interest, crossing his arms over his usual cardigan and button-down combo.

“Oh nice, I love that place. It’s very popular.” He cocked his head to the side and gave me another assessing look. At this point, I couldn’t even guess what was going through Brad’s head. “I’ve seen the owner, he’s so handsome. Are you sure you’re not up here because there’s a little more than friendship going on there?”

Of course, he’d go there. For Brad, nothing was ever lacking nefariousness.

How did this person think it was okay to ask that when I’d just mentioned Nesto had a partner, and why did he think I was interested in having a conversation with him aboutanything?

“Nesto and I have been friends since we were like eight years old, Brad. Also, like I said, he has a partner. They live together and are in a committedmonogamousrelationship.”

Not that it’s any of your motherfucking business..

He didn’t respond and took his time running a hand over his heather-gray sweater, as I sat there fidgeting. “So, I actually stopped by to let you know that you were being ‘discussed’ at a dinner I was at yesterday, with some of the more senior faculty.” The smug ass look on his face told me this was probably the reason why he’d come in here in the first place.

“Okay.” It was hard not to glare.

“They were talking about your social media presence.” I would dearly love to wipe that shit-eating grin off his face. “Departments have to pay attention to that sort of thing, in case a faculty member says something inappropriate that could hurt the school.” He was loving this little bullshit power play, but I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing me even slightly fazed.

When he realized I was not going to respond, he opened his mouth again. “You certainly have a following and seem very focused on hot-button issues.”

I tried not to cut my eyes at him, but it was so fucking hard. “I’m not sure I follow.”

He lifted a shoulder, and I could tell he was about to say something that would infuriate me, and for the millionth time, I asked myself why I was willing to work in a field that was full of people like this.

“Well, social justice is important and certainly something this department aims to look at closely. It just seems like you’re so heated in your posts.”

This time, I really did have to school my expression.

“Iam‘heated’ in my posts, Brad.” I actually made air quotes. “I post about angering things. I also make it very clear in my account that all my opinions are my own and nothing to do with my employer. Which I don’t even mention in my bio, by the way. I know the department is well aware of my social media presence; it came up in my interviews.”

He just stared at me with that self-satisfied look on his face, like he was super happy he’d pissed me off.

I was getting very close to leaning into my general annoyance with this guy when Ted, another faculty, popped his head in my office and saved me from myself.

I stood up and walked over to the door, feeling deeply grateful for Ted’s timing. “Hey man. Good to see you.”