“Sorry,” he said unapologetically.
“I hope you’re not a poli-sci major,” Jen attempted to joke.
“No, anthropology grad student. Why?” the student asked with concern.
“Because I’d fail you.” She was flirting…call the press corps!
“Oh man, you’re that new poli-sci prof I heard about.”
“Heard what?”
“Nothing,” he said flirtatiously.
“Come on . . .tell me. I can take it.”
“Okay. A few of my buddies are taking your grad course. They told me you were hot.” Jen smiled. “That was nice, I guess. Well, were they right?” she asked in an uncharacteristically forward manner.
“Yeah…Listen, I have to go. We’re having a little study group drinking game over there.”
“Enjoy,” she called out, still smiling.
“By the way, I’m Quint Harper,” he shouted back.
Quint was the quintessential anthropology graduate student — he had long, shaggy blond hair and a starter goatee, but he wasn’t gangly with a big Adam’s apple; he was well toned. Whatever it was about him, Jen was interested, even though she didn’t know exactly why. Playing quarters and getting wasted wasn’t Jen’s thing, never had been, and never would be. But secretly Jen longed for something wilder than her life of cocktail parties and intellectual babble. She scribbled Quint’s name on her “to do” list, right after “call Zoë.”
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