Getting Schooled (The Wright Brothers #1)(2)
I hit the “submit” button on my suggestions, waited to make sure they went through, and then closed the program as the class ended. I watched for a few seconds as the students packed up their laptops and began filing out, and then remembered I had things to do myself.
Pulling my bag onto the desktop, I closed my computer and shoved it inside, looking up as I felt the shift in energy of someone standing beside me.
“Reesie,” my mother said, bending at the waist to shove her cell phone in front of me. “What is this? What is a P-I-L-F?”
I furrowed my eyebrows, reading the caption below the picture that filled most of the screen, of my mother at the BSU alumni cookout a few weeks before the semester started.
“Maaan, @profBryantBSU is fine af. #idontseearing #ageaintnothinbutanumber #throwindownaintnothinbutathang #PILF #BSUfinest”
My eyes went wide, and then darted up to the username who’d posted this – some kid, most likely from one of her freshman College Writing courses. The picture was pretty innocent, but my mother did look good. She was posing with two of her colleagues, smiling at the camera in an ikat-print romper that hit her mid-thigh. The halter style of the top completely covered her breasts, but her toned arms – and if she turned around, her back – were exposed. It was a tasteful outfit for the heat of summer, at an event where there had been ribs, beer, and an abundance of playing cards.
Imara Bryant was pretty damned fine, but I could admit to being biased. Copper-toned skin, thick lashes, a cute nose and full lips, all of which I’d inherited, made for an appealing package. Most mornings, she summoned me to the campus sidewalks to go running with her, and she was constantly on my ass about eating well and drinking enough water – her weapons in the battle against aging. Some of her almost-fifty years showed in the fine lines of her face, but as an overall package, mommy was winning.
Evidenced by this social media post.
I giggled a little as she peered over my shoulder, eyes narrowed in concentration behind her delicate glasses. “Mama, you know what a milf is, right?”
She nodded.
“Well, looking at these context clues, I’d say a pilf is a “professor I’d like to fu—”
“I’m going to email this little boy’s mother!” she exclaimed in a loud whisper, glancing furtively at the students still exiting the class. “She had the nerve to contact me because I called him in during office hours to discuss why he can’t seem to focus in class. Well now I see!”
“Relax, mama.” I grinned, patting her on the arm as I stood and slung my laptop bag over my shoulder. “Shouldn’t be this fly if you don’t want anybody to notice.”
I tossed her another smile before I pulled my cell out, my fingers flying over the screen as I texted my friend Devyn on the way out the door. Just as my thumb went to the button to hit “send”, I collided with a warm body, and bounced back from the impact.
Looking up, I took in a tall body and broad shoulders, wrapped in the standard navy blue Dickies uniform of an auto mechanic. Reflexively, my eyes dropped to check for any grease or grime that may have gotten onto me, marring the summer white of the off-shoulder peasant blouse I wore with jeans and flats. I’d been trying all day to keep it pristine, but it seemed like the entire campus was against me.
“Don’t worry,” a deep voice rumbled, edged with irritation. “I didn’t get anything on your… shirt.”
If there was ever an instant where it was possible for the word shirt to be an insult, this was definitely it. It rolled off his tongue like my carefully selected outfit was disgusting to him, like it didn’t even deserve to be considered as an article of clothing. I could admit that the gauzy cotton top was a little eclectic, but damn.
My eyes climbed higher, wanting to connect the frosty demeanor with a face, but he’d already brushed past me – not exactly rough, but certainly not gentle either – and the only things I caught were pecan-colored skin and a crisply lined fade.
“Excuse you!” I called at his retreating back, but he didn’t bother to turn around, or otherwise acknowledge that I’d said anything.
Asshole.
I stepped out of the doorway, out of the way of any other students who may have been on their way out. It was Friday, and the last class of the day, so the building was emptying quickly as everyone scurried toward their weekend plans. Raising my phone, I unlocked the screen and hit send on the message I’d been typing before rude-ass bumped into me. I stuck my cell in the back pocket of my jeans, and was heading toward the glass double-doors that led out of the building when Olivia turned the corner and almost walked right into me.
“Just the girl I wanted to see!” she said, her face lighting up as she pulled me into a hug. Olivia worked in BSU’s law library as a legal research librarian, though she looked nothing of the part. When I first met her, she was a solid slacks, solid blouse kind of girl. Over the years, she’d loosened up and developed a little more diverse sense of style. Improved fashion choices had brought out new confidence, new confidence brought out more ambition, and I mean… who couldn’t use a little more ambition?
“What’s up Liv?” I asked, stepping out of her embrace. “Hey, is my outfit ugly?”
She looped her arm through mine, joining me in exiting the library building, where the literature department was housed. “What? No, it’s not. It’s fly. You’re always fly. Why are you even asking me that? Anyway. You’re coming to Refill tonight, right?”