Page 67 of Flare

And it probably was to him. Rafe lived for his job. Me? Not so much. I loved it but I wasn’t married to it. “I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that.”

He studied me with a worried expression. “But even if they do approve it, you’ll lose seniority and maybe some of your favourite classes. You might not get them back.” Seniority was another thing Rafe relished. He’d run the physics lab for five years and he was damn good at it.

I shrugged. “I couldn’t give a rat’s arse about seniority, you know that.” Knew it but never understood it. “Maybe I could teach high school?”

“High school?” He spoke the words like he was holding a five-day-old fish carcass. “You’d never last.”

I bristled. “Quit judging me by your own ignorant prejudices. I’d make a damn good English teacher.”

A flush crept across Rafe’s cheeks. “I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry. It was an arsehole thing to say.”

“It was.”

“I just... shit. What would I do without you?”

The real problem. “Get a fuckton more work done. And probably lose a couple of kilos without all the calories you bring to my office on a regular basis like I’m your partner in crime.”

He thought on that and his face brightened a touch. “True. Plus, I wouldn’t have to listen to you bang on about Rhys, so there’s that.”

“Yeah, yeah, I treasure your friendship as well.” I booted him not so gently on the shin. “Still, like you said, the department doesn’t have another poetry specialist to call on, so maybe I’ll get lucky.”

He snorted. “Maybe. But it’s not as if you’re turning away enrolments by the hundreds either, is it?”

I flipped him off. “Fuck you. Poetry isn’t all I teach.”

He pulled a face. “Just being the voice of reason. All I’m saying is you need to think carefully, Beck. This is your career you’re talking about.”

“Believe me, I know. And it’s not like I don’t need the money. I know it’s not that easy. I can’t just switch careers to high school without covering the teaching crossover units.”

He stabbed a finger my way. “Yes, remember that right there. Anyway, I need to go. I have a class of over-eager third years to supervise. Last time they started without me, someone almost set their hair on fire with the Bunsen burner. So, I have one final piece of advice for you.”

“I can hardly contain myself.”

“How about you give your poor boyfriend’s dick a break tonight? You’re an old man. You need the rest.”

“Piss off.”

* * *

Kip greeted me with a sly grin. “Well, hello there, Mister Northcott. Fancy seeing you in here... again.”

“Behave,” Rhys scolded, then kissed me softly on the lips in front of half a dozen customers, and I might’ve wobbled on my feet.

A couple of the men gave me a slow once-over, as if weighing up my worthiness, and my cheeks heated.

“Stop that right now,” Rhys whispered. “They’re only jealous because you look sexy as hell. Now, how about you kiss me like you actually mean it?”

I grinned and slid a hand around his neck, bringing our lips together in a lingering kiss that earned us a low whistle from Kip.

“Mmm, much better.” Rhys ran a dry thumb over my slick lips. “Now, if you want to wait upstairs, I won’t be long.” He winked and then headed over to the group of men who were pulling apart the rack of newly arrived spring additions.

Kip stood at my shoulder and we both watched Rhys work his design magic, eventually bundling two of the customers into change rooms with a pile of clothes they’d likely never have considered.

“It’s a trip seeing him with you.” Kip elbowed me gently. “From never seeing him with a guy at all in nine months, to suddenly witnessing this handsy boyfriend-of-the-year material. He’s special, you do know that, right?”

“I do.”

“Good. Because in case you need the reminder, if you fuck my boy around, I’ll nail your pretty balls to the wall of that fancy poetry class of yours with a sharp and very painful haiku.”

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