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“Indeed. How did you know? Oh, right. You were there when Volkov announced my repeated failures to obtain decent results to a three-hundred-person auditorium.” The self-deprecating smile is back, and so is the dimple. I don’t want to laugh again, but... it’s hard. I’ve had a long day.
“I kind of liked it. In fact, I think I had an orgasm when it happened.”
“I bet.” His eyes darken around the blue wedge.
“On a scale from taking a CrossFit class to writing parody articles as a form of activism, how mad are you that someone suggested you use a model of mine?”
“What’s a CrossFit, and why would I be mad? My lab discussed the application of your model in our meeting today.”
I lean back to search his eyes. “What?”
“Michi bragged to everyone that you guys are friends. She followed you on Twitter, I think.”
“I don’t have Twitter.”
“I did tell her you probably aren’t @SmexyElsie69—”
“Wait, are you serious? Are you really going to apply my model?”
“Of course.”
“But it’s a purely theoretical model.”
He shrugs. “We’ve been stuck for months. And it’s brilliant. And like I told youmultiple times, I’ve always incorporated theoretical models and collaborated with—”
“Stop.” I turn to face him directly and get half-wedged under his arm. We look like we’re about to embrace. In aGame of Thrones, stab-you-while-I-hug-you way. “Listen, I... Stop this, please. I don’t know what you want from me. I’ve been adjuncting for a year, and it sucks so much—so,somuch. I just want a job in a good department to continue with my research.”
“You deserve it,” he says quietly. I feel the words for irony. Find no trace.
“Stop it,” I repeat. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but—”
“Game?” He scowls. “I just said that I hope you get the opportunity to continue your work, because you clearlyareone of the great minds of our generation.”
I tense. “I don’t need your condescending praises.”
“I—” He shakes his head. His hand comes up to my chin, straightens my face to better study me. Which he does, for endless seconds, before asking, “What happened to you, Elsie?”
“Excuse me?” I feel flayed alive when he looks at me like that. Stripped to my bones.
“Every time I mention that I admire your work, you become dismissive and combative.”
No, I don’t. Or do I? “Maybe if you didn’t spend half your time reminding me that I’m on par with a skanky villain from a mid-2000s CW show, I—”
“I am able to multitask.” He sounds... not upset, but on his way. Not his usual detached self. “I can admire you as a scientist and at the same time resent what you’re doing to my brother.”
“Allegedlydoing to your brother. And...” Am I being needlessly antagonistic? No. No, Jack and Iareantagonists. Insulin and glucagon. Rey and Kylo Ren. Galileo and the entire Catholic Church, circa 1615. “It’s hard to believe that you respect me when all I know you for is dissing the very people who do my jobandadvocating for George to be hired.”
“That has nothing to do with you, and everything with George—who you know nothing about.”
“Right. Maybe if I met him and heard all about his one and a half publications, I’d withdraw my application in cowed admiration.”
Jack’s eyes widen. “What?” He bites the inside of his cheek. “Elsie. You’re operating on some pretty big assumptions—”
“Elsie. Here you are.” Monica crosses the cowhide toward us. She looks at me. Then at Jack. Then at me again. “I thought you might need some saving,” she murmurs in my ear. Judging from his half smile, Jack heard, too.
“I was just making sure she still wants to work with us after Christos put his hand down his waistband while trying to convince her that cereal is technically soup.” Jack’s tone is once again amused. Relaxed.
“He does make some valid points,” I interject before Monica field-dresses Jack on the cowhide. “Monica, this evening hasbeen so lovely. Thank you so much for having me in your beautiful home.”
