The Professor’s Date (The Script Club #5) Read Online Lane Hayes

Categories Genre: M-M Romance, Romance Tags Authors: Series: The Script Club Series by Lane Hayes
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Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
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“I’m fine,” I snapped.

“No, you’re angry. You never get angry and you never swear.” He narrowed his gaze. “Did Abrams do something?”

“Yeah. That’s it.” I shrugged him off and moved into my room.

He followed me. “Nope. That’s not it. Did something happen last weekend? You said your sister was annoying, but that’s nothing new. Was it something else too? Noah?”

I slipped my glasses off to clean the lenses on my Bill Nye Science Guy T-shirt. “He ended our association.”

“Oh.” Holden flopped onto my bed. “I’m sorry, Tommy.”

“Me too. I suppose I expected it, but I’m not happy.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

He looked so earnest with worry lines etched between his brow. He wasn’t wearing any costume pieces from an era gone by this morning. Just his favorite white sweater with leather patches on the elbows and striped PJ bottoms.

“I wish. It feels like I have an equation I can’t solve. The numbers don’t add up, I can’t find the formula, so I’m just…screwed.”

Holden arched a brow. “You’ve turned into a real potty mouth, Professor Hartwell.”

That made me chuckle. I sat next to him and pushed my glasses on my nose. “It was tricky business bringing him to a family event.”

“Noah couldn’t handle it?”

“On the contrary, he was amazing.” I released a jagged breath. “He doesn’t see it that way, but…I’m not sure what I can do.”

“I’m sorry.” Holden nudged my elbow when I scoffed. “Don’t underestimate your powers of persuasion, Tommy. You’re stronger than you think. And fierce too. Even with your busted glasses. Didn’t you buy a second pair?”

“This is the second pair.” I fingered the tape between the lenses and stood. “And they work just fine. I’m keeping them.”

“Very fierce indeed.” Holden grinned. “Can you fix things with Noah?”

“I don’t know how.”

“You’ll think of something. You always do.”

I didn’t know if that was true, but I felt a teensy bit better after that pep talk and on the drive to school.

I greeted a couple of students waiting outside the lecture hall and unlocked the door for them. I spent a few minutes answering questions about the possible theorems used to solve the equation I’d left on the board yesterday before heading to my office to drop off my bag and sort through my notes.

“You’re late, Hartwell.”

The red haze I’d wrestled with that morning returned, percolating in my ear like a simmering kettle.

“Good morning, Dr. Abrams. How can I help you?”

He checked his watch meaningfully and raised one bushy eyebrow. “You can start by telling me why you’re two minutes late, and then we’ll move on to the lesson plan you submitted for approval. I don’t recall bumping the study of Enceladus in the curriculum.”

I set my bag on my desk, mentally counting to ten before addressing him. “With all due respect, sir, we discussed Enceladus in length a week ago. We agreed that the water on the sea floor of the moon with its potential to yield chemical reactions possible for life would be of interest to the students in my—”

“Save it till next week. It’s far too soon to bring up speculative research,” he barked. “And see to it that you’re on time. We pay you to be punctual.”

I saw red. Fiery rage shot through my veins, rendering me mute for…

Three…two…one—boom!

“Umbrage!”

“Pardon me?”

“I am offended, insulted, annoyed—”

“I know the meaning of the word, Hartwell.”

“Then you also know that I have never been late, tardy, or guilty of squandering company time. And I am certainly not late today.” I stepped into his space and set my hands on my hips. “I’m twenty minutes early. I’ve spent the last fifteen minutes preparing equations in my classroom and talking to students. You are more than welcome to verify my whereabouts if you’re so inclined. As for the curriculum…changing it now would create chaos and a lot of unnecessary work. For no reason whatsoever.”

His bushy white eyebrows formed a cartoonlike V between his beady eyes. “Are you questioning me?”

“I am.”

Dr. Abrams gasped. “Explain yourself.”

“Very well. Number one, studying elements on other planets and moons for traces of life is a benchmark ideology of this course. Number two, the hypothermal activity in cryovolcanoes indicate that microorganisms, such as…”

I went on…and on. I talked about methane gases trapped on the ocean floor, surface features and temperature shifts while I paced and pontificated like a pompous windbag. It was a language Abrams understood and appreciated. He eyed me curiously as if hanging on my every word.

When I completed my fortieth lap to the door, he finally barked, “Proceed.”

I stopped in my tracks. “Sir?”

“You heard me. Proceed with the original plan, Hartwell,” he replied, raking me from head to toe with a razor-sharp gaze.

A week ago, I might have stumbled over myself to assure him that he wouldn’t be sorry he’d listened to me. Today, I merely glanced at my watch.


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