Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 103033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“Oh yeah, I remember your, uh…” Santiago chuckled. “Your games.”
“Christ. You and I truly met when I was at my worst,” Professor Aavik responded. “I was way too honest with you.”
“That’s what happens when you get shitfaced.” Santiago was amused, and he glanced my way in the rearview. “One of the first things you’ll notice about Dean is that he’s secretive about pretty much everything. But if you’re like me, you run into him when he’s had too much to drink, and he gives you his biography in the dark corner of a British pub, and then you have a friend for life.”
I grinned, half unsure, half entertained, and 100% wildly curious. “Are you telling me to get my professor drunk, Sir?”
They both laughed.
“For the record, I’m not secretive,” Professor Aavik corrected, down to chuckles. “I’m a tad private.”
“A tad private.” Santiago snorted. “Sure.”
“And not blind,” Professor Aavik added. “You have an agenda.”
What? An agenda?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Santiago said. “But on that note, do we need to swing by your place? Do you have everything you need?”
I felt my forehead crease.
The professor sighed. “Yes, Joshua, I have everything I need for a visit to a waffle house.”
“All right, good.” Santiago met my gaze in the rearview again, then side-eyed Professor Aavik. “Since you’re not secretive about anything anymore, maybe we don’t have to tiptoe around the topic and make Gael feel left out?”
Since I was sitting right behind the professor, I didn’t see the look he gave Santiago—but then he turned in his seat and glanced back at me with a furrowed brow.
“It wasn’t my intention to make anyone feel left out,” he said. “Considering the cat’s out of the bag… I’m diabetic—and I had an incident at the house in Mclean the other week. That’s why Macklin is fussing. Walker convinced me to wear a glucose monitor at all hours, and Macklin’s evidently going to treat me like a child.” He faced forward again. “Never mind that I’ve managed on my own perfectly since I was a teenager—one miscalculation and I’m suddenly their in-house patient. It’s ridiculous.”
“They love you,” Santiago reasoned with him.
“Doesn’t mean I’m dying,” Professor Aavik argued. “I appreciate their concern, but I fear they’re the kind who will order me some zero-sugar, low-carb nonsense cake for my birthday. Diabetes doesn’t mean I can’t have sugar—it means I have to be careful with it, and I am.”
I pinched my lips together, processing what he’d said. I remembered Micki, a girl I’d grown up with. She had type 1 diabetes. I guessed that was what Professor Aavik had too since he’d managed it from an early age. Micki’s mom had come to our school once to tell us a little bit about her daughter’s condition—and what we could do if Micki suddenly felt dizzy or, worse, if she passed out.
That had never happened, thankfully, but I was glad I knew, even today.
I should read up more on it, to be safe. Firstly, because I didn’t want my worries to bother Professor Aavik; I mean, we were heading to Waffled right now, and that was certainly not going to be a healthy post-munch snack. But he was a grown man, and he knew best what he could handle, right?
“Let me know if you want me to make any changes to your waffle, Professor,” I offered as a compromise. “There’s actually no sugar in the batter itself—it comes down to the toppings.” We added a dusting of sugar and vanilla to the sweet waffles when they were done instead, leaving the savory waffles unsweetened.
“That’s kind of you, dear, but I indulge so rarely that the only change I’d want you to make is to go extra sugary.” He flashed me a disarming smile in the sideview mirror that I sort of felt everywhere. Damn. “You can also drop the Professor outside of campus. I’m Dean.” He paused. “Or Sir.”
Or Sir.
Yes, please.
“Yes, Sir,” I said.
Sir was what the other subs—those who knew him—called him around the community, much like… I mean, it was simply the respectful dynamics we had among friends in Mclean, and it felt like I was being included now.
I was going to make him the best freaking waffle in the world.
Oh crap.
The second I peered through the windows at Waffled, I knew we’d have to come up with a new plan. The place was packed.
“Would you mind eating upstairs?” I asked.
“Of course not. I’d prefer it.” Santiago opened the door and smirked at me.
I didn’t know what that smirk meant.
“Do you have another seating area up there?” Dean glanced up toward the top of the house before ducking into the restaurant.
“No, Sir, that’s where I live.” I entered next and gestured for the gentlemen to stand to the side rather than get in line. “If you let me know what you want, I can take care of our order and get us out of here faster.”