One In A Million. Susan Mallery

around the university in sensible shoes and glasses, her delicate figure hidden beneath her bulky men’s clothing.

      Cal had passed many pleasurable hours imagining precisely what that body looked like beneath those baggy shirts. Like a car cover over a vintage Vette, her clothes kept her hidden. But Cal had always been able to spot a classic, even when shrouded. She’d put up with enough of his come-ons to last her through her next two degrees and hadn’t once bitten. What was her game now?

      “Honey, I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on here, so you might as well spill it.”

      He got up to get her a cup of coffee while she pulled herself together. This had become part of their ritual on Tuesday nights—kicking back in the lounge near his office, sharing java and tales from the classroom. Cal enjoyed shaking off the blue-collar world of his car repair shops with some academic talk, but not nearly as much as he liked being near Maddy. He’d always flirted with her, but now he accepted the friendship she offered. He was safer with friendship anyway, considering his history with relationships.

      Friendship he could handle. According to his ex-wife, it was the serious, intimate relationships he screwed up.

      Willing away unhappy memories, he returned with two mugs to find Maddy’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. She didn’t look sad exactly. She looked…furious.

      “They turned down my dissertation!” She wailed the words as if she’d announced Armageddon.

      “I’m sorry.” What did that have to do with her sheet-burning plea? This woman had just flipped his world and now she wanted to talk about her research?

      “The dissertation committee wants me to continue my work in literary sociology, but I’m not interested in that anymore.” She removed her glasses and pressed the heels of her hands against her forehead.

      Cal felt a moment of triumph to see her wide, dark eyes without their perpetual tortoiseshell screen. He folded her glasses and set them aside. “You’ve had a lot of success in that arena, right?”

      “Yes, but I’m ready to move on. I got into sociology because I wanted to study people, not literary theory. I want to do a pure sociological study.”

      What was it about her stuffy way of speaking that acted like a hormone shot in the arm? The way those luscious lips wrapped around lofty concepts proved brains and beauty could coexist quite happily. “Okay. What did you propose?” He steeled himself for more of her highbrow speak by taking a long swig of coffee.

      “I want to study human mating rituals.”

      It took every bit of control he possessed to not spew coffee on her shoes. Instead, he opted to choke down his drink and indulge in a long coughing spell.

      “Are you okay?” she asked, hammering him on the back with a surprisingly strong fist.

      “I don’t know,” he rasped. “I think you’re just taking me a little by surprise today.”

      She stiffened. “You don’t think I’m cut out for it, either, do you?”

      “What?” Dear Lord, he’d barely recovered his breath. He wasn’t ready for round two.

      “You don’t think I’m the kind of woman who knows enough about the mating process to write effectively about it.” She stood, all five and a half feet of her trembling with anger and indignation.

      “Is that what your review committee said?” No wonder she was upset.

      She seemed to lose a bit of her edge then, sinking back down into the chair, defeated. “Just because I don’t go out very much doesn’t mean I can’t see mating rituals all around me. It’s not like I don’t have…feelings.”

      Thank goodness his coffee cup remained firmly planted on the table, where he intended to leave it for the rest of this conversation. “Just where have you been hanging out to witness these…whatever you call them…‘mating rituals’?” Cal didn’t know if he’d be able to continue this discussion if they kept flinging around the term “mating.”

      “I don’t mean the sex act,” she informed him. “I mean the flirtation that goes on between men and women as a prelude to sex. The human equivalent of mating calls. You know.” She waved her hand in the air as if he would understand exactly what she meant. “Mating rituals.”

      Heat surged through him. He couldn’t sit there staring back at her any longer, so he got up and paced the lounge. “This is what you want to study for your dissertation?”

      “I want to do some empirical research on what sorts of flirtation leads to an actual relationship.”

      Cal wiped a hand over his face. “Now you mean the sex act.”

      She beamed at him like a star pupil. “Exactly.”

      “Won’t this be difficult to follow up on?” No wonder her plan had gotten turned down by the review committee. If there had been any men on that board, they wouldn’t have been able to sit still through her risqué proposal. “I mean, how will you know what takes place between men and women after they leave your field of vision?”

      “Interviews.” She sipped her coffee, appearing more calm now that they were discussing her field.

      He, on the other hand, felt edgier than a caged beast. “I see.”

      But he didn’t see. All he could envision was naive Madeline Watson camping out at area singles bars in her glasses and sensible shoes, getting hit on by the hounds that hang out in those places. She might be a smart lady when it came to college, but she had obviously lived a sheltered life. She didn’t know anything about the world Cal had grown up in—a world where guts and determination counted for more than any degree.

      She set her coffee mug back on the table and traced the red U of L logo with an idle finger. “One of the members of the dissertation committee implied I didn’t get approved because I’m not experienced enough to handle such a racy project. Can you imagine?”

      That had been his thought exactly. How could you write about flirtation when you’d never tried it? He, of all people, knew Madeline Watson wasn’t the type of woman a guy could trade sexual innuendos with. He’d gotten the impression that because her father had been a single parent and a brilliant scientist to boot, Maddy had been a little overprotected.

      “But I’ve decided I’m not going to take no for an answer.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “I’m going to repropose the project.” She looked up at him, her gaze unusually sure and steady. “But first, I’m going to procure some of the experience the committee seems to think I’m lacking.”

      Cal paused in mid-pace and sank onto one of the tables for support. “You’re going to procure experience?” He had that feeling you get when they’re reading off the lottery numbers and you have them all right so far. Did the Lady Scholar really want to use him for…practice? He couldn’t decide whether to be insulted or excited as hell.

      “Yes.” She stood, her back straight beneath her bulky men’s dress shirt.

      Still, he could see her fingers pluck a nervous rhythm against the cuff of an overly long sleeve.

      “But I need to create a public splash as I do this experience gathering. I need to have an affair that will be highly visible.”

      Damn. Maddy’s public splash was dousing cold water over a scheme that had started out sounding so promising. He couldn’t afford a high-visibility affair. Not anymore. “And you were coming to me with this proposal because…?”

      Maybe part of him wanted to hear that she’d found something to admire in him after all this time. Underneath that proper exterior, did Madeline Watson hide a small flame for the garage mechanic?

      “I came to you because you’ve got the most notorious reputation on campus. If I’m seen so much as walking to class with you, my status