It was hot for November, and she’d been out there in front of that fucking library a long time, and she was starting to wonder if this was really a good idea at all.

Georgia didn’t know why she chose to wear something long-sleeved. It was the first thing she pulled off the floor when she got up, she supposed. With all the bullshit she was going to have to cope with today, the last thing she wanted to be worrying about was her clothes. She was starting to regret it though, as sweat was beginning to bead up under her arms and on her back.

Should I care what he thinks? She asked herself. Does it really matter if I’m sweaty for him?

She was surprised to find herself deciding that it did.

It was then that she saw him coming. 6’7 and skinny, bald except for a fringe of greying reddish hair. Dressed in the requisite uniform for tenured professors: sweater, dress shirt, slacks, no tie, wingtips a-clacking. Jacket slung over his shoulder and sleeves rolled up.

It was, after all, pretty hot today…