Free Miss Fortune by Julia London

I cant, Myron. Im really broke.
    Myron smiled then. Its on me, he said, and stood, shoving his hands into his jeans. Lets go down to Pratangelos and see whats going on.
    What she really wanted to know was why the forklift accident had anything to do with the money he owed her, but before she could ask, Myron asked, Whats that?
    She glanced down at the paper she was still clutching. Oh! I went to the employment agency today. Its a job referral.
    A job. Really? he said, his face brightening. So youll get yourself a job! There you goproblem solved! he said happily.
    Not really. Its just a temp agencypart-time work.
    Myron shrugged. Itll at least give you grocery money.
    Yeah, and if hed repay the loan shed made him, she could pay her utility bill. Which reminded her By the way, Myrondo you have my T-Mobile? she asked.
    Oh yeah, he said, and laughed sheepishly. I meant to bring that back. I dont know where my heads been! Ill bring it back, I promise, he said, and walked to the door. Hurry up, will you? After what Ive been through today, I could really use that beer.
    FRATANGELOS, near the Brown campus at the edge of the Blackstone neighborhood where Rachel lived, was a place Myron had always liked because of the cheap happy hour and even cheaper eats. Tonight, as usual, it was packed with an odd mix of the hip young urban crowd and the graduate studentprofessor crowd.
    They had a seat at the bar and Myron ordered a couple of beers. He then proceeded the regular rant of his tenure problemsame song, louder refrain. I just need time to research the theory Im working on, he explained for at least the thousandth, millionth to the nth power time.
    Rachel absently noddedshe had learned a long time ago it was best just to zone when Myron went down the gotta-get-tenure path. He rarely heard anything she said, and if he did, it typically made him mad. So as he continued to drone on about it, she let her gaze wander the crowded bar, saw Dave Stolanski, a permanent fixture at Fratangelos. Dave had been in school almost as long as she had, which wasnt a particularly comforting thought.
    Rachel frowned at her beer, then at Davebut noticed someone behind him who looked an awful lot like Flynn.
    She froze, the beer halfway to her mouth, squinting across the smoke-filled room.
    What are you looking at? Myron asked, shifting his gaze in the direction she was looking. Oh, he said, seeing Dave Stolanski. Dont get your heart set on him, Rach. The guys a loser. Hes been in the program five years now and still hasnt made any progress toward finishing his doctorate.
    Rachel gave him a withering look, but Myron took a swig of his beer, completely oblivious. Ive been in that long, too, she reminded him. Does that make me a loser?
    Startled by the question, Myron quickly shook his head and tried to laugh it off. No, of course not, Rachel! Its different with you! He laughed again, only a little higher.
    How so?
    Because! he insisted nervously. At least youre at dissertation, right? Daves not even at dissertation! he scoffed, waving a hand at Dave, who was intently studying something atop the bar. Myron took another long swig of beer, then held up two fingers to the barkeep to signal another round. Listen, dont misunderstand. It took me a couple of years to get my dissertation out of the way, too. And you know, back then, I was the bomb . The profs loved me! They thought I was the greatest thing since sliced bread, and my work on pre-Revolutionary American history? He paused to sight loudly and shake his head. Golden .
    Rachel rolled her eyes, put down her beer. Im going to the ladies room.
    Thanks to Myron, all she could see as she made her way around the crowded bar was the word loser . And it was that word that prevented her from seeing Flynn at all until she turned down the little corridor that led to the bathrooms and practically collided with the hard wall of his chest.
    Somehow, she managed to stop herself before doing that, and stared for a moment at