Free Winter Jacket by Eliza Lentzski Page A

"Well from the way Thad keeps looking over here, I have a feeling he wouldn't mind seeing you without any attire."
    "Emily!" I said, genuinely shocked. I wondered how much wine she'd had that night. She was a sharp-witted, sharp-tongued woman, but I'd never heard her talk like that before.
    "I'm sorry," she chuckled. "I should feel badly for that guy. He strikes out with you more than the baseball team." Our unive rsity team was pretty horrible, and so was Thad when it came to flirting with me.
    "How was your semester?" she smiled, abruptly changing topics on me.
    "Really good," I said, bobbing my head. "I lucked out and had a really good group of students."
    "Oh, don't give them so much credit," she huffed with a dismissive wave of her hand. "It helps that you're a great teacher."
    "Why can't you be my entire tenure committee?" I laughed.
    She gave my shoulder a squeeze. "You're going to be fine. Besides, you've got some time before you need to freak out about that."
    “I'll try to keep that in mind."  I spotted another fa miliar face in the dining room—the Chair of my Department, Bob Birken.  “Speaking of which,” I said to my mentor and friend, “there’s Bob.  I’d better go do some sucking up.”
    “Just think, Elle, one more year , and you’ll never have to kiss ass again.”
    I grinned at Emily.  “That’s the dream, isn’t it?”  I excused myself from her presence and made my way through the student crowds in the direction of Bob.  When he spotted me and we made eye contact, he lifted his drink in salute.
    "Thank you for hosting this event again, Elle."
    Bob Birken was a heavyset man with a bald head and a full beard.  He was fond of argyle-printed sweaters and corduroy pants, and was just about the most talented poet I’d ever met.
    "It's not a problem at all, Bob,” I said cordially. “I'm just glad that we can do this for our graduates every Spring."
    Bob rocked on the soles of his dress shoes. "How are those revisions going?"   He was referring to an academic journal article I was working on.  It had been accepted for publication with the caveat that I make a few edits.
    “Really well.  Slow,” I admitted with a chuckle, “but well.”  I paused long enough to sip my red wine. "Once the semester is totally over and final grades are submitted, I'll be able to dedicate more energy to the revisions.  Then it’s just a matter of time before the editorial board finds something else wrong with it."  Publishing in academia was a headache.  I much preferred the world of fiction, but I knew I needed to have a balance of both in my discipline.  At least until I secured tenure.  Then I could do whatever the hell I wanted.
    “Oh, I know all-too-well how that is,” Bob nodded. “My latest book seems perpetually stuck in the copyedit stage.”
    I was about to continue talking about my latest project with my colleague, when I spotted an unexpected face near the front entrance. My throat constricted and I was rendered speechless. What was Hunter doing here?
    I stared a little harder, unblinking, making sure that my imagination wasn’t playing tricks on me.  But she was really there.  She was in my house .  But why ? I continued to stare at the blonde who had, only a few days before, made an unexpected appearance in my dreams.
    Sometimes the seniors brought friends or family members to the party, but I certainly hadn't expected her to be here.  She was standing in a small group of students, some of whom I recognized. She wore a dark purple, spaghetti-strap camisole whose color looked even richer contrasted against the porcelain hue of her skin. It was the first time I’d seen her in a tank top (outside of my dreams), and the view certainly didn’t disappoint.  Her collarbone was well-defined protruding from pale, alabaster skin that led up to a long, graceful neck. Her hair was down, parted to one side, and it cascaded past her bare shoulders. Our eyes connected, and I immediately