Free Pascal's Wager by Nancy Rue

can’t freak out in here more than three hours a week,” I said, “because I have other things to do.”
    â€œLike what?” Jacoboni said. He was obviously up for a protracted conversation.
    I could have kissed my cell phone for ringing just then. Ididn’t even mind that it was Max.
    â€œHow was Liz?” he said when we’d gotten the helios out of the way. “When you didn’t call me—”
    â€œIt was interesting.”
    â€œDid she talk to you? Did you find out—”
    â€œNo, I’m still clueless.”
    I could hear him sigh heavily into the phone. “What are we going to do, Jill? I’m out of my mind here. I lie awake all night—”
    â€œRelax, Max,” I said. “I’m working on it.”
    When I hung up, Jacoboni looked up ultracasually from his computer monitor and said, “Max, huh?”
    â€œYes, Jacoboni, Max. He’s my mother’s significant other, but he and I get together and make mad passionate whoopee whenever possible. Right now we’re planning a tryst in the Caribbean over Thanksgiving break. Any more questions?”
    If there were, I didn’t give him a chance to ask them. I left the office in search of Nigel.
    Dr. Frost wasn’t available the rest of the day, so I had a head full of stuff from other compartments when I set out on the Loop that evening. The air was nippy and the wind was stronger than usual, so I wore sweats. By the time I got up the first hill, I stopped to strip them off. The harder I thought, the harder I ran, and the perspiration was out of control.
    I was trying to maneuver the ankle elastic over my Nikes when I heard somebody talking. Why couldn’t people just put on a Walkman and shut up while they were jogging? Some of us were trying to concentrate up here.
    â€œIt’s Jill, isn’t it?”
    My head jerked up, and I had to hop on one foot to stay upright while I attempted to extract my foot from the other pant leg. I thrust out an arm for balance and nearly popped Sam Whatever-His-Name-Was in the jaw.
    â€œDo I know you?” I said.
    He grinned. “I can see I made a heck of an impression. SamBakalis. Do you need a hand?”
    â€œNo,” I said, though I now had my foot completely caught in the elastic. I gave it a yank and pitched forward, headed straight for the ground. Sam grabbed my elbow.
    â€œThat’s funny,” he said. “I could have sworn you were about to fall on your face.”
    He let go of my arm immediately, before I could even have the satisfaction of glaring at him.
    â€œThank you,” I said and turned my attention to tying the sweats around my waist.
    â€œSo, what’s new in vector bundles?” he said.
    I couldn’t help looking surprised. “You were paying attention.
    â€œYou were compelling.”
    Now
there
was a line I hadn’t heard before.
    â€œThe vector bundles are fine,” I said.
    â€œYou aren’t going to ask me about Pascal?” he said. “I mean, since we’re making small talk.”
    â€œWho?”
    He grinned yet again. “I guess I wasn’t as compelling.”
    No, pal
, I wanted to say.
As a matter of fact, you were downright disappointing. If I recall correctly, you were trying to convert me over the carrot cake
.
    â€œRight,” he said. “Well, nice to see you again. Have a good run.
    He adjusted his glasses and deftly sprang over the fence and loped off the path, right past the sign that read Please Remain on the Paved Pathways. For a guy in his mid-thirties he still looked lanky—yet comfortable in his own body. With those narrow shoulders he was no Arnold Schwarzenegger, but he was lean, sinewy, in a John Cusack kind of way.
    I nearly slapped myself. Time to slip back into the proper compartment.
    Which turned out to be my mother. By the time I finishedthe run, I was so frustrated with thinking about her that I called her up and asked