Thanks to everyone for their feedback on the previous chapters, with a special thank-you to my real-life editor. Remaining errors, if any, are mine. Reading the chapters of this story in order is highly recommended. All geek culture references are properties of their original copyright holders. For the record, I have nothing against gingers, as I proudly am one. Spoiler: No sex in this one- catch you next time!
*****
On Saturday mornings, Mike did not set his alarm. Especially in the winter, when he worked from a home office, it was important to delineate the weekend somehow. If he wasn't careful, he might overwork himself.
He got in a shower early, knowing that none of his three houseguests would be using the water heavily at the same time. Gingerly, he tested the sensitivity of his groin. Still not ready for action.
Six days ago, he found them in his yard. That day, and every day since, those women had given him more sexual satisfaction than the previous four years of his life. But none of them knew about one another's efforts, and Mike was feeling the wear and tear in areas he'd greatly prefer not to have worn or torn.
He was still churning over solutions in his head. He couldn't reject each individual advance – it was too complicated and unreliable. He certainly wouldn't reject any of the women, they were hot as Hell. Somehow he had to pre-empt them from making any advances.
Okay, so some of that was easy. They'd been living together, the four of them, for nearly a week now, and other than the basic leave-it-like-you-found-it, they hadn't cleaned house. That would occupy most of the day.
The problem was that he'd be doing an equal part, not only to be fair, but it was also, after all, his house. And watching a grown man engage in serious housework was, to many women Mike knew, a form of pornography. He had to kill the mood, everyone's mood, before they even got that far.
Mike got out of the shower and dried off. So, what could he say, or get them to talk about, that would kill the mood today but not any longer? Of course, if they knew
his
mood was killed for the day, they wouldn't try...
It was a shame he hadn't taken a bath, and that he'd already left the shower. It was absolutely a "Eureka!" moment.
Finally relaxing, now that he had found a solution, he finished his morning routine, got dressed, and went down for breakfast.
*****
"Hello?" Mike called at the bottom of the stairs. He couldn't tell where the ladies were. There was a crash from the dining room, followed by an exclamation of "Sonofabitch!" from what sounded like Jenny.
Mike smiled. Jenga on the dining room table. "Sorry," he called.
The women greeted him and razzed him for getting up so late, which he defended only by reminding them of the weekend. Cassie did not feel like making him a solo breakfast this morning, and besides that, it was her turn to set up the tower. Mike warmed a couple packs of Pop-Tarts and poured himself the last of the coffee. He joined the others at the table while they started another game.
As had started to be the routine, breakfast conversation centered on what they were going to do that day. Under normal circumstances (or as Veronica called it, "in the real world"), this would be taken up by work, school and whatnot. Snowed in, they needed to get creative.
Mike took the opportunity to suggest housework for the day.
"And that'll include laundry," he added, "I know I have a load or two."
All three faces looked at him, and then he realized the unintended innuendo. Restraining a wince at the error, Mike continued, "And how about we tell stories all day, to pass the time for the boring parts?"
"Can we finish the game first?" asked Veronica, deftly placing her block on top of the tower. Jenny's turn was next. Mike smiled inwardly, and timed what he said next perfectly.
"I could start while you keep playing to the end of this game," he offered while Jenny started scooting a block out from the middle.
Right as she was about to pull the block out, Mike said, "Kendra Harrington."
The tower fell, and Jenny cursed again, but then looked at Mike as full realization hit her. Her eyes widened to match those of Cassie and Veronica.
"We met seven years ago," Mike said, "My first term in college."
*****
Professor Napolitano sat across from the complicated student in front of him.
"As the department head," he started hesitantly, "I don't think I can recommend your course of action. College is about more than the credits. Employers are looking for certain kinds of experiences, what they show about character, et cetera."
"I'm afraid I'll have to disagree with you on that," replied Michael, "Oftentimes what courses a person takes are subject to availability, and how well they do tied more to their learning styles matching the professor's teaching style, than to their natural proclivity with the subject matter."
Napolitano sighed. It had been like this the whole conversation. The young man sitting in front of him was in his second week of college, and already sounded like a graduate. The worst part was that the punk was right.
"Be that as it may," the advisor continued, "You should aspire to more. If you can CLEP as many courses as you are looking to, you could graduate in three years. But if you take your time, graduating in four years instead, you can add in internships, independent studies... any number of other things that are attractive to prospective employers. It'll make a sparkling transcript for a résumé."
"Let me try this another way," Michael offered, "What is a résumé for?"
"Oh, please."
"Humor me."
"Fine. Job hunting."
"Okay. So everything you're suggesting is to accelerate my career, making more money, sooner, doing a job I like. So far, so good?"
"Yeah..."
"As a matter of fact, that's the point of college, is it not? Replace ten or so years of on-the-job experience with four years of academia to reach the equivalent pay grade sooner?"
"If money is all you're after, but-"
"Without the motivating factor of money, college would be a ghost town, and you know it. It's not the only thing, but it's first by a long shot. Now, I already make a substantial amount of money doing consulting work. Most of that involves research, which is what
I
call 'work study.' I can only go so far without my degree, but the demand for my services is already rising. There will come a point where attending classes and doing homework will do more harm than good. To minimize the risk of this, I have chosen my course of action."
Michael stated all of this very matter-of-factly. He had a quiet, even tone. Whatever ruffled his feathers, it wasn't this. Napolitano sighed.
"All right, then, I've said my piece. For the record, I can't say I support what you're doing." He stood and offered his hand. Michael also stood, and shook it.
"I appreciate your willingness to keep an eye out for me," Michael said.
