Then, three days ago, she arrived home and as she opened the door to the room she and Van shared, she noticed a pile of boxes in front of the room across the hall. Because all boxes were addressed to her, Irene proceeded to cut open the first one. She couldn’t hide her shock when she found a brand-new IBM PC AT Model 2 in one of the boxes. The rest were filled with the necessary wires and equipment, including a monitor with a color screen. He’d even gotten her an actual Trailblazer modem, which was so new she hadn’t even gotten the dean to sign off on her request yet. She’d found a note between the boxes from Van. In his surprisingly clear handwriting—for a man—he stated, “Now you can get that cute ass home on time. You know I don’t like to wait. Use this room as your office—it’s so conveniently close to the bedroom—and be naked when I get home. Love you.—Van.”

The overgrown baby had made it nearly impossible for her to stay at work when she wasn’t actually teaching or focused on something specific. It used to be when she didn’t have anything specific to do, she could find something. She’d come up with some of her most . . . uh . . . unstable but interesting ideas that way. Now she only wanted to finish up her day at the university, go home, work for a few hours there, and then spend the rest of the night rolling around her bed with Niles Van Holtz.

“How do normal people live like this?” she asked her computer, which suddenly didn’t seem nearly as cool as the one she had at home.

Her phone rang and she stared at it. She knew it was him. The one she blamed for making her a slut. Or, at the very least, bringing out the latent sluttiness in her.

When the phone rang for the sixth time, she finally picked it up.

“Yes?”

“I knew you were there. How long were you going to make me wait?”

“Until the end of time,” she sniped back.

“What’s wrong?”

“I . . . it simply appalls me to say it, but I want to come home.”

He didn’t say anything at first, but she imagined she could actually hear his smile. “Then come home,” he finally said.

“I was afraid this would happen.”

“What?”

“You distracting me. I’ll never get the Nobel Prize at this rate.”

“Isn’t that a peace prize? You won’t get that because you’re a—”

“Shut up.”

He laughed. “Come home, doc. I want to see you. And my cock is dying to get in you.”

“It was just in me last night. And this morning. And I thought you were at the restaurant tonight.”

“That was the original plan but Carrie asked me to switch with her. She and the brain trust are going away for the weekend and she wanted Friday off.”

“That was nice of you.”

“I made her beg for it first. And then she had to promise to get me a Ferrari.”

Irene sighed.

“What’s the sigh for?”

“Nothing. It’s too stupid to comment on.”

“So you coming home soon?”

She glanced at the clock on her desk and noticed another framed picture of Holtz she’d never seen before sitting in front of it. With an annoyed growl, she moved it aside. Nearly nine o’clock and she’d gotten absolutely no work done. Now she’d go home and get no work done because Holtz would practically tackle her in the hallway . . . and she’d let him.

“Might as well, I guess.”

“Man, could you sound more put-upon?”

“I could, actually.”

“I’ll come by to pick you up.”

“Don’t bother. Jackie will be here any minute and she’ll drive me home.”

“You sure?”

“Do I not sound sure?”

“You know if you’re cranky when you get home, I’m going to have to fuck it out of you again.”

She closed her eyes, her body heating at the memory of that.

“Irene?”

“Shut up,” she snapped as Jackie walked through the door and then looked like she was ready to walk back out. Or run. Irene stopped Jackie’s retreat with one raised finger. “Jack’s here. I’m leaving now, you pompous, overbearing, self-obsessed, mentally challenged prick.”

“Why don’t you just admit it,” he said on a sigh. “Admit you love me and my perfectly proportioned cock. And there’s nothing you love more than its life-giving elixir.”

Irene leaned back in her chair and stared at Jackie with her mouth open. “Life-giving elixir?”

“Well, what would you call it?”

“That over-salted fluid I can’t get the taste of out of my mouth but that you keep insisting I swallow.”

Jackie walked to the other side of Irene’s tiny office and buried her face in the corner.

“Insist? We both know you beg for it.” His voice lowered. “I want you home. Now. And naked within ten minutes of you entering the house. Am I clear?”

She stood. “We’re leaving and the only thing you’ve been clear about is that you’re clinically insane.”

“This is true.”

Irene hung up and grabbed her backpack. Turning her back on her friend, she opened one of her desk drawers and removed the small titanium case she had hidden in a secret compartment. Inside the case she had a syringe filled with the last two ounces of her creation. Every day that she held on to it, the more guilty she felt. Not only that, but she realized she truly didn’t need it. Holtz, the smug bastard, had been quite right. She no longer had anything to prove to anyone but herself. Besides, anything this dangerous needed to go. And this time she’d make sure to avoid the Rubicon.