Blushing Pink Read Online Free Page B

could focus solely on her doctoral thesis. Or that was what it meant to the average student. Since she was on fellowship, however, it meant that she'd have even more free time to do Kimble's bidding.
    At least she had this break. Over winter vacation she planned to avoid even thinking about school. No Kimble. No bidding. She wondered if she deserved that kind of pleasure, but even if she didn't, she was still going to snatch it up with abandon.
    "What's he got you working on now?" her dad asked.
    "Well, I'm sort of ghostwriting most of his next book," she said, trying to keep the dread out of her voice.
    "Ghostwriting?" he echoed, a little annoyed. "What kind of job is that? Are you even going to get any credit?"
    "Nope. None." Okay, so much for not complaining. Hey, she'd tried... sort of.
    Michael shook his head and brought his lighter to his pipe. Through serene-smelling puffs he said, "I've got to tell you, sweetheart, I don't like this guy."
    "Nobody does. We had a department party last week, and everyone was invited with a guest. The entire faculty brought their significant others, but you know who Professor Kimble brought? No one. He went alone, misquoting something from Emerson about the essence of the individual."
    Reese's father tilted his head, as if considering it, and said, "Well, there's nothing wrong with that, I suppose."
    "Please, Dad, who's buying it?" He chuckled. "In fact, the rumor was, Kimble just couldn't find anyone to take—not one single person who could bear to spend a whole evening in his company." Not a rumor, really. Reese had come up with that theory herself. But she'd told Angela, who'd told Ally, and they'd all talked about it, so as far as she was concerned, that qualified as a grapevine.
    Anyway, there was no way she believed Kimble's explanation. Not that she'd heard it firsthand, of course. Kenneth had told her about the party, because Reese hadn't been able to go. Kimble had put her on some draconian deadline for the sixth chapter of his book, and she had had to work day and night to make it.
    Funny how Kenneth didn't seem to have half as much work to do for their professor as Reese did, but it wasn't his fault that Kimble was a sexist. Sure, Kimble couldn't act on it within the hyper politically correct walls of academe, where exhibiting blatant social bias was a sign of lower intelligence. But Reese could tell, at the core, Kimble was a good ol' boy who resented women for infiltrating the university and then far surpassing his own achievements.
    But really, how hard was that to do? The man had "written" one book about the history of the BB gun twelve years ago, and now was forcing a twenty-seven-year-old student to compose another uninspiring treatise in his name. Surprisingly, it gave Reese little pleasure to know that despite her efforts, Kimble's book was just so dull and pointless it would ultimately be publishable only by a masochist. And even that was a gamble.
    "The guy is desperate," she muttered.
    "I take your word on that," Michael said, nodding.
    "So what's this book about? The one that you're writing?"
    "Oh... it's... well, it's sort of tedious."
    Amiably, her father said, "Don't worry; I'm resilient. Let's hear it."
    "Well, let's see... the basic thesis of Kimble's book is that history teaches people what they can learn about the discovery of the past."
    Michael furrowed his eyebrows, confused—as well he should've been—and said, "I don't think I follow."
    "Yeah, it's probably best not to try."
    "Isn't that sort of the definition of history?"
    "Uh, pretty much."
    He squinted, still perplexed, and Reese shook her head. "I know, Dad. Believe me, I know."
    "So is that his whole 'argument'?" Michael snorted. "Well, what are you supposed to do with that?"
    She shrugged. "I don't know, this and that. Whatever fills the page, usually. But it's not all me. Professor Kimble usually gives me some notes or tapes of dictation, stuff like that."
    "But what notes? I mean, what sources