Resolve Read Online Free

couldn’t, while hurriedly gathering up my lecture notes. I left the room more numb with disbelief than anything else. Now I had collected my thoughts and I was more prepared to end this.
    First off, I’m married and I plan on staying that way. Second, I don’t think unemployment would agree with me. I get into trouble when I’m bored. And third, I’m thirty-nine years old. Granted, lots of men would ridicule me for not taking advantage of an eager twenty-two-year-old who wants to jump in the sack with a distinguished professor, but it’s just not my thing. I have standards. If I’m going to nail some girl half my age, then I want to make sure I can hand her a wad of cash and send her back out on the street.
    Just kidding.
    “Lindsay, let me make something very clear.” She and Steven were still staring at each other. She hadn’t realized he was in the room.
    “Any relationship between students and professors is strictly prohibited; and if I thought for one second that anybody was pursuing something like that, I would take the issue up with Dean Silo myself.”
    I can sound pretty authoritarian when I want to.
    She was still looking at Steven.
    “Hey! Do you understand me?”
    She returned a confused gaze to me. I was actually glad that Steven was here to witness this. I needed him to back me up in case she made any crazy accusations later. The touching and flirting weren’t overt enough for me to take action until yesterday’s events, but now I had something tangible to point to. At least it was out in the open now.
    “What . . . I . . . I’ll talk to you later.” She quickly vanished from the room and the heavy door swung closed.
    Steven was still staring at the now vacant doorway. I was already feeling bad for her. I didn’t know what kind of reaction to expect. Sadness? Fear? Maybe even anger? But she looked a little puzzled by my reaction. I knew I should have been clearer yesterday, but I was taken aback by her directness. Had I misled her in some way? I knew I was a charming bastard, but I really didn’t think that I had led her on.
    Well, whatever her intentions were, now she could move on to some quarterback or star pitcher closer to her age. Maybe she would go to law school next semester, entice some horny, parasitic ambulance chaser, and use what she learned in his class to drag him—and the school—into a messy sexual harassment lawsuit.
    Maybe I’m too much of an optimist.

Mile 2
    T hings don’t thin out much as we make the turn onto Penn Avenue and head in the opposite direction back toward the convention center. The annoyance builds on the hardening faces of some runners as they try to weave through the crowd. The pairs and groups of runners who run two or three wide on the street in order to maintain a conversation are like picket fences standing in the way of those who have their sights set on achieving a PR. That’s a personal record in runners’ lingo.
    Store owners and street vendors cheer as we pass by. Burly guys carrying crates of vegetables stare in bewilderment at people who exert themselves for fun, not wages. In cities like this there is always the mandatory homeless guy who stumbles out of an alley in a haze and begins running with the crowd. He generally smiles and yells out a short phrase like, “Go Steelers! Whoop them Browns!” or some other expression that is guaranteed to elicit a cheer from the crowd. After about a half block, he gasps for air, steers himself toward the curb, and absorbs the applause from the onlookers with humility and grace, bowing out of the race like a true legend.
    I know from reading the course map that two-thirds of the way down this straightaway are the first water and medical stations. They are generally in close proximity to each other. That’s when the great mystery of how to drink water out of a paper cup while running will once again rear its ugly head. It’s remarkably difficult to do this and manage not to either drown yourself or