By Jove by Marissa Doyle Read Free Book Online Page A

feeling. They just do it.”
    He frowned. “What do you mean?”
    “I mean that maybe you should spend a little more time feeling and a little less analyzing.” Was she really having a discussion with him about how to fall in love?
    “Oh. I see.” Grant studied her for a moment. “Uh, Theo? I think I’m starting to feel considerably more than mere friendship for you.”
    “Oh, Grant.” She shook her head. “Haven’t you ever been in love with anyone? Ever had a serious girlfriend? With your looks, I can’t believe you haven’t.”
    “My—really? I mean, yes, of course I have.” He looked down and brushed a thread from his sleeve.
    She cleared her throat and raised an eyebrow at him.
    He flushed slightly. “I’ve just never met anyone like you. Do you—” He paused, then said quickly, “Do you think you feel something more than friendship for me?”
    Theo wanted to laugh again, but didn’t. She took his hand instead, moving carefully, as if he were a wild creature she was trying to tame. “Yes, Grant, I am feeling something considerably more than friendship for you too.”
    “Oh. That’s good.” He smiled radiantly and held her hand in both of his. “So what do we do next?”
    Try as she might, she could not restrain a smile. “Why don’t we just try to relax and see what happens? Get to know each other better?”
    “That sounds like a good plan. I’m enjoying knowing you, Theo.” He exhaled. “I guess I can start talking to Paul again, then. So long as he doesn’t keep trying to get to know you better than I do.”
    Speaking of Paul… “What have you heard about these symposia that the department holds? Paul said we’ll be invited.”
    “I’ve heard about them.” Grant grimaced. “We have to come in appropriate Greek or Roman attire. Guess I’ll have to get my toga sent down from Eleusinian.”
    Visions of toga-ed bears declaiming in a pine forest, Grant patiently correcting their grammar, flitted through Theo’s head. “And I’ll have to get my mom to send me one of her costumes that she wears to Dad’s Classical Club dinners, except that she’s married and wears the stola, not the toga. Dad made her do all kinds of research on Roman clothing.”
    “I bet I’d like your dad. I hope I get to meet him some time.”
    An extra surge of happiness caught her. Men didn’t say things like that lightly, usually. “I hope you do, too.”
    …
    After that, their relationship did not change radically: outwardly they were still simply friends and colleagues. But Theo could sense something in the way Grant stared at her over their stacks of Latin quizzes when he thought she wasn’t paying attention or over the drinks or pizza that frequently followed. She swallowed her eagerness and waited for him to make the first move; it was like pretending to be a statue, waiting to see if the shy wild bird would light on her hand.
    One afternoon in early October they lay on the west-facing hillside behind Hamilton Hall. Theo had diverted them from their usual afternoon go-over-homework-and-class-assignments meeting to enjoy the Indian summer weather.
    “Oh, what a day!” she sighed as she stared up at the cloudless blue sky. “Just breathe that air.”
    “I am breathing,” Grant said seriously. “I usually do.”
    Oh, Grant. “No—I mean really breathe. Isn’t it wonderful? It makes me want to flap my arms and follow those geese up there,” she said, pointing with her chin at a V-formation that passed overhead. “And look at those maples over there, just starting to show color around the edges—incredible.”
    He squinted at the trees. “They’re, um, very nice.”
    She let her arm fall to cover her face. This was the way he was, and it never failed to amuse her: so cynically observant about some things, and utterly clueless about others. Especially about anything that involved the senses. One day a few weeks ago he’d found her in one of the seminar rooms with her shoes off,