Second Chance for Romance полностью

Freddie DeFeo saved me from brooding about it. He dropped his bag on the floor next to mine and gave me the full paisan treatment, including a back-slapping hug straight out of The Godfather.

Professor Joska arrived and started class with his usual brusqueness. He gave us the third-year version of his speech and then handed out copies of the syllabus and schedule. I skimmed them and groaned at the last page. We had a quarter project to design a building, from proposal to final drawings, as though we had a real client at a real architecture firm. It was a third of our grade and in addition to our normal coursework.

Joska seemed to read my mind. “Your lives will only get busier from this point forward. Fourth- and fifth-year students have almost double the workload.” He unscrewed the cap of a fountain pen. “I will sign withdrawal slips if anyone wants.”

No one did. Most of us had understood what we were getting into when we signed up for his class. I was a bit surprised that Freddie was there, but the others were familiar faces, the best and most competitive third-year students, including yours truly.

Wren made a special dinner for the end of our first week of classes. It had only been two days, but we still felt the need to celebrate. We polished off several bottles of wine and lingered over our empty plates.

“You think you have it bad?” Wren said, after Trip complained (again) about his course load. “Christy and I are seniors. So all our courses are 4000

level.”

“Two of mine are technically graduate classes,” Christy said.

“Yeah, okay,” Trip agreed, “but Architecture is a five-year program. So it’s even tougher than a regular degree.”

“Says who?” Wren shot back.

Christy sipped her wine and nodded.

“I’m taking six classes,” Wren continued, “plus a senior seminar in mass

media.”

“And I found out today,” Christy added, “that Siobhan wants me to exhibit at a major show in November. November! That’s, like, barely two months away.”

Trip refilled her glass. “Drink up.”

“I’m going to need it,” she muttered, and took a long sip.

“So,” I asked her, “do you have a piece in mind?”

“For what?”

“For your exhibition?”

She shook her head. “I have a bunch of ideas, but…” She shrugged. “I’ll think of something.”

“What about you?” Wren asked me. “You’ve been unusually quiet tonight.”

“Deadlines as far as the eye can see. Crushing workload. Be surprised if I have time to breathe.”

She snorted and opened another bottle.

“How’s Joska?” Trip asked with a heartless grin.

“Are you kidding? He’s half the deadlines himself. We have a huge project for his class. A design proposal, case study, full set of drawings, a model, the works.”

“Professor Liang is pretty laid-back,” Trip said. Then he frowned.

“Management class will more than make up for it, though.”

“Told you it wouldn’t be easy,” Wren said.

“You were right. I’m playing catch-up, ’cause I’m not a Business or Finance major.”

“Yeah, but you have real-world experience,” I said.

“This is different.”

“How?”

“You know what it takes to build a house, right?”

“More or less.”

“Nothing like design class, is it?”

I snorted.

“It’s theory versus real world,” he continued, mostly for the girls’ benefit.

“They teach you how to design buildings, but it’s totally different on the job site.”

“Most construction guys think architects are idiots,” I told them.

Wren arched an eyebrow. “Are they?”

I glared and held out my glass for a refill.

“Most of them, yes,” Trip admitted. “At least when it comes to practical construction.”

Christy glanced at me to see if I agreed or not.

“Sadly, he’s right,” I said. “Most people in class couldn’t design a workable building if their lives depended on it. You should see some of the projects from fifth-year students.” I shook my head in mock disappointment.

“Beautiful buildings, but completely impractical.” I gestured at Christy with my wineglass. “Remember the dome? By Brunelleschi?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“That’s what you get from an architect who’s also a builder. Beautiful and feasible.”

Trip raised his glass. “Amen, brother.”

The wine and conversation continued to flow until very late. We were all drunk by the time we went to bed.

Unfortunately, I was still too keyed up to sleep. I thought about jerking off, if only to pass the time, but decided against even that. Then I heard a strain of familiar music from across the hall. It was Trip’s make-out tape.

A small part of me was annoyed that they hadn’t asked me to join them, but that was completely irrational. Wren was Trip’s girlfriend, not mine. I didn’t have any claim on her. Besides, Wren didn’t want two boyfriends. She wanted Trip, with some fun on the side.

I was the fun on the side.

Sometimes.

I closed my eyes and tried to will myself to sleep, but couldn’t help listening to the faint, rhythmic sounds from across the hall. The house was old, with lots of night noises, but not so many that I couldn’t imagine what was going on.