Triple Love Score by Brandi Megan Granett Page A

plan, something that just felt good and to hell with the consequences. “Tell me about your students. How’s their English coming?” She hoped to change the subject.
    “They are doing fine, really fine. But I want to talk about you. What brought this on all of a sudden? Random sex with a student? Oh, and Happy Thanksgiving.”
    “Thanksgiving, ugh.”
    “Why ugh? You like the holidays. How’re Avery and Stanton?”
    “They’re fine. The holidays are fine. Okay. Scott was there.”
    “Scott?”
    “Thai food and Scrabble Scott. The Scott I grew up with. Scott Cramer.”
    “The one and only? Mister gone and lost forever?”
    “Yeah, that one. Oh, and he has a daughter. She’s like six or seven. And perfect. Lynn’s her name. I have to tell you, though, she says she’s my new best friend. We even shook on it.”
    “Replacing me are you? Hmmm. We’ll see. What about the mother?”
    “No mother. Just them.”
    “So the guy you crushed on is still single, with a kid. You like kids.”
    “I know I like kids. I like this kid. She was fun to be with. We went into the city to see the Macy’s balloons the night before, and then in the morning Scott and I had a thing, a spat really, then zip, cold shoulder.”
    “Cold shoulder? Nothing?”
    “He only broke his silence to me at dinner. He told me I should look up some guy to help me market Blocked Poet.”
    “You told them about that?”
    “Yeah, I wanted Avery and my dad to know. It’s not like I can win a big legal case and protect the wheels of justice or anything. It’s just nice to have something to show for myself, you know.”
    “Yeah, I know. I just thought you were keeping that on the down low.”
    “I am. It’s just them. And Scott. But they don’t know anything about it really. They wouldn’t rat me out; they don’t have anybody to rat me out to.”
    “You should contact the guy.”
    “What guy?”
    “The marketing guy. That stuff is good. You should make something out of it. Make it big.”
    “Hmmmm …,” Miranda said.
    “Don’t hmmm me. Do it. I gotta go, though; it’s time for class to start. We’re doing Valentine’s Day today.”
    “But it’s November still.”
    “But this is the order the textbook goes in. It covers all American holidays. Last year, I had an Arbor Day unit. We studied the vocabulary of trees.”
    “Vocabulary of trees?”
    “Not everyone can be a famous internet poet.”
    “Ha!”
    “Ha, yourself. You should call the marketing guy and not the student.”
    “I don’t even have the student’s number. And he’s not a student. His name is Ronan. From Ireland.”
    “Wow, you nailed the foreign exchange student?”
    “Graduate student.”
    “But gee, you just said he wasn’t a student. Stop confusing me, okay? Call me later, but honestly, be careful.”
    “Thanks, Mom. It’s not like I’ve ever done this kind of thing before.”
    “Exactly. That’s what has me worried,” Danielle said.

C H A P T E R

    W HEN RONAN DIDN’T TURN UP at her apartment the next day or the day after, Miranda fought the urge to be upset. Maybe it was a one-time thing. Maybe he didn’t mean anything by it. She experimented with being the type of woman who enjoyed a one-night stand. She found herself striding across campus, hips swinging in a wide sashay to teach her mandatory Thursday composition classes, where she tried in vain to steer them away from plagiarizing their final research papers through a mixture of humor and begging. She smiled. A lot. The Friday department meeting was canceled and not rescheduled again until after the Christmas break. The end of the term was in sight, and somehow, she was suddenly a woman who knew how to have a good time. No strings attached. This lightness, the new attitude she tried on for size, sparked her creativity. She posted a dozen new works, all of which spread through the Internet like wildfire. She tracked their link-backs and trackbacks with glee. When her Instagram gained