The Scholar and the Star

Ch 1: Skyler

WARNING: This story contains mature themes and strong language that may not be suitable for some readers. Reader discretion is advised.

A familiar water bottle plunks down next to me. Glancing at the person landing on the fitness bench alongside it, I see their wide smile. A flash of white through a dark, shaggy beard.

"Finished already?" Mitchel greets me.

"You're late today." He already knew I'd be done at this time. In the few months I've known Mitchel, my schedule hasn't changed. I enjoy lifting weights in the morning before heading to the university to teach my history classes at the same time every day. I never see Mitchel on the weekends, preferring to spend mine holed up in the library.

"Tsk, so punctual." Mitchel clicks his teeth at me once. "I hope you didn't miss me too much, I had to meet my agent this morning."

"Your agent?" I know Mitchel told me before that he was an actor but this is L.A. Sure, he had listed off the works he'd been in but I hadn't recognized any of them. I don't usually watch mainstream media and I wouldn't recognize a celebrity from a most-wanted criminal. "Do you have an audition?"

"Yeah, something like that," Mitchel stands up, still grinning. "But I definitely have the part." He gives me a bold wink as he pulls his hair up into a small knot, and then starts to stretch.

At least he's confident. Since he doesn't mention work much I assumed he acted more as a hobby. This isn't exactly a gym that anyone can join, so most of us come from money already.

Raising his arms, Mitchel starts to bend one way and then another. His loose racerback tank practically falls away with each movement. It feels very important all of a sudden to sit here and finish my water before leaving.

It's not my usual style to be obsessive but this man's abs are something else. While I usually train for strength gains, Mitchel works his whole body with care and balance. He also must eat damn clean, too, because those abs are trim and well-defined. The kind of form that must have first inspired the sculptural arts.

"So, Skyler," Mitchel finishes stretching, turning away to choose a pair of dumbbells from the nearest rack. "How's it going finding a 'date from hell' or whatever?"

Right, the date for tonight's charity gala. The date to end all dates. Blind dates, at least.

Mother's favorite hobby seems to be setting me up. If it's one date, for one night, I can survive. The only problem is that tolerating her matchmaking here and there isn't satisfying her anymore. Mother wants second dates, an engagement, and the ultimate goal: a grandchild.

Our agreement has always been that I only have to attend one event a month of her choice, so that Mother can show off. Lately, she's been trying to take up more and more of my time. With summer approaching, I'll have less responsibilities as a professor and some more time for my research. And Mother has started to see the openings on my calendar as opportunities.

So, when she told me about another event she was organizing, I opened my big mouth and firmly told her that I already have a date.

The plan, as I am now calling it, was sparked by my brother, Eric. He joked that I should find someone that Mother would hate. The thought has potential. Mother won't push me towards marriage if she can't stand the bride-to-be.

It's worth a shot, after all, survival has historically hinged on exploration and innovation.

"I had no luck." My small network of single, female acquaintances dried up fast. None of them would agree to go on a pretend date to make my mother hate them. "The last one I could ask refused and even got a little mad about it." I grumble, raising my water bottle for a big swig.