And he’s not just eye-candy either. I’ve read over some of the reviews he gets from his students, and it’s obvious they find his enthusiasm for the subject just as attractive as his more superficial qualities. He gets equally revved up to teach freshman calculus as he does from his grad level courses. And it shows. I’ve never had a professor as excited to teach me math as Dr. Adler, one student wrote. Then they may or may not have mentioned his butt.

To be fair, my husband does have a very nice butt.

“I’m aware,” I say.

“And don’t you think Monica has noticed?”

I flinch. “She’s not like that.”

“She’s female, isn’t she? If she isn’t a lesbian, she’s noticed. Trust me.”

“So?”

“So.” Shelley gives me a look. “So what if she decides she wants him?”

“Shelley…”

“Hear me out.” She lifts a finger. “Let’s assume her intentions are good going into this…”

“They are.”

She rolls her eyes. “Okay, we’ll give her that. But even if that’s true, think about how she’s going to feel a few months into her pregnancy. There she is, hormones raging, parasite growing inside her uterus, getting fat—and she knows Sam is the father of this baby. They’re connected by blood. And of course, she’ll see what a great guy he is, that he does dishes, laundry, and that he’s an excellent kisser…”

I can’t argue with any of that. Sam does do dishes and laundry. And he is an excellent kisser.

“I trust Sam,” I say stubbornly. “And I trust Monica.”

“Sam—fine. He wouldn’t cheat. But how well do you know Monica?”

“Very well,” I insist. “She’s been my assistant for almost six months.”

“Right. So you know her for six months. Which isn’t very long at all.”

“I trust her.” It’s hard to explain that good feeling I got the first time I sat across from Monica. How I saw so much of myself in her and wanted to take her under my wing. I trust Monica as much as I trust myself.

Shelley peers at me over the rim of her Diet Coke. She’s thoughtful for a moment. “You know, I’ve seen her listening outside the door to your office.”

My heart skips a beat. “What?”

“I’ve seen her. She stands outside your office door when it’s closed, and I think she’s trying to hear your conversations.”

“I…” My mouth feels dry all of a sudden. Monica is trustworthy—I know it. I don’t need to hear this ridiculousness from my supposed best friend. “Maybe she was just checking to see if I was busy before she knocked on the door.”

“But isn’t that what knocking is for? To see if someone is busy?”