Hot Professor (Tainted Professors)
1. Ivy
Chapter 1
Ivy
S omebody, please pinch me. Not too hard, I bruise easily, but I need to know this isn’t a dream.
“Ivy are you sure about this, dear? It’s not too late to change your mind and come back home. Your father would be happy to come get you.”
I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that I’m in New York. Mount Vernon, Ohio, population sixteen thousand and change, is nothing more than a speck in my rear-view mirror, if I had a car. Ahead of me lies the bustling Big Apple, with its towering buildings, crazy busy streets, and home to millions—including me for the next few years. Excitement and anxiety swirl in my stomach, making me a little nauseous, to be honest.
“I’m fine, Mom. Everything will be fine.” Her voice fades as I walk through the park on my way to the arts and science building where most of my classes will be held. Two chunky black squirrels with big bushy tails dash across the walkway in front of me, their game of chase impeded by myself and dozens of other students as we enjoy the sunshine on this beautiful September morning. It’s even still warm enough I don’t need my sweater, making the day that much better.
“But—”
“Mom, I have to go now. I’m meeting with the academic advisor about my TA position.” I really need this job. Typically, as a freshman I wouldn’t get a shot at a paid assignment like this. I made a case based on my education, age, and work experience, and thankfully, the one professor I asked to be paired with agreed to take a chance on me. I plan to show him and everyone else I’m more than capable. But I don’t know why Mrs. Brooks asked to see me. And now I’m fearful he’s changed his mind, or the faculty dean overrode the decision by giving the position to somebody more deserving than me.
“Ivy, we miss you so much, honey. The house is quiet without you here.”
“I miss you too, Mom. And I’ll be home for Christmas. I’ll call you soon. I gotta go now. Bye.” I end the call before either of us cries. Even though I try to sound strong and confident when talking to her, my heart is racing, and my palms are damp. I can barely keep enough saliva in my mouth from the nerves. This is all so new. And a little scary.
It feels surreal to be on my own, leaving behind everything and everyone I’ve ever known. But the moment I arrived for the university campus tour last spring, I knew in my gut this was where I belonged—amongst the towering buildings, the throngs of people, and the traffic. Yes, I even enjoy the traffic. There are more cars on this street alone right now than in my hometown. However, getting used to the constant wail of sirens at all hours will take some getting used to.
Thankfully, my parents couldn’t make the initial trip with me, though I felt their disappointment deeply. And the guilt doubled down the moment they dropped me off at the airport that first time, tears in Mom’s eyes even though I’d only be gone a few days. At twenty-three, almost twenty-four, I’d never been away from home. Never visited a city bigger than Columbus.
Unbeknownst to them, I’d already applied and been accepted to the school of my dreams, and I waited to mention my plans to attend the tour until almost the last minute. When I first brought up the subject of going away for college, they pushed me to stay local, no doubt where they could keep an eye on me. But I’m not a kid anymore. Those apron strings were destined to be cut, so I purposely chose a time when I knew they’d be busy with the church. Had they known what I was up to, Mom would have started praying for my safety and well-being immediately, and Dad would have prayed for my soul to ensure nobody corrupted his little naive girl. Together, they would have harped on me until I gave in and stayed in Ohio, where I know I would have been miserable.
I’ve been homeschooled my entire life. I’m smart enough to know I missed out on a lot. That’s why I’m here. I plan to get my English degree, work hard, and do everything I promised my parents. But I also want to experience the same things other people my age does. I’m already a few years older than many students because I worked for a few years after graduating from high school to save money for my tuition and my first year of accommodations. I plan to find a part-time job, so I can stay in New York and complete my education.
Maybe even stay forever.
I love my parents, but the home and tight-knit community I grew up in kept me sheltered from certain things.
Boys.
Dating.
Sex.
Living.
I don’t even have a best friend, somebody to share the great parts, the hard parts, and the scary parts of being away from home for the first time—living alone, starting something totally new and foreign, meeting new people.
While I had a few friends growing up, there weren’t many. Everyone on the street attended the community schools. They hung out with other kids at school. They had things in common, whereas I didn’t. Even the girl next door, a friend since we were little, gave up on me. I was homeschooled and an only child, I spent most of my time with Mom.
I love her and Dad, but I need to be around people my age. I need to spread my wings and find myself. Discover who Ivy Elise Kendrick truly is.
The school campus is massive, a maze of pulsing energy and unbridled excitement wherever you look. It’s a unique blend of academic intensity and urban vibrancy with the various buildings spread out like they are, so different from any other college campus. The rich heritage, along with the mix of historic and modern architecture, are sensory overloads for somebody like me. Our downtown area is bustling with small businesses, but it doesn’t compare to a city the size of New York. And without a car, I didn’t have many opportunities to explore beyond our town boundaries. Not that I had any friends to go joyriding with anyway.
I’m almost midway through my twenties and haven’t lived yet.
From the marble arch in park to the ivy-covered buildings and charming brownstones and the sleek design of the library, I’m in heaven amongst the other students walking freely between buildings, sitting on benches or spread out on the grass, or grabbing a mid-morning coffee at a local coffee shop. Though I miss the lower price of Sally’s coffee back home, I’ve discovered a love for lattes.
I feel free here. As alive as the birds and squirrels, both of which are in abundance and not at all bothered by the hundreds of students in their midst. School banners hang from lampposts and building entrances, adding a sense of identity and pride. I already feel pride in being here.
Entering the building, I’m in awe as I stroll through the main floor in search of a directory or something to point me toward the counselor’s office. I’ve never been inside such a large building. It takes some doing, but I finally find my way. Dodging a group of students engrossed in their phones, I slip into the counselor’s office after rapping on the door and being told to enter.
Inside is a cozy nook that smells like herbal tea and old paper. The walls are lined with inspirational quotes and posters of far-off places. The middle-aged woman sitting behind the desk reminds me of Mom, her auburn hair pulled back from her face in a tight bun and dark-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose. It’s the first day of classes, and she’s already surrounded by stacks of papers, files, and an empty coffee mug where I can see the ring of a tea stain next to her right hand.
“Hello? Mrs. Brooks? I’m Ivy Kendrick. You asked to see me this morning?”
Mrs. Brooks, the academic advisor, greets me with a kind smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes this morning.
Uh oh.
“Hello, Ivy. Thank you for coming. How do you like New York so far?”
“I love it. I’m very excited to be here and looking forward to my classes.” I carefully drop my backpack on the floor next to the guest chair as I sit in front of her desk. Folding my hands in my lap, I lean forward. “I hope there’s not a problem with my teaching assistant position?” I worry my request might have been revoked, given my status.
“That’s why I asked to speak to you, Ivy.”
Oh crap. Did the professor change his mind? Did the dean?
“I provided all the information and references needed. I realize it’s usually given to students in third or fourth year, but I thought the position was mine.”
She arches an eyebrow, tapping a pen against a stack of forms. “You’re certainly qualified, Ivy. And given your particular circumstances, we’re happy to give you the opportunity. But...”
“But what?” I sigh heavily, trying to hide my annoyance.
“It’s...” Mrs. Brooks hesitates, obviously choosing her words carefully. “Your chosen professor, Professor Ashe... Perhaps a female mentor would be more appropriate.”
I frown, not understanding. Why does gender matter? “I don’t see how that changes anything. Professor Ashe is my English Lit professor, and he’s got quite the biography.” The man is younger than most professors, having graduated high school before he turned sixteen, college at eighteen, and completed his Ph. D by twenty-three—he’s super smart—one of literally a handful of people to be in his position in his early thirties. I always did good, but not that good.
“Yes, he certainly does.”
“Is it because I’m only in my first year? I promise you; I plan to work very hard. I can balance my classes and the workload of being a TA.”
“I’m sure you can, dear.” Mrs. Brooks gives me a look that’s half pity, half concern. “It’s not about the workload. It’s that... well, college can stir up all sorts of new feelings. And distractions.”
Distractions? Now I’m even more puzzled. Is she trying to discourage me from taking this position? “I’m not sure I understand what you’re trying to tell me.”
“Well, Mr. Ashe is… he’s um… he’s very attractive.” She blushes.
I blink repeatedly before rubbing a hand across my forehead. “And that’s a problem for me? How?”
“I’m not sure how to put this.”
“Why don’t you simply tell me what your concern is?”
“Very well. We’ve had other students swoon over Professor Ashe and it’s caused… some trouble.”
I nearly choke on a snort of laughter. Swoon? Seriously? Who says ‘swoon’ these days. I’ve seen my share of cute guys. But swooning? That’s not really on my syllabus this year.
“Mrs. Brooks,” I straighten in the chair and school my expression, hoping my maturity and confidence are convincing. “I assure you that I’m here to learn and grow academically. Nothing else. I have no interest in a relationship with anybody. My focus is my studies and my job.” In all honesty, I plan to have fun, too, but she doesn’t need to know that.
She regards me closely, her eyes narrowing, and I can see her weighing further arguments in her mind. It’s a long moment of me trying not to fidget while she decides.
“Alright then,” she sighs. She gathers some papers on her desk. “Read these over. It tells you everything you need to know and do to finalize the arrangement. But remember, Ivy, sometimes the heart tutors us in unexpected ways.” She holds out the pages for me.
Right now, this woman is reminding me too much of Mom. I grab the papers from her hand and stand, thanking her before picking up my backpack and breezing out the door before she can change her mind. All this talk about hearts and feelings—it’s like they think I’m some green girl straight out of a Jane Austen novel. Please. I have a plan and goals, and they don’t involve falling head over heels for any professor, no matter how captivating his lectures may be or how attractive he looks.
“Thanks, but I’ll stick to my books about century old authors and poets,” I whisper, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear and setting off toward my first class.
Bring it on, Professor Ashe. Let’s see what you’ve got.