Chapter 9 Emma
EMMA
There’s nothing more beautiful than Faith Union College in October. The air is crisp enough to wear a sweater and enjoy a pumpkin latte while I walk to class. Leaves fall from trees in vibrant shades of reds, oranges, and yellows, blanketing the green landscaping on the quad.
I’m determined not to let the A-hole get under my skin. He’s been less grumpy in class the past couple of weeks, but I know better than to let my guard down around him.
It’s been well over a month since I’ve been to the club and seen Daddy Dom in person. Getting him on the phone has proven difficult as well. He’s gone to great lengths to conceal his identity, and I’m beginning to wonder why that is.
Is he ugly under the mask? Or a burn victim with scarring on his face that he’s self-conscious about?
That doesn’t explain why he’s disguising his voice, though.
Maybe he’s famous and he doesn’t want the world to know about his secret bedroom activities?
It would explain him masking his face and voice.
But I can’t think of any A-list celebrities with tattoos like his.
Could he be an athlete? A hockey player? He certainly has the build of one.
Our text conversations have been somewhat regular, though. He’s even given me a few rules that he thinks will help me get along with my professor.
Don’t take it personally. Easier said than done when everything out of Professor A-hole’s mouth feels like an attack on either my character, my intelligence, or my skills.
Pick your battles. This one came after I told him about how I confronted the A-hole about my paper.
Set clear boundaries and stick to them. This one seems fairly simple, and since I don’t plan on being around this man any more than I have to, it should be easy to implement.
When I enter the classroom, I take my usual seat in the second row. I like being close to the front in most classes, but with as much as Professor Ali walks around, there’s not a seat that’s safe from him.
“We’ve talked a lot about his plays and themes, but I’d be remiss if we didn’t cover the rules and conventions that Shakespeare would adhere to when writing his works.
It’s widely known that he uses iambic pentameter when writing in verse.
And he tended to use verse to show higher-status characters while prose was used to show humor or lower-status.
But even he would break his own rules for dramatic effect to showcase a shift in a romantic relationship between characters. ”
He pauses after the last sentence, and I glance up from my computer screen, my fingers hovering over the keys.
There’s a look on his face that I can’t quite place, a mixture of disgust, anger, and hope, like he’s coming to terms with a revelation.
His eyes dart up to mine before I quickly drop my head, glancing over my notes.
He clears his throat and continues. “There were also rules about what style and color clothing individuals could wear based on their social standing. For example, purple was reserved for members of the royal family and those close in nobility. Another rule, or more of a status quo perhaps, was the fact that all the actors in the shows were male, including those playing female parts.”
I nod my head and carefully pull my phone out of my pocket holding it close to my laptop screen to conceal it while I type out a message to Alyx.
Save me. I’m bored in class.
What do you expect me to do? I’m working a double today. You’re lucky you caught me after lunch rush.
Entertain me.
Send me memes.
I’m not sending nudes.
I said MEMES!
I need a distraction from this droll speech filled with facts I learned in high school.
I’m not your puppet, Emma.
[gif of a marionette on strings dancing]
Classy
Pretty please. Anything to distract me from Professor A-hole.
With as much as you complain about the man, I’m starting to think you have a crush on him.
Do not.
Do too.
I do not.
I think one more time will really convince me.
You’re infuriating.
You got it bad.
Stop it.
Got it bad. Got it bad.
For Pete’s sake.
[I’m hot for teacher gif]
I cover my mouth with the back of my hand trying to hide the silent giggle that slips out at the gif Alyx sends me.
“Care to share your thoughts with the class, Miss Black?” I don’t realize he’s standing over my shoulder until his booming voice startles me, causing my phone to slip out of my hand like a bar of soap, landing right at his feet.
Frickity frick frick.
He picks it up looking at the tail end of my conversation with Alyx.
“What’s more interesting than our discussion of Othello and its themes of jealousy, racism, betrayal, and reven…
” His voice trails off, and my face heats, knowing what he’s reading.
When his thumb moves to scroll further up in the thread, I lean over and attempt to grab the phone out of his hand.
He lifts it out of my reach and clasps my wrist, stopping my movements.
My eyes fixate on his hand gripping me. How is he able to touch me? Why am I not freaking out? I can’t stand this man; he is the last person I want touching me. There’s no way he would ever make a move on me. That must be it.
He must feel my tension and quickly releases my wrist. Leaning over my desk, he places my cell face down, covering it with his large palm.
I look down at the phone, and my eyes trace the thick veins popping out of his hand and follow them up his forearm.
His sleeve is rolled up to his elbows, and I notice a tiny swirl of black ink peeking out his shirt on the inside of his arm.
Does the uptight professor have a tattoo?
Maybe there’s more to him than I realized.
His voice is a low whisper. “See me after class.”
——————
I remain in my seat as the classroom empties, slowly packing up my things while I watch Professor A-hole out of the corner of my eye, trying to gauge his mood.
He’s always so hard to read, a million microexpressions lighting up his face before he quickly schools his features, shoving whatever he’s feeling down deep.
I wonder how he deals with all that pent-up emotion?
Maybe he gets secret tattoos to torture himself?
Ever so slowly, I approach the front of the room, unconcerned with how timid I must look.
This is one of those times that I’m going to pick my battles.
I was caught red-handed, and there’s not much I can say to defend myself.
I’m just not sure how much of Alyx’s teasing he read.
Does he know those texts were about him?
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been on my phone—”
“Am I a joke to you? Do you think my class is a joke?” He leans against the table, cutting me off as I drop my gaze to the floor.
“No, sir.” I cringe at the use of the honorific, hoping he just assumes I’m being polite.
“Sir?” There’s a lift in his tone, and I fight the urge to look at him. “Look at me.” His tone is firm yet pleading, and I obey his command.
“Good… That’s good. That’s better. It’s rude not to look at someone speaking to you.”
Was he just about to say good girl? Why does that make all the blood in my body rush to my face and also between my legs? Wait, did he just scold me like a child for not making eye contact? This man is infuriating. Before I can open my mouth in response, he slaps a palm on the table next to him.
“I don’t know what you want from me—I mean, from this class.
I don’t know what you’re hoping to get out of this class when you write uninspired papers and refuse to heed my feedback.
And now you’re texting during my lecture.
I warned you that the midterm and final come from class discussion.
The more you know, the more you pay attention, the more capable you are.
Knowledge is power, Miss Black. Don’t come crawling to my office begging to redo your paper when you decide you aren’t happy with the mediocre grade you earned. ”
The nerve of this freaking man. I want to punch his stupid perfect face. A million emotions must channel through me as I gather the courage to speak without saying something I’ll regret.
But before I get a chance to respond, he grabs his bag off the podium and walks past me, leaving me alone in the classroom.
——————
John
Stop teasing my student while she’s in class.
Shit, man. Sorry. You should really talk to her about texting in class.
Trust me, I did.
That sounds ominous.
You put me in a difficult situation. Daddy Dom couldn’t handle it so Professor Ali had to.
When are you going to tell her that they’re the same person?
I don’t know if I am.
I wish you would. It was fine when you agreed to help her for the night, but then she ended up in your class, and now I feel like I’m lying to her.
I can’t be involved with a student. It’s against the rules.
That ship has sailed.
Besides that, I can’t be with her. She’s too young. And I have too many obligations weighing me down.
That’s cryptic AF.
You better not hurt her.
Wouldn’t dream of it.
Then figure out a way to tell her or walk away before she gets too attached.
Fuck
Yeah, fuck