Chapter Two #2
Hell, I haven’t thought of a woman that way … until bumping into Amber. And as I watch her go, I can’t help but be filled with regret for letting her leave without any way of getting in touch with her again.
* * *
Amber
I wake up, my stomach a jumble of nerves, as I ready myself for my first college class in ten years.
I dress in jeans and a pair of sandals, a silk sleeveless top with decorative roses completing the outfit.
Drawing a deep breath, I eat my oatmeal and down much-needed caffeine before walking over to my backpack, where I recheck that I have everything I need.
Instead of the used laptop my mother could barely afford like I had the first time, I now pack the top-of-the-line laptop the guys in New York bought me and insisted I can’t return, along with a notebook because I am still a handwritten note taker at heart, pens … and courage. I need a big heap of that.
I spent the weekend unpacking the most necessary boxes and trying to start making this new house my home, beginning with pictures of L.J.
and his dad, along with those of Landon, Tyler, and Jason holding L.J.
as a baby. My mind often goes to the man with whom I shared a meal and the new feelings he inspired.
Those enlightening sensations in my body have me thinking that maybe Layla is right and I should use my time alone this summer to put my toe back into the dating pool.
I don’t think I’m ready for the new world of online apps and swipe right or left, but a man I meet the old-fashioned way? While walking on campus?
I wished I’d had the courage to ask for Shane’s phone number. Maybe if I run into him again I’ll suggest we go for pizza. My treat this time.
As I am about to walk out the door, my phone chimes, indicating my FaceTime is trying to reach me. I pull the phone from my bag and answer, happy to see L.J.’s smiling face.
“Hi, Mom!”
“Hi, sweetie! How are you?” I ask, picking up my keys from the counter and swinging my pack over one shoulder.
“I’m good! I just wanted to wish you good luck. Grandma reminded me you had your first class today.”
I laugh as I step out into the heat of the summer morning and lock up behind me, keeping my eye on my son’s face. “What are you up to today?”
Glancing down the street, I follow the directions I looked up this morning, more certain I have the right way this time.
“We’re going to the Empire State Building!” He lets out a loud cheer, and I laugh.
Samuel calls for him from another room.
“Gotta go, Mom.”
“Bye, honey. Love you.”
“Love you, too!” He disconnects us, and the screen goes blank.
I rush along the path to my classroom, and as I come closer, I look around and am forced to accept the one thing I avoided thinking about while going through the enrollment process and making the choice to return to school. That I am significantly older than everyone around me.
Now, as I take in the girls in their cropped tops and tight denim shorts, frayed at the edges, I come face-to-face with reality.
I am out of place and don’t belong here.
Making friends will be nearly impossible.
Swallowing over the lump in my throat, I push any negative thoughts aside.
I am here to create a better life for myself and my son, not make friends my own age.
Today’s class is an intro to economics, something I need for the business minor I desire. Unfortunately I struggle with math classes and don’t expect even the most basic to be simple or easy.
I arrive at the classroom and walk inside the big lecture hall. Despite the fact that it is summer session, an intro class obviously pulls in a large number of students. I choose a seat in the middle, not too far up front but not in the way back, either. People fill up the seats around me.
Reaching into my backpack, I pull out my notebook and pen. I’ll take out my computer if I feel the need later on. I can sense the minute the professor walks into the room because a hush descends, and the chatter stops.
I open to a fresh page and glance at the front of the room just as the professor strides up to the podium, freezing at the sight of Shane standing in front of the classroom.
I never looked at my professors’ names, knowing they won’t mean anything to me.
And in the rush of moving in and unpacking, I hadn’t had time to pay attention to little details.
Hands on the podium, he clears his throat and begins to introduce himself. It never dawned on me that he might be a professor at the school, although it probably should have. To me, he was a hot guy I met on my walk to get dinner.
I glance up, taking in his professor look and demeanor.
He is more serious and buttoned up than he was the other night, wearing a white collared shirt and a dark sport jacket over a pair of dress slacks.
He appeals to me on a visceral level, looking sexy yet smart, his hair combed neatly back, his expression serious as his gaze scans the class.
I realize the moment he recognizes me, his eyes opening wide. I hesitate, then raise my hand in a small wave only to have him school his features into one of bland disinterest. My stomach twists in embarrassment, and I lower my arm and study the blank page in front of me.
Thanks to the wash of humiliation, I find it hard to pay attention at first, and by the time I recover, he’s asking questions and calling on students.
Too late, I realize there was an assignment, and if I logged on and checked my emails, I would have known.
Already behind, I fidget in my chair and try to keep up.
But as he goes over the basic definition of economic theory, opportunity cost is the value of the next highest value substitute use of that resource, I know I’m in trouble.
Math confuses me. This completely bewilders me.
I swallow hard and pray he doesn’t call on me. He’d been jumping around on his class list, not going alphabetically, and at some point, I’ll be up. Another five minutes drag by, with me scribbling down notes I don’t understand.
“What is the definition of microeconomics?” he asks. “Ms. Davis?”
I glance up and slowly raise my hand to let him know where I’m sitting. Although he might have already guessed by my first name if there are no other Ambers in the room.
“Umm … I’m not sure. I didn’t realize there was an assignment for the first day.” My cheeks flame with mortification.
He narrows his gaze. “Microeconomics focuses on how individual consumers and firms make decisions, such as how they respond to changes in price. Now, this class might be an introductory one, but it isn’t a joke.
If anyone thinks otherwise, you can visit the registrar and drop the course.
” After that reprimand, which I take as aimed at me, he moves on to other items on his agenda to discuss for today.
Upset with how my first day went and embarrassed that I come across as uncaring and disrespectful to my professor—to Shane—I can’t wait for the class to end. Of course, the minutes drag, until finally he ends the session.
“The syllabus and my office hours are in the email I sent,” he reminds us, his gaze landing briefly on mine. “See you on Wednesday.”
I swallow hard and collect my things, aware of the rustle of noise around me as the other students do the same and rush out of the room.
I wonder if I owe him an apology or explanation or if I should just show up better prepared next time. Not that the subject matter will lend itself toward me understanding it easily.
Lost in thought, I zip up my backpack and rise to my feet, stepping into the aisle and bumping into…
“Shane. I mean Professor Warden.” I stumble over how to greet him. “I wasn’t watching where I was going. Again.”
“It seems to be a theme,” he says, his voice a low rumble.
I glance around the room, noting we are alone.
“I haven’t been to class in ten years. I just moved here from Florida this weekend, and I sent my son off with his grandparents for the first time.
I should have checked my emails. I thought I was prepared and I wasn’t.
Math really isn’t my thing, and this is all confusing but it won’t happen again,” I say, knowing I am rambling, repeating things he already knows about me in my rush to make him understand.
“Amber, relax.” His hand comes to rest on my shoulder, and I feel the heat straight through to my core. My gaze flies to his, and I catch the flare of heat in his chocolate eyes before he removes his hand and banks the fire so quickly I think I imagined it.
I breathe in deep and inhale the now familiar scent of his cologne, which strikes a chord inside me and makes me even more aware of him as a man and not the teacher in charge of my class.
“It’s a difficult class. You can always drop it now and take it in August when you’ve had more time to settle in,” he says.
I shake my head, refusing to back down from something just because it’s challenging. “I can do it … or are you trying to get me out of your class?”
The idea dawns on me and won’t let go. As awkward as I feel, maybe he is equally uncomfortable. Because he enjoyed having dinner with me, too?
Meeting his gaze, I wait for his reply.
* * *
Shane
I know I was an ass, first ignoring her wave, then calling on her when I knew she was as thrown as I was by finding out I’m the professor of her class.
The look of shock on her face said it all.
In my attempt to convince myself I could handle having her as a student, I was harder on her than I normally would be on day one.
“No, I’m not trying to get rid of you,” I semi-lie.
No doubt it will be easier for me if I don’t have to look into those pretty blue eyes every day or hide my obvious attraction to her behind the podium.
“I just thought maybe, given everything going on in your life at the moment, postponing a difficult class might be in your best interest.”
She straightens her shoulders, and my gaze is drawn to the swell of her breasts beneath her colorful top.
“No. I made a mistake but it won’t happen again.”
“Okay,” I say, admiring her determination. “We’ll see if you can handle the work.”
She tips her head to the side, taking a step closer to me. So close I inhale her citrusy scent and my cock grows hard.
“Just like we’ll see if you can handle having me in your class.” She pins me with a knowing gaze, clearly having decided she has me off-kilter.
She is right.
I blow out a long breath. If I have second thoughts about not getting her phone number, those ended the minute I laid eyes on her in my classroom. Ironically, I now have access to her phone via my students’ information list.
“I just thought we could get a slice of pizza or something. Get to know each other better.” Those blue eyes study me with definite interest.
Interest I reciprocate, and I swallow hard, tempted beyond belief to take her up on her offer. But the past, propriety, and common sense prevent me from acting on what I want. No way will I have a relationship with a student. Not even one obviously close to my own age.
“This can’t happen, Miss Davis,” I tell her, my tone firm, using her last name to put much-needed distance between us.
She stares at me as if trying to decipher what was going on inside my head, pursing her delectable lips in thought.
“I don’t think I’m imagining the chemistry between us,” she says. “But that Miss Davis comment explains everything. Student-teacher. Forbidden. Got it.” She lifts her backpack higher on her back. “I’ll see you on Wednesday, Professor.”
She turns away and walks out of the room, my gaze on her ass as she leaves.
Biting back a curse, I head back to the front to gather my things, hating how I was forced to go against every gut instinct I possess by ignoring our attraction.
I want to get to know her better. I am curious about how she came to be a mother so young, wonder what happened to her baby’s father, if he is still in her life, and why she decided to go back to school now.
Basically I want to discover everything about her, and that includes learning the curves of her body that she tries so hard to hide with her flowing clothing.
My hands itch to slide beneath her colorful top and run along her bare skin.
I am dying to close the space between us when we are alone and seal my lips over hers and find out if she tastes as delicious as I think she will.
For a man who never wanted more from a woman than a good time, who never got serious about anyone he dated, the desire I feel for all things about Amber shocks me.
Why the hell does it have to be the one woman I can’t have in any manner, shape, or form?