Chapter Four
OLIVER
I n front of me, the machine whirs to life, coffee dripping into the mug. I’m on my third cup this morning, and although my hands are starting to shake, I still feel exhausted.
We had a week, and it was a blissful one.
After the night in the bar, and the evening that followed it, Madison and I fell into step with each other. The boundaries were drawn so clearly, without either of us saying a word. We knew we had a week, and we knew not to ask questions. I don’t know what she is studying, she doesn’t know what I’m teaching.
Last night, our bodies wrapped around one another, we said goodbye. See you soon. This was fun.
It shouldn’t have hurt the way it did, but I also should have known I had gone too far.
From the moment I saw Madison smile I knew I needed her. When I found out I couldn’t truly have her, I selfishly took everything she had to give. One night with a forbidden love is one thing. A whole week is another. We were doomed from the start.
“Late night?”
The high-pitched voice startles me, but I manage to compose myself before turning around.
“Morning.” I attempt a smile at the old crone, but her cold stare has my spine tingling.
Professor Heather Dausset runs a tight ship. Known for her strict staff expectations and no-nonsense attitude toward students, she is the head of the Creative Arts Faculty. My boss. And the woman who never wanted me working here in the first place.
According to her, I am too young to run such a ‘crucial’ class. My accolades as a writer meant nothing in her search for perfection. Lucky for me, no one else wanted to teach Creative Non-Fiction. Or unlucky, considering the foul taste that becoming a professor has left in my mouth. The thought of my first class sits like a frog in my stomach, bouncing around when I need it to be still. I became a professor to make a difference, but now that I’m part of the faculty, I’m doubting that’s possible.
“Your first class starts in eight minutes.”
I hold back a sarcastic remark. It won’t do me any favours.
“Yes, thank you, I was just heading there now.”
Her head bobs once before she turns on her heel, heading towards the group of tutors lingering on the couch.
Knowing that I sacrificed time to meander by making my coffee, my steps are brisk as I race across campus. Coffee balancing in one hand, I juggle my texts and notebooks in the other.
I’m right on time when I walk into the class and pay no attention to the students already seated. Behind the podium, I pull my drive up on the screen, opening today’s presentation before sharing the screen to the massive projector screen behind me. I run through the motions like a robot, following the steps I planned and practiced when I first took the position.
“On Writing” my first slide reads. Because you can’t write a creative non-fiction masterpiece if you can’t write a good story. Eyes down, focused on my notes before I start my very first lecture, I can’t escape the tiny gasp I hear from the front row.
Looking up, I see the worst thing imaginable.
Madison. In my class.
My thoughts scramble and I drop the papers to the floor. Murmurs erupt behind her, no doubt laughing at my clumsiness. They have no idea.
Madison herself isn’t the worst thing, she’s the best thing I’ve ever seen. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a tight, low ponytail. Sleek and straight, it’s nothing like the messy bundle it became in my fist. The sleeves of her dark green jumper are pulled up, revealing a hint of the floral tattoo on her forearm, and her denim skirt sits tight across her knees.
I want to run my hands along her thighs, pushing that skirt up until I can see if she is wearing those perfect black panties again.
But shit, I can’t.
I can’t even think like that anymore, let alone act on my desires.
Madison is in my class. And that is the worst thing possible. Because I have to somehow compose myself and give this lecture to a room full of students.
“Is he okay?”
The voice hesitates, filled with concern, but it blows sense into my lungs all the same. I drop down to pick up the paperwork now strewn about my feet. Hidden behind the podium, I attempt to compose myself. A few deep breaths, a light tap on the sternum. Neither works. But the murmurs grow louder.
Paperwork in my hands, I glance up at the slide and push myself to stand. My notes are completely out of order, but I know this text like I know my own soul. I can do this.
I avoid Madison’s gaze when I turn back to the class. Avoid thinking about the nights we shared a bed, or the delicious taste of her.
“On Writing …” I begin, and the rest of the lecture passes in a blur of stumbled words and disinterested students. All of them except Madison. Focusing on the lecture is impossible under her adoring stare.
No matter how hard I try not to look at her, it’s like trying not to look at the sun. Her light hauls my eyes toward her. She watches me teach, intently and with adoration. She smiles at my puns, looks concerned when I speak of how hard being an author can be, takes notes when I remind the class of an important point. And it fucking kills me that she is so perfect.
The perfect student. The perfect woman.
One glorious week was all we had, but that was all it took for me to fall. Hard. Fast. Desperately.
“Before your tutorials, try to get some of the reading done,” I say to the class as I turn off the projector. “Your tutors will have details of your first assignment.”
Chairs empty and a wave of bodies race for the back door. My hands fall to the podium and my head sinks between my shoulders. What a mess.
“Well,” her voice cuts through the noise of the students, “that was awkward.”
My shoulders shake as I hold in a desperate laugh that wants to escape. Awkward could possibly be the understatement of my entire career.
I can’t look at her. If I do, I might kiss her. I might never let go.
“Look at me,” she whispers as she steps closer. The podium stands between us, but she leans over it. Her face is so close to mine I can feel the warmth of her breath on my lips. Opening my eyes, I stare into hers. The air in the lecture hall thins until my lungs hurt, unable to suck in the oxygen I need.
Her breasts rise and fall in time with my own heavy breaths, and her eyelids grow heavy. Goosebumps scatter down her arms and a blush rises from her neck. The twisting in my core is back and I feel blood rushing lower.
“I had a really, really, great week.”
Madison’s fingers trickle along my forearm to toy with the folded sleeves of my shirt. My other arm reaches across the podium. Cupping her cheek, I trail my thumb along her lower lip. Her tongue darts out, following its path.
Logic and reason leave my body. I step around the podium, and she melts into my arms. My arms around her back, I pull our bodies closer and gaze down at her. Whatever she can give me will never be enough.
The side door slams. Jolting apart, Madison scurries to grab her bag from where she left it on the seat.
“Professor Fraser.” The high-pitched voice carries around the seating area, giving me pause to gather my thoughts. “How was your first class?”
Her heels click as she patters her way into the room, stopping abruptly when she sees Madison.
“Oh, a student.” Professor Dausset’s tone sharpens.
“Hi! I’m Madison.”
The difference in their voices is stark. Madison’s is light and airy, like a summer breeze that leaves a tickle down your spine. Professor Dausset’s is filled with bitter disgust. Her hatred for the generation below her sitting deep in her throat.
Her wrinkled eyes dart from me to Madison, then back again. The firm line between her brows deepens. Settling her stare on me, she steps to place herself in front of Madison.
“Interesting.” With her pointer finger, she pushes her thin framed glasses up her nose.
“I was just asking Professor Fraser about his decision to add On Writing to the reading list at the last minute.”
Dausset turns to Madison, arms folded across her chest. “Is it really your business why a professor feels a certain,” her arms flail as she finds the word she needs, “text should be read by his students?”
Madison retreats, shrinking into herself as she shakes her head.
“I will remind both of you,” Dausset adds, turning back to me, “that while fraternisation between staff and students is generally frowned upon, between a professor and a student it is strictly prohibited.”
Madison’s mouth drops open. Holding back a cough, I tilt my head to the side.
“I’m well aware.” I hold Dausset’s gaze, determined not to let her win the staring contest we have somehow entered.
She raises an eyebrow before she turns on her heel, clicking her way back towards the exit.
“I want to discuss your lesson plan,” she calls before she opens the door. “Come see me in my office.”
As she leaves, the air in the room cools. I blow out a sigh, leaning back against the podium.
That was close. Too close.
“I guess that’s why we only had a week.” Madison muses.
I nod. Words feel impossible right now. Because I know we only had a week, and I know we have to stick to the rules that have been laid out for us. But one week with Madison will never be enough.