Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
LUCA
I can do this.
I can do this.
Maybe… probably. I think.
I’ve been standing in front of the door, listening to the sound of voices trickling in for nearly two minutes, and I spent the last half hour on my way here hyping myself up for this moment.
It’s just a door.
I just have to walk through the door.
I’m not even late. I’m actually early. There’s nothing to worry about.
“You can do this, Luca.” Maybe if I say it out loud, my brain will believe me? Probably not, but I’ve spent a lot of my life living by the “psych myself up and worry about how unprepared I am later” motto. But I am prepared for this.
I’ve been researching.
The deep breath I take nearly strangles me as I step forward… and run straight into a broad chest. The books in my hands go flying, and I stumble backward.
Oh my God. How am I ever going to talk myself into going to a queer club if I can’t manage to walk into a classroom without falling down?
I’ve tried three times to go to Mask. The first time, I drove past without even slowing down. The second, I actually parked my car and then had an anxiety attack in the parking lot.
The third time, I saw a group of really tall, broad men going through the door and panicked.
And now…
Now I have to look up.
And up.
And up to the man who caught me before I fell flat on my back and embarrassed myself.
He’s… wow. He’s bigger than the guys who scared me away from the club. And he’s looking at me like he’s not sure if he wants to drop me to the ground or keep hold of me so I don’t fall again.
“I’m so sorry. I… I…”
I really need to stop staring. I know my lips are slightly parted, but I can’t help it. Professor Levine is… he’s…
He’s wow.
Professor Levine is Wow. Capital W. Wow.
He has dark blond hair and brilliant blue eyes.
His slightly downturned lips are full. He’s all broad shoulders and a trim waist. I didn’t think professors actually looked like him outside of movies…
and maybe a few of the videos I’ve barely been able to watch while Zandy wasn’t in the dorm room.
The kind that start with a ridiculous scenario and devolve into moaning entirely too fast.
I haven’t really been able to get much further than that.
But he looks like he could star in one of those.
“Mr. Archer?”
Oh God, he even has one of those deep rumbly voices. He’s big, huge, intimidating…
He’s barely said anything to me, but I can already tell that his presence completely fills a room. I haven’t been in this building since freshman year—I tested out of most of my core classes, and took the majority that I could online. I’ve heard people say the drama professor is a hard-ass.
But…
“Sorry, sir.” I murmur, dropping my eyes to the ground like it will save me from how ridiculous I’m acting.
“My name is Luca… Luca Archer.” Luca, he already knows your name.
“I’m your new TA.” And if he knows your name, he probably knows that too.
“I’m not really familiar with your curriculum, but I’m sure I can catch up.
I’m a quick study. I…” I’m having a fantastic conversation with his shiny, dark shoes.
“Mr. Archer?” He says it again, and the deep tone in his voice finally makes me jerk my gaze up, like those syllables are attached to strings that control my movements.
When I meet his gaze, I swallow hard. And if I’m not mistaken, he watches the way my throat bobs while I do it.
He’s a huge sporty type; he’s probably smelling the weakness and trying to figure out how to get a new TA because I’m pathetic.
“Yes, sir?” Who let someone who looks like he should be hanging out with Zandy teach theater? I thought I’d be working for someone nerdy. Not…
“You can take a seat at my desk. Class is about to start. Observe the lecture, and we can discuss your responsibilities after.” He’s watching me like my response is going to make or break my position here, and I do the only thing I can. I nod quickly. Once, twice.
“Yes, sir.”
I start to head to the desk, and he catches my wrist before I can turn. My heart jumps into my throat again. I’ve had bad experiences with professors before—handsy professors—so I’m not sure why I’m okay with the warmth of his fingers around my wrist. “Mr. Archer?”
My mouth feels dry, and my eyes drop from his intense gaze to his fingers wrapped around my wrist. Big. They’re so big. “Yes, sir?”
He scrutinizes me for a moment, and then finally shakes his head. “Your books are on the floor.”
Oh.
Yeah.
I did drop those, didn’t I?
I spend the next ninety minutes watching Professor Levine vacillate between making some of his students melt with the slightest bit of praise, while the majority of them just look like they want to cry at his disapproval.
I’ve never had a professor with so much…
presence. Even in freshman year when I ended up getting involved with Professor Hilman, that was just because he’d smiled and acted like he liked me.
It wasn’t good. Thinking about the way he’d treated me still made me squirm sometimes, but…
That isn’t what Professor Levine is doing. He seems to nearly command his class, and whether they look like they’re going to cry or smile, I can tell they all respect him.
He is scary. But maybe in a good way.
Definitely in an… attractive way.
Which is leaving me even more confused. I never really noticed how anyone was attractive until I had to listen to Zandy and his scary boyfriend. And now… now my mind keeps wandering to the question of “What is my type?”
I have to admit, the way Professor Levine’s broad shoulders fill out the dark green dress shirt he’s wearing as he moves around the classroom, the way he sounds so passionate when he’s teaching… is…
It’s attractive. I’m not even sure if it’s the way he looks or the way his deep voice sounds so commanding—so demanding of attention. It’s a voice you could get lost listening to… and even though I try not to, I get a little lost.
It’s nice.
For the first time in… God, weeks? Months? Maybe longer, I focus on Professor Levine and the way he practically prowls around the room during his discussion, and I feel myself drift.
Which is why it’s almost like a bucket of cold water being dumped over my head when the sound of chairs scraping knocks me out of the near lull he’d dragged me into. I didn’t even hear him dismiss the class, but obviously he did, because they’re all filing out of the room.
And I’m still here.
At Professor Levine’s desk.
The sudden anxiety that zips through my chest is strange.
The last time I was in a classroom alone with a professor, it was Professor Hilman.
Vague memories of his mouth feeling entirely too warm as he tried to kiss me, his hands stinging where they grabbed too tight, flash through my mind.
By the time Professor Levine turns around to look at me, I’ve half worked myself into a panic.
It’s probably the reason I haven’t gotten up and filed out of the room with the rest of the students, even though that would be counterproductive to me figuring out exactly what he needs from me.
“Mr. Archer?” His voice holds that same rumbling sound that lulled me into that weird sense of serenity, and I have to dig my nails into the top of my thighs to keep myself from doing something ridiculous. Like squeaking out an answer.
“I…” Words. I really, really need to figure out how to use words right now. I’m at the top of my classes. I’m going to grad school. I can make complete sentences in the face of a really, really attractive man. “I was just wondering if you had a list of things you need from me… sir?”
I can’t quite understand the way his expression morphs. Curious to dark, amused… professional. He’s an ocean with a riptide, the myriad of thoughts that I can’t discern threatening to pull me under.
“I have a list,” he finally says. “A lot of it is organization and planning out my calendar and meetings. I don’t really need you grading papers, since this is more of a practical application class.
We’ll be moving to the auditorium soon so the students can work on the stage. Do you want me to email you?”
I stare at him mutely for another span of time that makes me wonder if he’s going to regret letting me be his TA at all.
“I… yes. Yes, I have an email address.” God, that’s not what he asked. “If you send me the list and let me know your office hours, I can work in there?”
I force myself to stand from my seat, though it doesn’t help with the way I have to crane my neck to look him in the eyes.
He’s so tall. And bulky.
My fingers clasp together, twisting nervously.
“That sounds perfect.” And then he leans in, laying one broad hand gently on my shoulder. “Don’t be so nervous, Mr. Archer. I’m sure you’re going to do good.”
Good. The word strikes me in the center of the chest and makes my mouth go dry.
“I definitely want to be good for you…” My face goes crimson the instant the words come out of my mouth, and I nearly choke on my own spit inhaling to correct myself. “I mean… do good. Do a good job for you, Professor Levine. I want to do a good job. For you.”
That somehow doesn’t sound any better, and I’m not sure if the warmth in his eyes is because he’s trying not to laugh at me, or if he’s mad… or…
“I’m sure you will.”
Oh… oh no. My entire body is tingling from his words, from his proximity, from that word good racing over my nerve endings and painting them red. It’s ridiculous and inappropriate, and I can’t be in this classroom anymore, because I know I’m not going to be able to control myself.
“Thank you, sir. If you send me that email, I’ll get to work on it right away.” I turn, giving him my back so I can get my things packed up and hopefully save myself from absolute embarrassment.
I’d probably manage a little better if I couldn’t still feel him standing behind me like a white-hot line that’s slowly burning through my skin.
When I turn around, he’s still there… and I’m almost powerless as I look up at him… waiting…
Waiting for…
“You can go now. Mr. Archer,” he says, and all the tension leaves my body as I turn.
I catch the curious expression on his face as I murmur a quick, “Thank you, sir,” and run for it.
Since when have I needed permission to move?
As I flee the classroom with my heart racing, I’m convinced now more than ever that I have to go to the club. I can’t spend the rest of my life confused every time I run into an attractive person, and I definitely can’t do it with the professor I’m supposed to be working with this semester.
I’ve already had a bad experience once. I’m not doing it again.
Even if Professor Levine looks like he could pick me up and tell me to be good and I’d probably melt.
Maybe especially because of that.