Chapter 4 - Poppy
I’m not sure what Professor Blake thinks he’ll find in each stall in the locker rooms, but he opens every single one of them. I follow him around quietly as he’s clearly losing his mind. Someone has got to keep it together. And that someone is clearly me.
When we reach the storage room, the last door in the entire gym he hasn’t opened yet, he huffs out a breath.
“I don’t think we’re going to find a key here.”
“That’s fine, we can stay here. It’s just one night, right?”
His eyes shift from side to side, unfocused. He scratches his beard with a force that seems to hurt.
“Right. We should get some mattresses and towels to work as blankets. It’s a bit cold here. Will you be okay?”
“Yes. It’s going to be fine. I’ll grab the towels.”
We head to the middle of the gym with our supplies, where it feels warmer. Professor Blake starts to set up the mattresses, taking a long time making sure there’s twenty feet of space between us.
“Are you building a runway?” I laugh, pointing to the five rows of mattresses, not really believing a grown man like him is actually setting up the space like we both can get electrocuted if we touch.
“No,” he inhales. “I just thought you’d feel more comfortable if there was plenty of space between us.”
I laugh, first because it’s ridiculous. Second, because it’s adorable.
I’ve had my fair share of encounters with men who couldn’t care less if I felt uncomfortable.
The ones who press their bodies against mine at a crowded bar when there’s plenty of space, or the ones who think it’s perfectly fine to grab my ass in the grocery store.
But a man who’s careful enough to line up mattresses for multiple forward rolls in a row? He’s probably safe.
“Thank you, I appreciate that. But there's no need. We're both adults. And it's not very warm. Even with the towels, I think we could use all the body heat we have.”
He stops abruptly, his whole body tense.
Okay, I could've been more subtle. Sue me. I want him to actually see me. See me as a woman, not just a kid.
“Right.”
He rearranges the mattresses now to create a makeshift king-sized bed.
When he’s finished, everything is perfectly in place, the towels aligned like he’s measuring them with an invisible ruler.
He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes before staring at me.
“It's the best I can do given the situation. Is there anything I can do to make you feel more comfortable? I imagine how it must feel spending the night with a man you don’t know.”
He looks pained for me. What he doesn’t know is how excited I am to share a bed with him. But I’ll take advantage of everything he gives me.
As I take a step closer, I catch a hint of something in his eyes, something I can't pinpoint.
“Can I call you Blake? You’re hardly my professor anymore.”
“I still have to grade your final assignment," he says, letting me know he's still very much my professor. "I don’t think that’s a good idea.” There’s a strain in him, like he’s stiffer than he was all afternoon. He's been like that ever since everyone else left.
“It’d help make all this less awkward, please.”
I bat my eyelashes. I imagine a guy like him isn't fazed by something like that, but if there's anything I've learned in life, it's that you should always give it a try.
I expect a huff, like the one that he gave so many times during his classes, or that look that cuts sharp and makes sure you stay behind. But there's nothing like that, he frowns but nods.
“Sure, you can call me Blake.”
That was easy. A bit too easy.
After a day like today, I'm sure he's not in the mood for games.
Too bad. Because I certainly am.
As soon as we lay down next to each other, I strike again.
“It’s a bit weird, isn’t it, Blake? Sleeping with someone you don’t know,” I say, even though it might not be as uncomfortable for him as it is for me. Just the fact that he’s laying so close is enough to know I won’t sleep for a single second, despite my exhaustion.
“It is.” He answers, not giving me much.
“I've got an idea! Why don't we ask each other a question about ourselves? Sharing something will help make it feel less like we're sleeping with a stranger.”
He exhales deeply, almost as if he doesn't have the patience to deal with me. I don't care, I don't want to sleep, anyway.
“I’ll start,” he says quickly. It startles me for a second. It's the behavior of someone eager, not someone uninterested.
Oh, right, he's just eager to get this over with.
Don't get your hopes up. He's not going to ask whether you have a boyfriend. Or if he should kiss you.
“Why are you always lugging a suitcase around with you?”
My eyebrows scrunch in confusion until a laugh bursts out.
“What? Is that because I ran into you the other day?”
“No. It's not that. You often bring a suitcase to my class. It’s hardly necessary for a business major.”
His eyes linger on me, heavy, making it harder to breathe with his whole attention on me.
“Carly hasn’t told you?”
“We don’t really talk about you.” He winces. “Sorry, that came out wrong. We try not to talk about work most of the time. Carly is a big believer in work-life balance, although you wouldn’t believe it if you saw her kitchen.”
“Why?”
“She’s always experimenting with something baking-related. Always tells me she’s really craving that scone or muffin. But of course, once she perfects it, it somehow ends up at Perfect Brews. Like that pumpkin muffin she had during Fall? She’d been working on it since February.”
“Carly always makes it seem easy, like she puts out a special muffin on a whim.”
“Yeah, she’s like that. But you haven’t answered my question.”
He’s not just asking to be polite, he’s curious. Is it just me or is he closer?
“I sell my illustrations in the form of greeting cards and postcards around town. Your class is my last class, so I go around town distributing them to the various shops which sell them. It tends to pick up more around this time of year.”
“So you’ve got a business.”
"Not a very successful one. I mean, it's great during this time of the year, but I haven't been able to reach full-time with this. I do a lot of other jobs to sustain myself."
"And does that mean it's not successful? You talk about it so fondly, it seems successful to me. Not every metric of success is related to money. Of course, that's not what we teach in our classes. Don't you enjoy it?"
“Yes… I love to do it because I get to draw places from Hope Peak. There’s nothing wrong with regular greeting cards, but I like that each of mine has a little of Hope Peak in them, you know?”
He looks to his left as if he’s remembering something.
“Did you draw a happy birthday greeting card with Hope Peak mountains behind it? And did it say, ‘You’ve reached your peak, it’s all downhill from here?’”
“That's one of my bestsellers! You’ve seen it?”
“My sister gave it to me on my last birthday. The card still sits on my nightstand. I framed it. It was such a beautiful illustration of Hope Peak. She's given me a few of these in the past few years, but that was my favorite.”
My cheeks turn red, his thick voice accompanying his compliment doing things to me I’d rather not confess. I don’t dare to look at him, focusing my attention on his right broad shoulder instead.
“Thank God the joke was on the back of the card, it’d have ruined it. I don’t need to be reminded that I’ve reached my peak.”
Something in his tone makes me meet his gaze.
“Isn’t that a good thing? That you’re the best you ever were.”
“But also the best I’ll ever be.”
“Don’t you think it’s possible to just continue being your best?”
“No.”
“Well, I disagree. I think there’s a reason everyone is interested in your love life.”
He shifts uncomfortably, as if it's not something he wants to hear. "You know what I mean, I'm sure you know the effect you have on other people with your physique and all."
I wave my hand in his direction.
He grabs my wrist. It's sudden, his big warm hand around my wrist, the heat that radiates from it, my insides churning and turning, not knowing what to do, how to react.
I look into his eyes, I can see a darkness that wasn't there before. He lets go a second later, his mouth turning downward before in a flat tone he says: "I'm tired, I'm going to sleep. Have a good night."
He turns his back to me, not watching me anymore. Disappointment floods me before realizing I haven't asked my question yet.