Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
Dexter
I didn’t expect to find Brody with Alis when I stepped out to ask Deborah if she found the plates I requested a few minutes ago.
Why is he here? Why is he standing so close to her?
Pull your shit together, Dexter. Now is not the time to act like a jealous boyfriend.
I’m not her boyfriend. I’m her boss. Kind of; not really. She’s my grader. That’s all. For now.
I walk toward them and extend my hand in greeting. “Brody, I didn’t expect to see you today.”
Brody shakes my hand, smiling in a way that conveys he does not register the frustration emanating from my eyes. “Dr. Belanger, it’s great to see you, sir. I was just showing Alis around campus when I found out you commandeered my lunch date for a work meeting.”
I look at Alis with a quirked eyebrow that says, Date?
She laughs, clearly uncomfortable, and Brody releases his grip and moves his hand to the small of her back. The fuck?!
She looks stunning today in a navy blue sundress and yellow flats.
I’ve noticed since her first day on campus that she has an eccentric sense of style — especially pertaining to those yellow shoes.
Other than the night I met her in those sexy as fuck strappy heels, every time I’ve seen her she’s wearing brightly colored footwear.
Her long blonde hair is in a low ponytail, its waves trailing halfway down her back. The back another man is currently touching.
I don’t hear their goodbyes; I’m too busy trying to control the rage welling up inside me at the sight of another man touching Alis.
My only consolation right now is that she is clearly startled by his misplaced hand.
Her body tenses and she pushes her glasses up her nose, averting her eyes as best she can.
Ok, so either she doesn’t welcome his touch or she doesn’t want him touching her in front of me.
Next thing I know, Deborah pushes a few paper plates into my hand. From the nudge she gives me, I deduce she tried to get my attention and I didn’t hear her first attempt. I remove my gaze from where Brody’s hand was moments before and look at Deborah with an appreciative smile.
“Thanks, Deborah. Alis?” I nod my head toward my door and turn to walk into my office.
I need to gather myself before I look at Alis again.
I told her these meetings would be strictly professor/grader, and I can’t renege on that five seconds into our first meeting by asking about her relationship with Brody.
She’s my grader. She’s my grader. She’s my grader. I scan the room as I reach one of the chairs in my office, setting the plates next to the pizza box on the coffee table before gesturing for Alis to take the chair next to me.
“Thanks,” she says, setting her bag on the floor next to the chair before sitting down.
I still haven’t looked at her, busying myself with opening the pizza box and making sure I didn’t forget to grab the napkins off my desk.
When I have no reason to keep looking down at the table, I look up at Alis and offer her a plate.
“I assumed you’d be fine with pizza for lunch.
Nico’s has the best pizza in town and it’s conveniently right across campus. ”
She takes the plate and then reaches to pull a slice from the box. “Pizza is great, thanks.” Once she has her pizza, I motion toward the water bottles on the other side of the table and she takes one, wedging it between her thigh and the chair.
We eat without talking for a few minutes, and she’s the one to break the silence. “This is delicious. I was originally supposed to eat at Nico’s for lunch today so this was a pleasant surprise. I didn’t have to miss out.”
Well, if she is going to bring Brody into this conversation then it’d be rude not to acknowledge his unwelcome presence in my office. Happy to oblige.
“Brody was going to take you to Nico’s?” I ask, careful to keep any trace of accusation or jealousy out of my tone.
She nods, blotting her mouth with her napkin before responding. “Yeah, he offered to show me around campus today.”
“And then out to lunch.” It’s a statement, not a question. She narrows her eyes the slightest bit. Dammit, I guess my tone isn’t as impassive as I thought.
“Yep.” She pops the ‘p’ and takes another bite of her pizza, not offering any other explanation. Why does she do that? She did the same thing the first time we talked in my office — shut down a line of questioning with a single word, leaving me without anything more.
Do I push for details or let it go? The man in me wants to know why the hell she’d be having lunch with Brody when she shut me down with the excuse that now is not a good time for her to get involved with anyone.
The professor in me reminds the man that this is a work meeting and it’s none of my business who she dates.
After being blindsided seeing Brody’s hand touching Alis, I garner what’s left of my self control and shove the jealous man aside. She’s my grader. She’s my grader. This is a grader meeting.
I stand and walk toward my desk, disposing of my plate and napkin in the bin. I decide to sit in my desk chair, creating more space between us and thus enforcing the professional nature of this meeting.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought we were meeting here.” She gestures around the seating area.
“Take your time. I’m just pulling up some notes about this week’s assignments.
You can move over here when you’re finished eating.
” I don’t want her to feel rushed; I just needed the barrier between us to keep myself from venturing into personal conversation.
She asked for professional; I can be professional.
She finishes her lunch and disposes of her plate and napkin, opening her water bottle and taking a sip before she reaches into her bag and pulls out a notebook and pen.
“I see you brought your own writing materials this time.” I grin at her and she rolls her eyes before sitting in the chair across from me.
“Figured asking you for a notepad would be a lost cause.” Cheeky. Alis’s eyes twinkle playfully, something I wasn’t expecting from her.
“N’importe quoi. Ta gueule, casse-couilles,” I snap back. Alis snort-laughs just as she takes a sip of her water. That laugh is so unbearably cute.
“Ah!” She covers her mouth and nose with her hand, still laughing. “Now I’ve got water in my nose!”
“That tends to happen when one acts like a smartass.” She just shakes her head, still laughing, clearly sensing my teasing tone. Adopting my professorial demeanor, I say, “Alright, Miss Gilmore, we have work to discuss.”
“Je suis prête.” She crosses her legs and opens her notebook, pen poised and ready.
Thirty minutes later, Alis stands to pack her things. Our meeting has finished, but I’m not ready for her to leave. She bids me adieu and heads out, gently closing the office door behind her.
While going over upcoming assignments and grading deadlines we fell into an easy rapport, bantering back and forth like old friends.
I get along with others pretty easily, but with her it feels so much deeper than cordiality.
Her smile is warm, her eyes alluring, and that tongue of hers — sharp as a tack.
I haven’t had the opportunity to banter back and forth in my mother tongue for the past three years.
Sure, I have students who speak French incredibly well, but Alis’s fluency in French colloquialisms is incredible.
I wonder how she learned those? Maybe she spent some time in France or Quebec?
When we spoke last week she alluded to a life circumstance that took her away from graduate work.
I can only guess at what happened. Maybe she had to care for a sick parent?
Financial responsibilities? Has she spent the past few years traveling?
That would explain her pristine French. Perhaps she endured a painful breakup?
No. Alis doesn’t seem like the type of woman to walk away from academic aspirations due to a broken heart.
I continue to ponder what could have changed the course of her life so drastically until a knock sounds at my office door and I’m startled out of my wandering thoughts.
Just as I stand to walk toward the door and open it, my visitor lets himself in, plops into an armchair, and greets me with, “Bro, you are not going to believe the day I’ve had.”
I take the seat next to him, wave my hand in his direction and say sarcastically, “Please, come in. I’m not in the middle of working or anything.”
He scoffs. “Just give me ten minutes, okay? I’ve had the day from hell and it’s not even 2 p.m.” His hair is disheveled, a sure sign he’s been pulling at it.
“Pizza?” I tilt my head toward the box in offering.
“Fuck yes. I’m starved.” Leo grabs a slice from the box along with a napkin and begins shoveling it into his mouth.
I check my watch and see that it’s 1:17. I teach a class at 2 so I guess I can give him a few minutes of undivided attention.
“I’m walking out of this office at 1:45, which gives you twenty-eight minutes to vent. Proceed.”
Confirming my earlier suspicion, Leo runs his hands through his hair, clearly frustrated at whatever he’s experienced the last few hours. Then, with his face in his hands, he mumbles, “She called.”
“She?”
Leo looks up. And for the first time since he arrived I see, pain? His eyes begin to water before he sinks his face back into his hands and lets out an agonizing sob. Whoa.
Just as I reach to squeeze his shoulder he says, “Stephanie.” My hand freezes.
I retract my hand and lean forward, elbows on my thighs. Stephanie hasn’t come up in more than a year. “The fuck?! Why the hell is your ex-wife calling you? What did she want?” I stand to retrieve the tissue box off my desk and hand it to Leo.
As I sit back down, Leo pulls a tissue out of the box and blows his nose before grabbing another and wiping his eyes.