Chapter 2
Adrestia
Grabbing my satchel and phone, I head out of the office, locking the door behind me. My head is still throbbing. I shouldn’t have met Apollo for a couple of drinks last night. My best friend does not know how to go out without drinking his weight in shots. And I have no willpower.
At least I’d finished marking up the work for today’s class. I spend most of my time reminding students of their deadlines, it is wrong for me to be too hungover to finish mine.
The university is bustling, students arriving for classes, or meeting friends. I need a coffee. Usually, my two early morning Friday classes are a good thing. I get to leave early and start the weekend, but today, I curse it. And Apollo.
I arrive to a handful of students already in the class, a few girls and one guy. I nod to them but don’t say anything, leaving them to continue their chat. The lone guy is on his phone.
Class doesn’t actually start for another five minutes. They will have got their grades beforehand. The majority of them will be happy, a couple won’t care that their grade isn’t what I expect.
It is only a few weeks into the fall semester. I believe you start as you mean to go on, and this is a junior class. These students are well versed in college life, I don’t want them slipping now, so I will send them an email offering help and see where we can fix any issues.
Getting tenure last year was a dream come true for me. It isn’t about job security. I love teaching, and I love my students. When I don’t have a raging hangover. I glance at my watch, wondering if I have time to slip out for a coffee. That isn’t very professional of me when I’ve already entered the classroom. So I grit my teeth and bear it.
As the classroom fills and the noise level increases, I regret that decision. I hear the buzz of my phone from my satchel, but ignore it. I have a strict ‘no cell phone during class’ rule for my students, so I won’t break it.
As everyone settles into place, I give the lone guy at the front a quick look. He hunches his shoulders at being caught and puts his phone away.
I welcome everyone, reminding them to check their assignments, and my office hours are available on the department website. A few of them groan, suspecting they will be needing appointments.
Fortunately for all of us, this is only a one-hour class, and for me a half hour break between this and the next one. It goes over quickly, and I manage to maintain my composure.
The lone guy from earlier hangs around until everyone has gone. He heads over, making me pause in collecting up my things. Another class is using the room directly after me so we can’t hang around in here. I hate to turn anyone away, especially if they need my help.
“Hey Professor Kouris,” he says, brushing his hair behind his ear.
I haven’t got to know everyone yet, although his name comes back to me and I know he got a C minus.
“Mr. Caldicott?”
“Yeah, er…Joe. Caldicott. Right.”
“Joe,” I give him a quick smile, hoping to put him at ease. I’m not an ogre. “I’m in a bit of a hurry. Is this urgent, or can we book office time?”
“Ah, it’s not urgent. No, it can wait. I just wanted to ask about my progress in this class.”
This is office hours work, but he seems anxious.
“Why don’t you walk out with me? There is another class coming here shortly.”
As if to prove that point, a few students start wandering in.
We head out into the busy hallway. I need that coffee, and some food.
I left Nash in bed after he woke me up to tell me to turn off the damn alarm. He kissed me before I got up, asking if I had a good night. He practically fell back asleep as I was talking.
He and Dylan went out last night, and he got home late.
He didn’t know I’d only been in twenty minutes before him. Not that he would mind. He likes and gets on well with Apollo now and knows he can trust me in his care.
We have been living together for six months and so far, it’s going well. I’m happy even though life has its difficulties.
Nash is a passionate, creative personality. Sometimes we have differing opinions on things, but we don’t argue about it. I’m not an arguer. I’ve always been a rational thinker. Arguing is a waste of time.
Sometimes, Nash gets pissy, but he’s never cruel. And he never takes his moods out on me.
Things are on the up for Red Alert. Especially after a few rocky months and some discontent in the band. Nash’s childhood sweetheart, Riley was a part of the band. After she cheated on him, things got difficult for everyone because the break-up wasn’t amicable, but he stuck it out for the sake of the band.
Then a few months ago, she up and quit. No one thought she would do it, but it happened. Everyone should be happy but there is still some discontent. Riley has a large fan base, and they blame her leaving on her split from Nash, even though they haven’t been together for well over a year.
Nash doesn’t love her anymore. I know that to my core. I’m not threatened by what they had in the past.
When she started trying to worm her way back in, I took a stand. Nash is mine. I love him. I’d fight for him until the end of time.
Reading things in the press about their relationship is more irritating than upsetting, if only because I see how it’s hurting Nash.
He never lets me doubt how much he loves me. Moving in was the right step for us.
My mama adores him. He was there through everything with my sister, despite his own issues.
Because I’d slept after the alarm, I had to leave without eating first. My stomach is gnawing at me. I’m not exactly svelte but I eat well and exercise. It is the Greek in me. I take after my mama, inheriting her voluptuous figure.
Joe falls into step beside me. My phone buzzes again, but I still ignore it. I let him know I’m headed to the coffee cart.
“I just transferred in this semester,” he says as we get in the line. “Things work a little differently here. I was in community college back home.”
I raise my brows. It isn’t usual to transfer in your Junior year from community college to a bigger university.
“I’m on the swim team. I was doing well, and they scouted me.”
“That’s incredible,” I say. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” his cheeks flush. “I’m just… a little overwhelmed with the workload. I have to keep at least a 3.2 GPA and I’m worried it’s going to drop.”
“It will take some adjusting. Where are you from?”
“Duluth, Minnesota.”
“You’re a long way from home.”
“Yeah.”
This is an amazing opportunity for him. The university may have got him to come out here for their gains, but it is good to see he wants to maintain his studies too. All too often, I see jocks wanting to coast by getting the bare minimum grades, enough to keep them playing.
It isn’t a precedent. There are a lot of athletes here who take their academic career seriously, but now and then, there are some exceptions.
“Have you made many friends?” I ask. If anyone knows what it’s like to be the odd one out, it’s me.
“A few,” he says, shuffling forward as the line moves.
“There are study groups for some of my classes, this one in particular. I can ask my TA to put you in touch with them. That is one way of getting embedded.”
“Really?” his smile is one of relief. “That would be great, thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Drop me an email, I’d like to get you situated. In terms of this grade, it was a well-written paper, there are a few things that were out of context, but the bones of knowledge are there. I’m happy to discuss anything you’re concerned about. Please, go on my calendar on the portal and book yourself a slot.”
“Wow, I mean, thanks,” he blushes again, averting his eyes.
I’ve mastered the art of dealing with teenage hormones. I know how people see me. Usually they think I’m too young to be a professor, a tenured one at that. I dress the part of an academic when I’m in school.
It isn’t easy to hide my figure, or my face, which I’d also inherited from my mother. My green eyes are very distinctive. Those came from my Irish musician father, who my mother spent five days with during her travels, then never saw again.
“Bring your class schedule as well and let me know who your student advisor is. I’m sure between us we can figure out how to get you settled in.”
“Thank you, I appreciate that. Some people I’ve come across here haven’t been this nice.”
“Most people are busy and sometimes forget others struggle too. Don’t take it personally. Not that I’m not busy and irritable at times,” I add with a smile.
“Oh yeah, sorry,” he laughs sheepishly. “I’ll leave you to get your coffee. Thanks again.”
I watch him walk away. I want to help him. I can’t do much with his sporting side, but I can damn well do my best to keep his grade average up. This is an amazing opportunity for him.
After I’ve grabbed my coffee and a Danish, I head back to my small office. I squint and rub my temples, eat and drink, then take out my phone. There are a few texts from Apollo, bemoaning his own hangover.
Baby, he is probably still lying in bed.
Sasha, my other best friend has texted, and there are two missed calls from Nash. I dial him first as I sip more coffee.
“Hey, you out of class?”
“Yes.” I lean back in the chair. “And I wish I was back in bed.”
“Oh yeah?” he asks, his voice still sounds full of sleep, all rough and sexy. It makes me cross my legs. His voice always does things to me. “By all means, get your sexy ass back home.”
“I have another class in twenty minutes.”
“Skip.” His suggestion is met with silence. He sighs. “Anyway, a little birdy told me you were dancing last night.”
“Apollo needs to stop being a thirteen-year-old girl.”
He bursts out laughing at that imagery. My best friend is six foot four, has a shaved head and is covered neck to ankle in tattoos. No one would ever mistake him for a thirteen-year-old girl.
“It wasn’t Apollo,” he shifts about, and I hear the bed creak.
I imagine him getting up naked and I twitch in my seat.
“Danielle saw you.”
“Danielle?”
“The bartender. Remember she dated Declan for a little while?”
“Oh yes.” Declan is Red Alert’s manager. I’m about to ask Nash how Declan is when he cuts me off.
“When do you finish today? It’s early, right?”
“Yes, I have one more class. I’ll finish by twelve.”
“Okay. Good. Cos we’re going somewhere.”
“We are?” I glance at my watch. Sasha’s text was about lunch, we have a standing lunch date on a Friday as our schedules both align. If Nash needs me somewhere, I may have to rain check this week.
“We got a card from Alessa this morning.”
“I’m not sure I understand how the two correlate.”
“It has very implicit instructions on it. It’s from her and Jordan. Who knows what they’re up to? Knowing Jordan, it can’t be good. Or maybe it is,” he chuckles.
“What does it entail?” I ask.
“Packing a suitcase.”