Chapter 1 #2
“You could not stop staring at him,” Sam squeals as we make our way down the hall.
“He’s our professor and was literally giving a lecture. Where else was I supposed to look?”
“Did you see when he rolled up his shirt sleeves?” Sam barrels on as if I hadn’t said anything. “I’m sorry, was that not straight out of those romance novels I read?”
“You mean your erotica?” I snort. “I’m sure those dudes do that all the time. Just like I’m sure he knows how attractive he is and gets a kick out of half the class salivating over him.”
“Oh, please, it was way more than half the class.”
I roll my eyes and decide not to dignify that with a response. We make it outside, basking in the still warm September sun. I unlock my tan Toyota Prius as Sam bounds over to his red Subaru. “The Pour House?” I call after him.
He shakes his head. “Can’t tonight, got a hot date.” He winks.
“Of course,” I laugh. “Well, I’ll catch you tomorrow then.”
He smiles and waves before zooming out of the parking lot.
Sam had gotten both of us coveted parking passes due to his friendship with a guy who worked in the main office on campus.
Since the passes were normally a hundred dollars a semester and had a waiting list longer than the mock treatment and intervention plan I had to create last spring, I had no qualms about how Sam got us the passes.
I slowly pull out of the parking lot, in no hurry to go back to my studio apartment. Sam had asked me to be his roommate, but I declined, knowing I needed my own space to focus on school. The distractions of friends and the inevitable parties Sam throws would throw me off my game.
Luckily for me, financial aid covered most of the apartment’s cost, and my savings covered the rest. Is it glamorous?
Absolutely not. I have to park three blocks away because there’s no parking nearby, and the elevator is almost always broken, so I have to walk up nine flights of stairs daily, but I make do.
It’s something I can afford on my own, with the help of financial aid, without relying on my mother’s kindness. She cares… in her own way. But anytime she helped out, it left me in a spot where we both felt I owed her.
I bought you that car so you could visit more often, Summer.
I thought that if I helped with your loans so you didn’t need a job during school, you’d at least be willing to try going on a few dates.
So what if it’s a blind date with my gynecologist’s son? He’s getting his PhD! You’re not getting any younger, you know.
My mother didn’t take no for an answer most days. So any way that I can avoid taking charity from her is considered a win in my book.
My phone starts buzzing as I parallel park, and I quickly answer it, holding it between my cheek and shoulder as I narrowly avoid scraping a Tesla in front of me.
“Hello?” My mother’s voice comes from the other line.
Speak of the devil.
“Hey, Mom,” I say as I throw the car into park. “What’s up?”
“Are you coming home to visit this weekend?”
I lug my bag out of the passenger seat, lock my car, and start to make the long trek to my apartment. “I was just there this past weekend, Mom,” I respond. “You know I don’t like leaving until I’m all settled in my courses.”
“Yes, well, I just thought maybe you could make an exception since Laurie’s son is in town.”
“The dentist?” I ask, scrunching my nose.
“You know they make quite a lot of money, Summer,” she deadpans.
“And as we all know, I am only ever in it for the money,” I murmur.
“The drive is only a few hours, honey, just come home for a night.”
“It’s almost five hours, and believe it or not, I already have an essay that’s due next week that I need to give my full attention to.”
“Are you making that up?” she asks suspiciously.
“Nope,” I say, sighing as I see my apartment complex come into view. “I’d heard this professor was a total hard-ass, and he did not disappoint. Ten-page essay analyzing a child psychology case study through Freud’s psychoanalytic theory, due next Monday.”
“Ugh,” she groans. “Fine, I’ll reschedule with Laurie’s son, but promise you’ll come visit your poor mother soon?”
“I will, I promise,” I say to appease her before hanging up.
Spokane is nearly five hours away from Cascadia University’s campus in Seattle. Just far enough that my mother can’t drop by unannounced, but not far enough away that she feels like she can’t pester me to visit constantly.
I type in the code to open the front doors of my complex and stop at the elevator’s signature ‘Out of Order’ sign. I resist the urge to groan like my mother as I slowly make my way up the stairs.
Pushing open the faded apartment door, I toss my keys onto a small table I keep at the entrance, into a ceramic bowl I had purchased from an estate sale. I toe off my shoes and greet my orange tabby cat that rubs up against my legs. “Hello Milo,” I coo. “Did you miss me?” She purrs in response.
I drop my bag on the bed before scooping her up into my arms, and she ‘harrumphs’ in response.
She’s five pounds and sixteen years of pure grumpiness, but she’s the light of my life.
She’s been with me for the last seven years and is the most consistent positive thing in my life.
She was nine when I adopted her from the shelter; she had been hiding in the back, clearly unsatisfied with her lodging.
She’d waltzed up to me, stolen my heart, and I had taken her home and treated her like a queen ever since.
I feed her a treat before settling onto my bed with a groan. Milo follows suit and promptly curls up on my pillow, continuing to purr before promptly falling asleep.
I look around the studio, taking in the dark interior.
My studio consists of a kitchen with just enough dishes for two people in case I want to entertain, a two-burner stove, and a small sink where I try not to let the few dishes I have sit for too long.
A flatscreen sits in the corner on the floor—I haven’t gotten around to purchasing a TV stand for it.
My bed is near the few windows in the apartment, their window sills covered in different kinds of plants.
The bathroom is on the other side of the kitchen, and contains the smallest mirror ever seen, a toilet, and a shower with barely enough standing room for me.
Any dream of hot shower sex with someone went out the window when I signed the lease here.
I push myself up and meander over to the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of rosé and pouring myself a glass before I pull my laptop out of my bag and decide it’s probably time to get to work on that essay Professor Stirling assigned us.
I take a large gulp of wine at the mere thought of the professor.
Absolutely not, I chastise myself. I will not think about how hot my professor is. Or how huge his biceps are. Or what he might look like naked.
Absolutely not.
You are not supposed to think your professor is hot.