Chapter 8
CECE
L ina Reese was standing in the hallway when I stormed out.
She was far enough away from the door that I didn’t think she overheard my exchange with Professor Stone.
I hoped not. If she did, oh well. I didn’t like her.
I didn’t know if she was jealous because she had or was planning on sleeping with the guy or if she was just a bitch.
“Hey,” she said and stepped in front of me. “Cecily, right?”
“Yup,” I said, keeping my tone breezy. “And you’re Lina. I’m looking forward to working with you.”
She looked me up and down. She was a few inches taller than me but that was because she was wearing heels. “Who are you?”
“Ce-ci-ly,” I said slowly.
She rolled her eyes. “That’s not what I’m asking. Who are you? Why are you here?”
“I’m sorry, but who are you?” I retorted.
“Why did he bring you on as a TA? What did they tell you?”
I realized the woman might look all confident and pretty, but she was insecure as hell. She was worried I was going to outshine her. That was exactly my plan. It wasn’t personal. I was just really serious about being the best at what I did.
“I was approved for a TA job and Professor Stone is who I was assigned to after my original professor became unavailable.”
Her smile was frosty and fake. “Mm-hmm. I didn’t realize there’d be another TA. Usually, Professor Stone only takes one.”
I tilted my head. “Guess he’s feeling generous this semester. Lucky me.”
Lina’s gaze flicked from my shoes to my head like she was sizing me up. “Was this like a lottery win kind of thing?”
“A lottery?” I repeated with confusion.
“You know someone,” she said. “Who are your parents? They have a wing here? Fund something?”
Jealousy. I was not used to anyone being jealous of me. But that’s what this was. She was jealous and insecure.
I smiled sweetly. “Nope. No buildings. No lottery. My original professor decided to go find himself or whatever. I needed the TA gig, Dean Carver told me there was an opening, and boom, here I am. If you’d like to cover my tuition, though, I’m happy to just focus on my class work.
But I don’t have a rich daddy to pay my bills. ”
Yes, the last bit was a little catty, but I couldn’t resist. This chick was getting all up in my business and I didn’t like it.
Her little lips that were plump and perfectly lined and covered with high gloss formed an O shape.
I had a feeling she wasn’t used to anyone speaking to her the way I just did.
She was going to have to get used to it.
If she came at me, I was going to give it back twice as hard. I didn’t cave to bullies.
“You don’t have to be rude,” she pouted.
“Ditto.” I looked around the empty hall and then back at her. If she wanted to stand out here and trade insults for the next fifteen minutes, fine, but then I had shit to do. “More?” I asked.
“What?”
“Got more you’d like to say or are we done?”
She opened her mouth and then snapped it shut. “There’s nothing else.”
“Good. I guess I’ll see you in a couple days.” I spun on my heel and walked toward the exit.
Her passive aggressive bullshit was her problem.
I had a kid to take care of, apartments to search for, and about a million other things to do.
I had to deal with real life. She was clearly a pampered princess that was probably on her way to the spa.
I wasn’t jealous. I just wasn’t going to give her any more of my time or energy than was absolutely necessary.
Dinner that night was a blur. We made dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets and green beans.
Had to get some veggies into the quick meal.
Mom was a decent cook, but neither of us would ever get mistaken for gourmet chefs.
Dinner with Mom and Sophie was my touchstone.
Even when I had a shitty day, dinner with my kid reminded me why I was burning the candle at both ends.
“So, what’d you guys do today?” I asked Sophie.
Sophie’s face lit up. “We went to Target and I got a Frozen backpack! It has Elsa on it, and when you push this button, it lights up!”
“That sounds amazing,” I said, genuinely smiling for the first time all day. “What else did you and Grandma get?”
“Crayons! And pencils that smell like fruit. Mine smell like strawberries.” She looked thoughtful. “And we got glue sticks and scissors with the safe tips and a folder that’s purple because purple is my favorite color now.”
“I thought pink was your favorite color,” I said, spearing a green bean.
She shook her head before taking a bite of one of her nuggets. “Not anymore. Grandma says purple is for royal princesses.”
“We spent forty-five minutes in the school supply aisle while she debated the merits of each folder color.” Mom chuckled from across the table. “What she isn’t telling you is all the other fun stuff we bought. Since when did we stock the maintenance closets at schools?”
“I’ll reimburse you.”
She waved a hand. “No, you won’t. I’m just confused about why we need to buy paper towels and sandwich bags.”
“Budget cuts,” I said absently. “Teachers are basically buying their own supplies now. It’s insane. Can you imagine how messy thirty kindergartners are?”
I turned my attention back to Sophie. With the semester starting, I knew I was going to be busy. I wanted to spend as much time with her as I could. And I liked having real conversations with her. “Are you nervous about starting kindergarten?”
“Nope!” she declared with the confidence only a five-year-old could muster. “I already know how to read some words and I can count to a hundred.”
Mom caught my eye and smiled. “She’s going to do just fine.”
After dinner, we settled into our usual routine. Sophie got her bath while I cleaned up the kitchen. Then it was the bedtime story routine.
Later, when Sophie was asleep and Mom was watching her true crime show in the living room with a glass of wine and her favorite blanket, I curled up in bed and let my brain spin.
I’d been pushing the thoughts of the hot professor to the back of my mind since I walked out of there.
It was like putting a pot of broth on to simmer.
It only got better and more flavorful the longer it heated.
And I was fucking heated. Every detail of the man that I had missed noticing while dry humping in his office had been noticed today.
Seeing him in that lecture hall had lit something in me like a damn bonfire. He stood there wearing a slate-blue button-up rolled to the elbows and jeans that really should’ve come with a warning label.
He was confident. Cocky. And it had taken all my willpower not to look at his crotch because I had a very vivid imagination.
An imagination fueled by a hint of what had been so lovingly cradled in those jeans.
I immediately knew he’d be a boxer brief kind of guy.
And was there anything sexier than boxer briefs?
The look in his eyes when I walked in was perfect.
The combination of part horror, part hunger, part lust. It had been intoxicating .
I was certain he looked at the desk and pictured me sprawled out naked on the damn thing.
Or maybe that was wishful thinking. I wasn’t proud of it, but I might have replayed the fantasy out at least ten times in my head.
And then his parting shot. A comment about my clothing. It wasn’t even tight. I had worn khakis and a shirt from Target. Yeah, they hugged my curves a little but it wasn’t exactly provocative. Gravity and motherhood had given me hips and a butt that did not hide.
It wasn’t like I walked into his classroom in lingerie. If he didn’t want to see my tits and ass, I’d have to wear a tent. Or one of those muumuu dresses. Was I supposed to show up in a nun’s habit? It wasn’t my fault that he wanted his hands on my body.
That made me smile. And it gave me an idea. Mr. Professor was going to see how well I took orders. At least, in my personal life. I was his TA and I would do the job well, but he did not get to tell me what to wear.
I got out of bed and opened my closet, flipping through hangers until I landed on a skirt that made me smile.
It was a high-waisted, charcoal-gray pencil skirt that hugged me like it had been tailored by a very skilled seamstress.
I laid it out on my bed and returned to the closet.
I flipped through the blouses and pulled out a silky white blouse and the nude heels I hated but I could walk in.
Professional. Polished. Appropriate.
I stripped down to my panties and pulled on the skirt. I stepped in front of the mirror and grinned. The skirt made my ass look phenomenal. I pulled on the blouse, tucked it in, and nodded. Oh yeah. This was going to make him swallow his tongue.
I wasn’t done yet. The outfit was perfect, but I wanted to see what other options I had. If Professor Stone thought khakis were too tight, he was going to have a stroke when he saw me in this skirt.
I pulled out my phone and snapped a quick mirror selfie, then deleted it immediately.
What was I, sixteen? But I couldn’t help admiring how the skirt made my waist look tiny and my curves look dangerous.
More than once I had been told I looked like an old school Hollywood starlet. Mansfield. Monroe. Harlow.
I didn’t know about that, but I certainly had the hourglass thing going on.
My ass wasn’t Kardashian-big, or fake. It was all real and all the squats and lunges in the world were not going to make it trim.
And I really didn’t care enough to try. The size of my ass had nothing to do with what I wanted out of life.
I untucked the white blouse and tried a few different ways of styling it.
Fully buttoned looked too conservative—like I was trying to hide.
I undid the top two buttons, which showed just a hint of cleavage.
Professional but not prudish. Then I tried knotting it at the waist, but that looked too much like I was trying to seduce him, which I absolutely was not.
Was I?
No. This was about making a point. About showing him that I could look professional and put together without covering myself in a potato sack. I was a woman and he was just going to have to deal with it.
I settled on the two-button approach and turned my attention to my hair. The ponytail I’d worn today had been practical but bland. I pulled the elastic out and shook my red curls. I was going to leave my hair down tomorrow.
I hung the outfit carefully in my closet and climbed back into bed, but sleep didn’t come easily. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw those piercing green eyes and felt the ghost of his hands on my skin. Tomorrow was going to be interesting.