Chapter 9 Jace
Jace
I couldn’t get my professor out of my head.
Normally, it would be easy to move on from something like this. Block their number, and never think about it again.
That was impossible since I had to sit in her class three times a week, listening to her melodious voice explain criminology while she walked around in high heels.
I spent my Saturday with a project at home to take my mind off things.
The screen door on my porch had broken in a storm last month, and I’d been putting off replacing it.
For a few hours, I lost myself in the satisfying task of fixing something.
Going to the hardware store, picking out hinges and the right kind of wood screws.
Removing the old ones, cleaning the frame, and then installing the new.
But as soon as I was done, my mind drifted right back to her.
Professor Carrington.
Fortunately, I had plans tonight that would distract me. I got to the bar early that night and ordered a scotch.
“Strickland, you son of a bitch!” my buddy Carter said when he showed up a little later. “You’re still looking slim. I expected you to pudge out now that you’re a civvy.”
“Civilians can stay in shape,” I replied while hugging my former squadmate. “You’re looking soft, yourself.”
“Fuck you,” he said with a laugh. “Bartender? Another of whatever he’s drinking, and I’ll take a Sprite.”
“Sprite? You finally sober up now that Uncle Sam’s not bossing you around?”
Carter took the stool next to me. “Nothing that exciting. Cindy’s pregnant, so I’m cutting out alcohol and caffeine in solidarity. Honestly, the caffeine’s the hardest part. I’d kill for a cup of regular coffee.”
“Woah, don’t bury the lede there! You two are finally pregnant? Congrats!”
He smiled sheepishly and allowed me to hug him again. “Thanks, pal. Still doesn’t feel real.”
“When’s she due?”
For a while, I listened to Carter tell me about his life. New job in construction, Craftsman house in the suburbs, two Golden Retrievers. The Carter I knew was dealing with PTSD and anxiety while we were in the Army, so it was really nice to see him doing better.
“What about you, Strickland? You chasing any skirt right now?”
“Nah, just focusing on my studies.”
“I know that look. You’re holding out on me. Come on, who is she?”
“She’s nobody.”
Carter stared at me like an interrogator who had all the time in the world to wait for me to spill the beans.
“I met her on Tinder,” I eventually revealed. “Lila.”
“Lila. She sounds hot.”
“Better than hot. Beautiful. Witty, too. A hell of a lot smarter than me. And she’s got a smile that hits like a hand grenade.”
“How long have you two been shacking up?” he asked.
“That’s the thing. We haven’t.”
“Ohh. Taking it slow. You must really like her. Is she religious or something?”
“Not exactly. We haven’t actually gone out at all.”
Carter blinked in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“We met on Tinder,” I explained. “Really hit it off. Exchanged a few scandalous photos. And then I walked into my Criminology class this past week and found out she’s my professor.”
“You’re professor?” he asked, deadpan.
I nodded.
Carter was motionless for five long seconds. Then he erupted in laughter.
“Glad you’re finding humor in the situation,” I said dryly.
The bartender gave us our drinks, then asked, “Are you okay?”
“I’m great! Just heard something hilarious about my buddy here. Hey, are you single?”
The bartender glanced at both of us and said, “I could be,” before she walked away.
“You should go out with her,” Carter said. “She seems nice.”
I took a sip of my scotch. “You’re probably right.”
“So what happened?” Carter asked. “You walked into class, realize she’s your professor and then…?”
“And then nothing,” I replied. “I’m her student. It’s against school policy.”
Carter chuckled to himself and took a sip of his Sprite.
“What?” I asked.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“But you’re thinking it.”
“I am,” he admitted. “I’m thinking that about three years ago, Sergeant Strickland was the most stubborn son of a bitch in the Army. So I don’t believe for a second that you’ve given up on this professor.”
“I’ve been leaving fruit on her desk every class.”
“Fruit?”
“An apple. Then an orange.”
“I bet you’re leaving her notes, too.”
I glanced away. “Maybe.”
“Take it from your friend, who is both older and wiser.”
“You’re a month younger than me,” I pointed out.
“I’m spiritually older than you because I’m married with a kid on the way,” he argued. “Leave your professor alone and find a nice college woman to date.”
“I hear you.”
“I’m sure you do. But are you going to listen to me?”
“I’ll let you know when the semester is over.”
Carter slammed down his Sprite and gave me an intense look.
The kind that could only be shared between two guys who had been through a lot together.
“You’ve got a second chance, pal. Think about it.
Free tuition thanks to the GI Bill. In a few years, you’ll be a federal investigator.
Maybe even work for the FBI like you always talked about.
Don’t jeopardize that over something—someone—you can’t have. ”
I downed the rest of my scotch and sighed. “You’re right. I already knew all of that, but I think I needed to hear it from someone else. Thanks for having my back.”
“Always have, always will. Now tell me which name you like better: Charlotte, or Caroline.”
“You’re having a girl? You lucky son of a bitch!”
“Lucky?” he asked.
“If it’s a girl, she’ll probably get Cindy’s good looks. If you had a boy, he’d be as ugly as you.”
We spent the next hour catching up, and then Carter left to pick up fried chicken for his wife who was having a craving. I ordered another drink and a plate of fries, then idly picked at the latter while rereading Tinder messages.
Lila wasn’t the only girl I’d been messaging in the past two weeks. But she was the only one I had actual chemistry with.
The bartender came back and flirted with me a bit.
I flirted back, and when she eventually brought out my bill, her number was written on it.
There were a few other girls around the bar who I’d made eye contact with, but I wasn’t drawn to any of them enough to make a move. The same with the bartender.
These were college girls. Emphasis on girls.
Lila was a woman.
While waiting for my Uber ride home, I pulled up our class syllabus. Lila’s email and phone number were listed at the top. I wondered if the phone number was for her office, or her cell phone.
Only one way to find out.