Chapter 11 Lila
Lila
On Monday morning, I walked into my first class expecting to see a banana or a bunch of grapes. But it was much weirder than that.
It was a can of tuna.
While unpacking my laptop, I casually glanced at the note that was tucked underneath the metal tin.
If you don’t like fruit, maybe protein will win you over. I have a great recipe for tuna salad. Say the word and I’ll make you dinner.
-J
I had to stifle a laugh. I actually loved tuna, and survived college on homemade tuna fish sandwiches.
But I wasn’t going to admit that to him.
Class went well, even though I could feel Jace’s intense gaze staring out at me. When my lecture was over, he took his sweet time packing everything up, which meant he was the last student to leave.
Rather than leave class quickly, I checked some emails on my laptop.
And sure enough, Jace climbed the steps up to the lecture platform on his way out.
I ignored him for a few moments, pretending to be immersed with whatever I was reading on my screen.
Jace stood there patiently, hands in his jacket pockets, his bag slung over a shoulder and a smile on his face.
His presence was so infuriatingly magnetic. It took all of my focus not to turn and give him my full, undivided attention.
Eventually, I closed my laptop and did turn to face him. “How can I help you… is it Strickland? Jace Strickland?”
“What do you think of the tuna?”
“It’s great! My cat will love it,” I replied.
He snorted. “You don’t have a cat.”
“How did you know that?”
“I didn’t,” he admitted. “But you’re easy to read. I can tell what you’re thinking right now, even.”
“Oh? You know I’m worrying about whether or not Professor Galloway is going to ask me to cover his Data Forensics class this summer?”
Jace’s smile deepened. “No, I’m talking about the other thing you’re thinking. Regarding you, and me, and a distinct lack of clothes.” He made a show of squinting at me, like he could see through my skull. “Oh, we’re in a hot tub? I like that. Let’s do that.”
“And now I’m thinking that you should delete our Tinder conversation from your side.”
“Hmm. No, you aren’t thinking that. You’re picturing me in swim trunks. Which is inaccurate, because I like to wear a Speedo.”
“All joking aside… delete it.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is that a command?”
I immediately realized that this line of attack was a mistake. He was already digging in, like my request was some sort of challenge.
“I just want us to cover our bases,” I said. “It would make me feel a lot more comfortable.”
“Like I said: I’ll take that into consideration. Professor.”
Ugh, he even managed to make his insubordination look sexy. That magnetic pull was still there, making me lean forward in the chair if only to be a few inches closer to him. I could almost catch his scent…
“Have a great day,” he said, then left.
I had to take a minute to collect myself before packing up my own things.
He’s my student. I’m his professor. I need to stop thinking about it.
The simple interaction with him lingered in my mind for the rest of the day, and all day Tuesday. I expected a text message to pop up teasing me about Tinder some more, but Jace was strangely silent.
That afternoon, we had an all-hands meeting hosted by the head of our department.
It was held in one of the larger auditorium classrooms on campus, and I was required to sit on stage with the seven other professors in our department.
Students slowly trickled in and filled the seats, most of them looking bored.
I watched for Jace for a bit, then pulled out my phone and started responding to emails.
“Hey, do you know what this is about?” I asked Professor Galloway next to me.
“Some big donation came in,” he replied. “They’re naming a building after a donor, but they also like to parade them in front of everyone as well. We had two of these last year.”
Sure enough, the head of the department came out a few minutes later and walked up to the podium, tapping lightly on the microphone.
Another white-haired man stood behind him, smiling smugly.
“Thank you all for joining me this afternoon. I know we all have busy schedules, but this truly is an exciting announcement. Parker Worthington, the gentleman standing behind me, has long been a supporter of the Criminology Department here at Smokey Mountain State, but this week he has gone above and beyond his usual generosity…”
I started zoning out while he droned on. I was in the second row of faculty, which meant I was somewhat hidden behind the very large Professor Eileen Mathers, but I didn’t want to pull out my phone and scroll. I felt like I was on display, smiling along with the speech.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I glanced at my Apple Watch to read the message.
Jace: You look good in red. Like an apple I want to sink my teeth into.
I kept my face blank, and slowly scanned the crowd of students in the auditorium. There were twenty rows of seats, each elevated higher than the last. But I couldn’t find Jace.
My cheeks felt hot. I wanted to respond to him.
In the seat to my left, another professor pulled out his phone and discreetly began checking basketball scores.
The billionaire donor was now up at the podium, droning on about community obligation and higher education.
He seemed like the kind of man who assumed that everyone loved hearing him talk.
Slowly, I crossed one leg over the other, then hid my phone behind my knee and responded to Jace.
Me: Creep.
Jace: Is it creepy to give a professor an innocent comment?
Me: You know what you’re doing.
Jace: You look good in red. It would be criminal not to point that out. You’re the professor, can you check my work on that?
Me: Your compliment isn’t happening in a vacuum. There’s a lot of context behind it.
Jace: There sure is ;-)
Me: You should be paying attention to this speech.
Jace: I can’t focus while you’re up there.
Me: I’m behind Professor Mathers. You can only see me from the neck up.
Jace: That’s all it takes. Besides, I know what’s hidden. Hey quick question: what kind of panties are you wearing under those jeans?
I paused to glance around and make sure nobody cared that I was on my phone. Now I was certain I was blushing.
But I couldn’t stop myself from texting back.
Me: I’m not telling you that.
Jace: Then I’m going to have to guess. Red thong. The kind that disappears between your beautiful cheeks.
Me: Wrong. I’m wearing granny panties. They’re the color of Vienna Sausages.
Jace: I don’t believe that for a second. A woman like you only wears granny panties when it’s laundry day. And you seem like you have a routine. I’m guessing you do laundry on Sundays, so you should have a fresh drawer to choose from.
Me: That’s… shockingly close to true.
Jace: I’m good at reading people. So, a red thong?
Me: Black. With a little pink lace.
Jace: Oh my God. You’re killing me right now.
Me: I didn’t plan on telling you, so it’s only second degree murder.
Out in the crowd, someone barked a laugh that made everyone turn. There he was, over on the left side of the room. Jace covered his mouth and coughed a few times, raising a hand in apology.
“As I was saying… I have a long history at this school,” the donor continued. “In fact, my grandfather…”
I smiled to myself now. It was good to know I could get a reaction out of Jace.
And even though I shouldn’t have been texting him at all, there was something so fun about doing it here in front of everyone. It excited me to a shocking degree.
So I decided to push things a little bit.
Jace: That was funny. Well done.
Me: What kind of underwear are YOU wearing? I’m guessing you’re a tighty whitey kind of guy.
Jace: That’s insulting. Guess again.
Me: Ohh, are YOU wearing a red thong? I bet that looks good, with all the cake you’ve got back there.
Jace: You like my ass, huh? You can see the whole thing. All you have to do is let me take you out to dinner.
Jace: Hell, I’d even let you smack it. Whatever you’re into.
Me: I like how you avoided answering my question. Interesting. It must be a pink thong, not red.
Jace: UnderArmour brand boxer-briefs. Navy. Skin-tight. Sorry to disappoint you.
Me: I’m definitely not disappointed. I would only be disappointed if you didn’t send me a photo later tonight.
Jace: Agree to go out to dinner with me, and I’ll send you a photo right now.
Me: You have one ready to go on your phone?
Rather than answer me, he left his seat and squeezed past the other students in his row. He jogged down the stairs and quietly exited the auditorium.
The donor was still giving a speech. The head of our department nervously shuffled his feet like he was looking to interrupt him, but was afraid to.
And then my phone buzzed again. This time with a photo.
I glanced at Professor Galloway to make sure he wasn’t watching, then carefully opened the message.
Oh my God.
The photo was taken in the bathroom down the hall. Jace was standing in front of the mirror, his pants around his ankles and his shirt pulled up. He was turned sideways, showing off the boxer-briefs that clung to his muscular thighs and butt like a second skin. Above, his abs were on full display.
Suddenly, it felt very warm on stage.
Jace returned to the auditorium, this time choosing a seat right on the aisle where he wouldn’t disturb anyone. He wore a big smile as he tapped on his phone.
Jace: No response? Wow.
Me: I have a response in mind, I just can’t send it. Yet.
Jace: That sounds interesting.
Me: I think you’ll use a different word when you get it.
I put my phone on silent and went back to pretending like I was enthralled by the donor’s speech. I shouldn’t have been receiving semi-nude photos from a student. And I definitely shouldn’t have been considering sending him one of my own.
But I didn’t care right now. My entire body felt alive, like I was connected to an electric battery.
When the speech eventually ended, I quietly left out the back door by the stage. When I reached my office, I closed the door and locked it, then shut the blinds on the one window looking out.
Then I unzipped my dress pants, pulled them down until I was showing off a little skin, and snapped a photo. Before I could talk myself out of it, I sent it to Jace on Signal.
The app told me that he had received the text. But he didn’t text me back.
I collected my things and went home. I settled onto the couch and admired Jace’s photo a little bit longer, zooming in and admiring the bulge in the front. I wondered how big he was.
Deep down, I desperately wanted to find out for myself.
Me: No response? Wow.
Jace: I was driving home when you sent it. Almost crashed my damn car.
Me: That’s the kind of response I was hoping for.
Jace: Now if you excuse me, I’m going to spend some quality time with this photo for the next ten minutes.
I unzipped my jeans and got comfortable while looking at Jace’s photo again, and at our sexy text exchange. Eventually, my fingers slid down into my jeans.
I was gasping and shuddering with release within minutes.
We still haven’t done anything, I told myself. Texting him is wrong, but as long as we don’t actually hook up, we’re not crossing the biggest line.
But after so many lines crossed already, I wondered how long it would be until we did cross that one.