Chapter Three
Rosie
My friend Ellie stares toward me with a dropped jaw and the widest eyes I’ve ever seen. “Oh, he was definitely hitting on you.”
I shake my head and stare down at the address he scribbled onto the notecard.
“No, I really think he’s just messed up with this book thing.
It sounds like he’s gotten in his head about it.
Maybe it would be good for me to help. I mean, the research assistant thing would look good on my application for grad school. ”
“Right. Just leave out the part where you’re sleeping with your professor!
” She grins and reaches into the bag of popcorn sitting between us.
“If you ask me, I think you should have a little fun. You’re young.
You should be accumulating filthy little stories you can relive later when you’re settling in suburbia with a man who won’t stop looking at other women. ”
“Damn! That’s depressing!”
She nods slowly and pushes her glasses higher up her nose.
“My parents are on the verge of divorce. I’ve heard way too much at this point.
I need to move out. Speaking of,” she glances toward the kitchen, making sure my father is out of earshot, “when are you getting out of here? You can’t possibly be planning to take care of your dad forever, right? ”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I feel bad for him now that my mom is gone, like I have to pick up the slack or something.”
“It’s not your responsibility. He’s a grown man,” Ellie presses as she shoves in another handful of popcorn. “Plus, you have a super-hot philosophy teacher who’s into you. It’s imperative that you lean into that.”
I narrow my brows playfully as I take a sip of Cherry Coke. “Why are you so worried about what I lean into?”
“For one, I’m living vicariously and can’t wait to hear about what a freak he is. Two, I genuinely care about your well-being, and I think you could benefit from blowing off some steam with a big, sexy, super freak.”
Now I’m laughing. “What are you talking about? Professor Wilder is like the softest, kindest, most introspective man I’ve ever met.”
She grins wide as popcorn falls onto her chest. “And I’d bet money he’s also the type who likes wearing clown shoes when he fucks.”
“What?” I laugh harder. “Professor Wilder? The guy that wears the shawl collared sweater?”
“Because of the shawl sweater.” She nods dramatically. “You’ve seen that dragon tattoo on his hand. He’s got secrets. Deep, dark, circus-level secrets.”
“Okay, I’m cutting you off. No more Cherry Coke.” I laugh and tuck her can behind a frame on the end table.
“Plus,” she continues, “he’s enormous. He could pick you up, toss you around,” she shivers, “and do all kinds of fun things.”
“Wow. You sound horny.”
“I’m a twenty-five-year-old virgin with no prospects in sight. Yes… I’m horny as hell.”
“What happened to Adam? I thought he was the one.” The bready malt of beer wafts into the room as I talk. Dad is probably half a case deep by now. “That was just like… a few months ago.”
“Are you kidding? Adam is the reason my mom is going to end up hiring a bodyguard for me. He turned into a total psycho.”
“Psychotic how? Like… he’s collecting your toenails or like… he’s following you around?”
“Probably both. Last week, I was getting groceries, and he followed me into the grocery store, recited a poem, and it just wouldn’t stop.” She sighs and leans her head back against the couch cushion. “I’m just glad I’m done with school this semester. How much time do you have left?”
“Three years if you count graduate school. I’ll probably stay home until I’m done. Hopefully by then I’ll have Dad in some kind of program.”
Ellie nods, though she doesn’t say anything. I know it’s because she doesn’t think I’m serious. I don’t blame her. I’ve talked about getting him into rehab for years and something always stops me.
That something being Dad.
There are a million reasons he thinks rehab is a terrible idea. The cost, the time commitment, the inevitability that he’ll fail, the fact that no one understands him. The list goes on and on.
“Okay!” She sits up and brushes her auburn hair to the side. “Enough serious stuff. Let’s get back to this kinky professor thing. So… if you go over there tonight, what’s the worst that could happen?”
Nothing. Nothing is the worst that could happen.
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“Exactly. And what’s the best thing that could happen?”
He’d take charge of me, tell me what he needed, and let me give it to him.
I shrug again. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter because I’m not going over there.”
“Oh, come on! Stop being such a stick in the mud! If you’re worried about your dad, I’ll stay and watch him.”
The sharp hiss of carbonation bursting free echoes in the background.
“I’m not worried about my dad. I really don’t want to go over there.
I mean, I’m exhausted. I’ve worked forty hours already this week and I have another fifteen to finish before Sunday.
Plus, I haven’t even started my homework yet. ”
She rolls her dark eyes to the side. “So… go… play… with… your… professor.” She says the words slowly and poignantly as though I’m an idiot who’s not catching on fast enough. “I’m sure he’ll let the homework slide.”
“Lord help me,” I pray playfully, pinching my lips together as I shake my head. “You need help.”
“No, you need help, so I’m helping you. Go to his house.
Come on.” She stands from the couch and grabs my hands, pulling me up from the couch with a grunt.
“Go take a shower, put on a cute little dress, drive over to his house,” she’s shoving me down the hall now, “and ‘help’ the man with his ‘book.’ It’ll be good for you. ”
“Why are you saying it like he doesn’t really want help with his book?”
She tilts her head to the side and narrows her eyes toward me like I’m an idiot. “I’m sure he does want help. I bet it’s hard writing a book when your balls are full and heavy.” She pulls me further toward the stairs. “Let’s get dressed. Something cute!”
“You’re crazy! He wants real help with the book. Not sex.” I glance down at my stomach then back toward Ellie. “If you could have anyone in the world, would you choose this?”
She drags her dark hair to one shoulder.
“Where you’re seeing extra pounds, some men see feminine curves and softness.
Don’t you remember that chapter on renaissance philosophers at the beginning of the semester?
Professor Wilder was all kinds of complimentary about how natural people looked back then. ”
I narrow my gaze. “It was one comment and everyone says that about renaissance people. They were living the good life. Women could eat real food, have normal-sized bodies, and they were painted and revered. Men could have tiny, little, shriveled penises, and they were carved into stone. The renaissance was where it was at.”
Ellie smirks. “You’re missing the point.”
“No, I get the point. You genuinely think Professor Wilder is a kinky, circus clown who’s desperate to have his way with a renaissance woman.”
“Oh my God!” She crosses her arms over her chest as she bites back a grin. “Get dressed!”
“Fine, I’ll go,” I say, shaking my head, “but I’m not getting gussied up. I’m going as I am.”
Her gaze drops and scans over my frame slowly. “In a pair of cotton short shorts and a skimpy tank top?” She grins. “Okay! Get it, girl!”
I glance down at my hard nipples currently poking through said tank top. “Yeah. If I show up to his house wearing this… and he’s into me, he probably won’t be able to resist himself, right?”
Her eyes widen playfully. “I mean, I’m having a hard time resisting you myself.”
“Exactly. And if he doesn’t notice a thing, then we can both agree he actually wants my help with the book, you’ll drop this whole thing, and life will go on as usual.”
Ellie grins so wide that her teeth practically glow. “That’s right! You’re a quick learner.”
“And when I get there and it’s confirmed that he’s genuinely looking for help with his book, you owe me a new piece of turquoise.” I glance down at my hand. “I’ve been wanting something new for my index finger.”
She holds out her hand for a shake as I slide on my shoes. “And if you guys end up getting handsy tonight, you owe me lunch at that new Italian place on the corner.”
“You’re going down girl.”
Ellie shakes my hand with the confidence of a possum crossing the highway. “I got you on this one.”
“Whatever you say.” I grin and step toward my car, butterflies gathering in my stomach as I think over the implications of what I’m about to do.
It was one thing to play brave, little toaster in the confines of my own house, but out in the real world, where I’m wearing a skimpy outfit to go see my professor, it’s a whole other can of worms.
As I climb into my car, it hits me that I have no idea what I’m doing?
Why did I take this stupid bet? There’s not even a bet to be had.
Professor Wilder is not sitting around thinking about me in any way other than educationally.
To think otherwise is insanity. Heck, I’m sure he took an oath or something promising not to look at students sexually.
That’s a thing, right? The ‘don’t look at students sexually oath.’
If anyone would honor an oath, it’s Professor Wilder.
The man is straight as an arrow. He even keeps his highlighters organized by color and every note he writes on the board has to be even with the last or he erases it and rewrites the whole thing.
A man who doesn’t like chaos isn’t typically out searching for it.
I mean, the fact that I fantasize about him is okay.
A lot of students crush on their professors.
Heck, a lot of women fantasize about men in positions of power.
Bosses, professors, doctors… it’s a thing.
It’s a very normal, very well documented thing to think about your professor taking your virginity in the little supply closet at the front of his lecture hall.
Just as I’m sure it’s normal to think about your boss ordering you onto your knees to suck his cock dry while he spanks your ass for not getting your work in on time.
My panties dampen as I slam on the brakes and stare up at the stop light ahead.
Clearly, I’m so horny I’m not thinking straight anymore.
This is stupid. I already told him I wasn’t interested in the research assistant program.
I don’t need to show up tonight to win some stupid bet with Ellie or prove to myself that I’m not a stick in the mud.
I’m a stick in the mud, and that’s okay.
Given that fact, someone explain to me why I pull forward, why I keep driving, why I park in his driveway, and why I let myself inside without knocking, as he told me earlier.
Someone explain to me why I pause and breathe in his woodsy scent as I open the door, why my heart hammers against my chest, and why I stay when I hear him growling in the back room.
Someone, anyone, please explain this to me! What the hell am I doing?