Chapter Five
Ashton wished she’d studied physics instead of psychology.
Then she could discover time travel and tell her past self not to add teaching to her repertoire of coaching, doctoral research, and classwork in her second term.
As she sat at her desk and stared blankly at the stack of papers in front of her, she questioned if it was worth the headache, wading amidst these entry-level papers.
Only the second week of class, and she worried she was already burned out.
Her first class had been an adventure, that was the best way to put it.
Her students were a mix of first years and upper classmen and weren’t really into the benefits of sport psychology.
In some ways, Ashton couldn’t blame them.
The textbook was bland, choosing technical terminology over everyday vocabulary.
The disappointed expressions she’d viewed the week earlier revealed a few of her students didn’t know what they were getting into when they saw Sport headlining the course description.
She leaned back and spun in her chair until she faced the wall with the inspirational poster: TEAM—Together We Achieve More.
She swiveled her head left and right, taking in the overstuffed bookshelves, the small knickknacks she’d brought over from Japan and proudly displayed.
While some would view her space as small, Ashton liked to think of it as cozy, and it would put her students at ease should they ever decide to grace her doorway.
A ping from behind her alerted to an incoming text. She twirled back around and saw Nancy’s name on the screen.
Have a small errand to run and won’t be there until practice starts. Can you set up the equipment without me? I’ll be there as soon as I finish.
“This day just keeps getting better,” Ashton mumbled and set her phone back down.
Feeling like she’d postponed the inevitable long enough, she pulled the stack of papers in front of her. She needed to get through at least half of these proposals before she went to set up the indoor facility the football team so graciously loaned them, or she’d be up late tonight…again.
By the fifth paper—these students really were just trying to get their gen-ed requirements—Ashton heard the distinct sound of running coming closer to her door. She looked up in time to see a streak go by. Puzzled, she shrugged before returning to her task.
When she heard the footsteps again, sneakers squeaking loudly as they came to a stop, Ashton huffed and looked up to see green cargo pants, a gray Henley shirt, and a brown messenger bag draped across…
She gasped as the person turned to face her, dark hair pushed back behind her ears, revealing sharp cheekbones and an expression that gave away her worry.
Ashton stood and went to the doorway. “Razor?”
Razor sagged in relief. “Oh, thank God,” she said and walked right up to Ashton. “I’m supposed to be in Professor White’s psychology class, but I can’t find the room.”
Ashton took the schedule in Razor’s hand and looked at it intently.
“She’s in room 113, which is one level down.”
“Great. Thanks.”
Razor bolted in the direction of the stairs, but Ashton grabbed her arm. “Wait! You can’t just go in. It’s fifteen past the hour. Professor White has a strict no late admittance policy. She’s probably already marked you absent.”
“Dammit.” Razor groaned. “This totally sucks. I got caught up at Slugfest, and then traffic was horrific. I really tried to get here on time. Now she’s going to think I’m a problem student.”
The genuine distress on Razor’s face tugged on Ashton’s sympathy. She’d studied under Professor White last semester and knew the woman to not be lenient toward students who didn’t take their studies seriously. But Razor’s reasons didn’t feel like a ploy. So what else could Ashton do but help?
She grabbed Razor by the wrist and dragged her to the stairwell.
“What are you doing? Where are we going?” Razor asked, stumbling over her feet.
“You’ll see.”
They ran down the stairs and stopped at the fifth door. Ashton looked through the window and knocked, garnering Professor White’s attention. She waved Ashton entry, though she didn’t look happy about it.
“This better be important, Ms. Sharpe.”
The sharp, detached tone didn’t deter Ashton.
“My apologies, Professor White, but Ms. Mitchell here is one of your students.”
Ashton gestured to Razor who waved meekly.
The professor’s patented cold stare nearly made Ashton bend her head in submission, but she pressed on.
“I know your policy and respect it, but Ms. Mitchell’s tardiness is my fault.
She’s the newest member of the softball team, and I was going over game scheduling, facility access, and other details she wasn’t privy to before this week. And, well, I lost track of time.”
Professor White pursed her lips and crossed her arms. She looked between Ashton and Razor and softened her stare. “I would appreciate it in the future, Ms. Sharpe, if you allowed my students to arrive to my class on time.”
Ashton sighed inwardly. “This was a one-time deal. I promise.”
Professor White tilted her head toward the empty chair in the back row. Razor, less tense, mouthed Thank you to Ashton, then headed up the row.
Ashton gave Professor White a blinding smile and turned the leave.
She caught Razor’s eye and mouthed You owe me as she left the room.
When the door shut behind her, Ashton pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to Nancy, telling her to take her time with whatever she had to deal with. She had the equipment covered.
* * *
The note surprised Razor. After class had ended and Razor apologized to Professor White, promising she wouldn’t be late again, she climbed the stairs and returned to Ashton’s office. The locked door had her feeling dejected before she saw the note below Ashton’s nameplate.
Razor,
Please come to the indoor football facility adjacent to the sport complex. Just in case, I’ve drawn you a map on the back. ;)
Ashton
Razor chuckled at the detailed map directing her to the building she’d walked by on her way to class that afternoon, the one right between the sport complex and the psychology building.
She followed the directions to a T, going through the complex, past the girls’ locker room on the left, then down a dark concrete tunnel.
As she broke through the darkness, harsh fluorescent lights beat down on her.
There was nothing too spectacular about the space.
Turf covered the entire floor, green with black accents for the school colors.
Tackle dummies lay piled up in the farthest corner away from the entrance, and bags of footballs were strewn along the walls.
When her gaze reached the nearest goalpost, she also found Ashton.
The light pink blouse and pencil skirt from earlier were replaced with black joggers and a fitted green Dri-FIT T-shirt with Western U Softball emblazoned across her chest.
Razor gulped, her libido taking a harder hit than it had when Ashton was in professor mode, which was the first time she’d ever seen Ashton’s legs on display.
And Razor was a sucker for legs. When Ashton had grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward the stairs, “Hot for Teacher” invaded her brain, making her wish Ashton was dragging her somewhere private instead of her classroom.
The heels she’d worn made her calves and thighs look strong and toned.
Now, albeit covered by the stretchy nylon and spandex, Razor could see the same muscles flex and move against the fabric.
Even though Razor had seen this side of Ashton numerous times back in San Diego, she still found it just as sexy as her professor persona.
It was nice to have options, though, and Razor blushed at the crude turn her thoughts had taken.
“Hey! You made it.”
Razor shook out of her stupor and waved the map back and forth as she walked over.
“You gave good instructions. I’d probably end up over by College Plaza without your help.” Ashton playfully snatched the map out of Razor’s hand and balled it up. “Hey, I might need that to get back to my truck.”
“Aha,” Ashton said, as if she’d been found out. “I only wanted to get you here.”
The words, innocent and joking, felt charged.
Or maybe that was wishful thinking on Razor’s part.
Ashton must’ve realized how she sounded, too, because she rolled her lips and looked around the arena, a slight blush coloring her cheeks.
Razor tried to ease the tension and homed in on the equipment on the ground.
“What’s all this?”
“This,” Ashton said, motioning around her, “is why I asked you here.”
Razor recognized the mesh netting, the same brand she used at Slugfest. PVC pipes and joints were piled next to the nets, and an aluminum frame sat in pieces next to another form of net with a pocket in the center.
Rounding out the collection was a set of temporary bases, neatly stacked out of the way.
“As you can see, this is not a softball field, so we need to set up equipment to make it one.”
“And it has to be temporary so the football team can have their practice.”
“Exactly. Nancy was supposed to help, but she had an emergency to take care of, and I knew doing it by myself would be difficult…”
Razor held up her hand. “No need to explain. I’d be happy to help. Especially since you helped me earlier.”
Ashton’s eyes softened in gratitude, and she gave Razor a beaming smile. “Great. Let’s get started.”
Razor shucked her messenger bag onto a nearby bench and picked up the PVC pipes for assembly.
“So, how was class?” Ashton asked.
At Ashton’s sing-song tone, Razor turned to look at her and caught the smirk on Ashton’s lips.
“I have a feeling you know exactly how it went. Couldn’t give an old friend any warning?”