Chapter 9
Dakota
“First lab will have a shorter lab report, like last semester.”
I rested my chin on my hand, Dr. Killshaw’s voice steady against the rain slamming into the windows. My sweater and hair were still a little damp from the walk here. Umbrellas were more useful when the rain wasn’t also accompanied by wind.
“Followed by a presentation, and a longer lab report—you all know the drill,” he continued and pushed his sleeves further up his forearms, muscles flexing.
His posture was confident, relaxed—even though I knew he hadn’t been teaching this class very long.
“But we’re going to be starting with everyone on polymers, which isn’t typically what I like to do.
Unfortunately, the poly lab is needed for other classes later on in the semester, so we gotta get all our stuff done this month.
I had to move around the lectures a bit, but it should still be alright. We’ll make do.”
A girl near the front raised her hand.
Dr. Killshaw nodded in her direction. “Go ahead.”
“Will report due dates be adjusted? And are we still with our same group?”
“Yes to both. I’m working with my TAs to get the final schedule out, but I don’t want you worrying about rushing to get any reports done.
We know this is stressful, which is why we’re planning for it.
” He walked to his desk and leaned back against it, half-sitting on the ledge and crossing his arms over his chest. “It won’t end up too different from your previous semester. Just some shuffling.”
A few people around the room nodded their understanding. I just observed, sitting almost all the way in the back—like I’d been doing since day one. It was quieter back here. And I didn’t want people watching me.
One of the TAs, who was named Anna, spoke up. “I’ll be having extra office hours, as well. So please feel free to swing by if you’re needing help with anything. I’m here for you guys. Like Dr. Killshaw said—” she gestured to him “—it won’t be that different. But it is kinda flip-flopped.”
I wondered if Dr. Killshaw remembered seeing me at the gas station.
I also wondered what he thought of that interaction, or what he thought of me working there.
I wasn’t embarrassed necessarily, but I did sometimes forget how shitty the place looked from the outside.
The potholes and crumbling curbs were normal to me, and the severely worn-off paint was all I’d ever seen.
I never thought about how maybe Eric should repaint the outside of the place.
Whatever. Dr. Killshaw was the one who chose to go there.
My pulse jumped into my throat when he made eye contact with me from the front of the room.
I quickly looked down at the table, running my eyes over my notebook like I was reviewing something, but the page was blank. When I chanced a glance upwards again, I saw he wasn’t looking at me any more. Obviously.
My eyes roamed over his rolled-up sleeves, his strong forearms, his defined muscles flexed taut. He was so fucking attractive. It was almost difficult to focus on anything else.
Dr. Killshaw started the lecture and I was able to quit being distracted by his looks for most of it, instead putting my attention on taking notes.
He moved through the slides quite fast, which I was strangely grateful for—it forced me to pay attention to the lecture content and not his back and arm muscles flexing under his dress shirt when he turned.
We mostly focused on P Quinn, Nate, and Jackson. They were all relatively familiar to me, but not the same people I’d been in a group with last semester.
Some people stayed in the same groups, but I didn’t care enough to do that. Nobody cared enough to keep me, either.
Both Group 1 and Group 4 sat at the first two tables of the room, Dr. Killshaw still standing in front of his desk while the last few students made their way out of the classroom.
“Alright,” he said once everyone had left.
“You’re going to be the first two groups doing the poly lab, starting next week.
Group 1 is Monday/Wednesday and Group 4 is Tuesday/Thursday.
Friday will be available if you don’t get all your testing done; just talk with me about it and we can work something out. ”
Everyone nodded their heads idly.
The lab periods were about three hours long, and fit into our schedule like a normal class. But they didn’t happen every week, only the weeks we were assigned to be in lab—which was next week for me. Then I’d probably have a couple weeks out of lab.
“I’m going to post all the materials for polymers later tonight, so your experiment summary and risk form will be due Friday at midnight—for both groups.
I’ve got my office hours Friday morning, but my TAs will be available as well.
Utilize your resources; the standards for lab reports in my class will be similar to what you’re used to, but perhaps a little more stringent. ”
It was to be expected. We were all fourth-years now. Of course the lab reports would get more difficult.
And something told me that despite his easygoing demeanor, Dr. Killshaw had high fucking standards.
Maybe it was the speed of his lectures, or the locked exam review documents already listed on the course homepage, or the way he was emphasizing the expectations for our lab reports now, but I had a feeling I might have to work just a bit harder in Unit Ops II than I did in Unit Ops I.
His gaze snapped to mine, lingering for a second too long.
Then he dismissed us.
━━━━━
I woke up sweating, tangled in my sheets, heart racing, mind clinging to the foggy remnants of the dream. Dampness in my underwear had my fingers aching to slide between my legs. I squeezed my thighs tight together, my clit throbbing.
Shit.
All I could see in my head now was a montage, a wash of sinful moving images to accompany the luscious sensation wrapping around my entire overheated body.
A strong hand in my hair, my knees against the floor of the classroom, my cheek resting on a muscled thigh, a thumb pushing into my mouth, my lips brushing the hard outline of a cock through tailored pants…
I tore the covers off and tumbled out of my bed, stumbling across the room to the door of my bedroom and flinging it open. I just had a dream about sucking Dr. Killshaw’s dick.
My fingers curled into fists, then spread wide, flexing, trying to get out some of the tension stringing me so tightly.
I came to a stop in the kitchen and braced my arms on the the counter, the laminate edge digging into my palms. After giving myself a minute to catch my breath, I straightened up, shoving everything to the back of my mind, then started to get ready for the day.
I didn’t have time for this shit.
I had a shift today, then one class later in the afternoon.
Yesterday, I never ended up seeing Mila at the Archway because she’d been busy with some assignment she was rushing to get done.
I wondered if I’d been able to talk to her, would it have prevented the dream from forming in my mind?
Maybe I just needed an outlet to stop the feelings from building up so big in my brain.
After getting ready, I headed out of my trailer and walked down to the bus stop, listening to Nymphs Finding the Head of Orpheus by Nicole Dollanganger.
The bus was behind schedule and it took a good thirty minutes for it to finally pull up to the stop.
This was why I left early for everything—I couldn’t count on timely transportation, unless Mila was driving me.
But she had a life outside of being my chauffeur, and thus, I relied on public transport most of the time.
My breath fogged up the window as I sat on the plastic seat on the bus, and I wiped the condensation off with my sleeve.
At the gas station, I plucked my earbuds out of my ears and wrapped them up before stuffing them in my bag.
Bug was out front today, sitting cutely by the ice freezer.
I squatted in front of her, scratching her little black head, running my palm over her soft fur, then tapped my finger on her nose and promised I’d come back later with a treat.
She knew I would.
I entered the gas station, the smell of stale coffee greeting me, along with something vaguely artificial that I’d never really been able to put my finger on. Eric was crouched in an aisle restocking over-the-counter medicines. Allergy pills, pain relief, Dramamine.
“Mornin’, butterfly.”
“Morning, Eric.”
It felt like I had a big sign plastered to my forehead, flashing lights and arrows pointing. I JUST HAD A SEX DREAM ABOUT MY PROFESSOR! Though Eric didn’t seem to notice it.
“Working on next week’s schedule, is there anything I need to know about?”
“Shit.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “I have lab on Tuesday and Thursday. I forgot to mention it.”
“It’s so funny to me how you always worry about this stuff.” He chuckled, standing up and brushing his hands off on the front of his jeans. “No matter how many times I tell you I don’t care about shuffling stuff around for you, you always get worked up about it.”
I rolled my eyes, face warm. “I’m sorry for trying to be a gold-star employee.”
“You are a gold-star employee,” he reassured me. “Now, I don’t play favorites, but if I did…” Eric winked.
A real smile spread across my face, simple joy ballooning in my chest.
“It’d be me?”
He mimicked zipping his lips shut, then throwing away the key.
I already knew the answer to that, though.
Eric was genuinely one of my favorite people.
He’d seen me on some of my worst days—never judging, just treating me with respect and kindness.
He’d probably let me tell him about my sex dream, if I wanted.
I could picture him now: nodding along, never making me feel awkward, giving me space to rant.
Not that I would ever tell him about it.
It was just nice to know he would still be normal to me if I did.
Eric disappeared into the back and I punched in to the time clock, then started wiping down the counters, throwing away paper straw wrappers, and stealing a small cherry slushy to keep behind the counter.
The morning passed slowly, without many customers—except the group of high school boys who had come barreling in through the door and knocked over an entire rack of postcards. They seemed surprisingly apologetic. I figured they were skipping school, and didn’t really give them a hard time about it.
They also called me ma’am.
It was kinda funny. Less funny when I had to spend twenty minutes cleaning and sorting the postcards again, but at least it gave me something to do.
Thoughts of the dream kept swirling in my head any time we had a lull, and I found myself constantly distracted.
How was I supposed to go to lab next week when my brain wouldn’t stop conjuring up detailed images of my nocturnal imaginings?
God. Why couldn’t it have been a dream about literally anyone else?
I groaned.
I was hot for teacher. Whatever.
Tonight I’d have to spend some time reading the polymers lab procedure and working on our group’s experiment summary—which was less of a summary, and more of a plan; it was intended to show we understood what we were about to do in the lab—so I could hopefully get my head out of the gutter and actually perform a successful first experiment without drooling over Dr. Killshaw the entire time.