Chapter 2
~
June
I hadn’t expected to be drenched in sweat by the end of our first rowing practice for the semester. Usually the land sessions were more tolerable, but this year seemed to be a watershed year for everyone.
Coach Hayes did not come to play around.
I was definitely feeling the consequences of solely prioritizing my academics over summer break. But if it was any compensation—amid the stitch in my side, burning lungs and aching joints—I was far from the only team member who’d been less than dedicated.
“Holy shit,” Madison gasped, leaning over with her hands on her knees as she tried and failed to catch her breath. “That woman is trying to kill us.”
I laughed but it sounded more like a wheeze. “This isn’t fun for you?”
“Not my preferred type of cardio, no,” she replied, giving up altogether to sprawl out like a dried-out starfish on the track.
Around us, the rest of our team were either slinking off to the showers or lying on the ground like Mads, probably waiting for feeling to creep back into their limbs.
“Who the hell plans a training circuit on the first day? Like what sadist thinks that’s a good idea?” she continued.
I shrugged, less of an answer and more an attempt to loosen up the stiffness in my upper body. “Someone who wants their team to win the derby, perhaps?”
“Urgh.” Mads rolled her eyes. “I guess that makes you and the Coach two peas in a pod, then. Help me up.”
She raised her arms and flexed her fingers a few times. I grabbed her hands then pulled, managing to hoist her back up on her feet. We walked to the showers together, making small talk about practice and what our plans were for the first weekend of the new semester.
“Some of the others were thinking of going out for dinner on Saturday. Maybe check out that new Thai place off campus. Wanna join?” she asked, her arm brushing against mine.
“You know, I actually would’ve said yes if I didn’t already have plans for that day,” I said.
Madison put a hand to her chest dramatically, closing her eyes as though she was in pain.
“June. My dear, sweet, lovely June. I hope you know that studying does not count as having ‘plans’, right? It’s so early in the year, I think you can afford just one weekend of mindless debauchery.
Imagine gorging yourself on Tom Yum Goong or—God forbid—mango sticky rice. ”
I laughed. “Your sarcasm’s wasted on this situation. I actually have a coffee date.”
At that, Madison stopped walking and stared at me, a mischievous smile on her lips. “Wait, a coffee date?”
“Coffee date,” I emphasized. “So no, not what you’re thinking. It’s just a meeting with my professor. I decided to take your advice and start networking.”
She looked caught between disappointment and pride at me having listened to her and taken the initiative to do something more than just bury my nose in my books. Eventually, the latter seemed to win out. We continued walking.
“Okay, okay. I’m not going to nag at you anymore, and I’m happy that you at least took this step. I just want what’s best for you, you know that right?” she asked.
I nodded. “Yeah. In your own weird way.”
“So this is purely for networking. Not even just making a new friend?” She mulled it over for a second, then shook her head.
“Nah, what am I thinking? It’s your professor, the man is probably a fossil.
As happy as I am for you, I still think you should’ve considered the mango sticky rice as the better Saturday night option. ”
I hesitated, not sure how much I should share with her.
If only she knew that Blackwell was anything but the decrepit old man she was obviously picturing.
Just thinking about him again sped up my pulse, but I knew that I was being ridiculous.
He was a good-looking man. He was also my professor.
The line began and ended right there so there was no point in even bringing it up.
But Madison was like a bloodhound when it came to sniffing out details. She tilted her head to the side. “Is there something you’d like to share with the class, Price?”
I cleared my throat. “No.”
“You’re a crappy liar, June. Always have been,” she pointed out.
I sighed. By now we’d reached our lockers and I was desperate to hop in the shower and end this conversation. “There’s nothing much to tell. He’s not old. He’s probably not even thirty.”
“Oh?” her eyes seemed to light up. “Well, that’s different. Is he nice?”
“Seems nice enough.”
“Smart?”
“Very.”
“Hot?”
“Yeah.”
“There it is,” she said triumphantly, retrieving her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. I groaned, leaning my head against the locker door. “No need to act coy. I’m glad to see you can still notice men even if the man in question is your professor.”
“Hey, I didn’t—” I started indignantly.
She waved off my protests. “It’s fine. You haven’t gotten laid in a while.
You’re hyper focused on your future. Your professor is hot and you, being a warm-blooded human being underneath all of that, noticed.
That’s all there is to it. Enjoy your coffee date.
” She paused, then winked. “Sounds like you might’ve actually gotten the better weekend deal anyway. ”
I threw my towel at her face and she caught it with a laugh.
*
By the time Saturday came around, I’d already had my outfit picked out, which had helped my nerves during the buildup.
What didn’t help was the fact that the weather decided to betray me at the last minute and plummet the temperature low enough to eliminate the shorts and tank top I’d decided on.
So instead, I settled on darkwash jeans and a chunky sweater.
It was a nice enough outfit but even that little detail was almost enough to send me spiraling again.
I gave myself one final look-over in the mirror before I headed out.
My hair was graciously behaving itself given the humidity we’d been fighting recently.
My outfit’s colors worked well with my skin tone.
I thought I looked like someone that was worthy of being taken seriously.
But in the startling silence of my dorm room, with Madison and the others already out for the day, I was left with nothing but passing comments ringing in my ears.
Straight-laced June Price. Academic powerhouse. Safe and steady to the point of tedium.
Okay, that last one was a private thought of my own.
But I couldn’t help wondering if that was truly how everyone else saw me.
Routine and structure worked well in the field I wanted to go into.
It’d worked well in getting me to the position I was in right now, maybe even worked in getting me noticed by Professor Blackwell in the first place.
But was this really how I wanted to be remembered? Someone who overthought a damn sweater?
As deep as that rabbithole could’ve gone, I decided to push the question away and grab my bag. I wouldn't want to be late, after all.
The cafe I’d chosen was a little quaint place, maybe a fifteen minute walk away from campus, which gave me enough time to clear out my head. It was quiet enough on a weekend to lend some privacy but not so private that it would be suspicious to catch a professor and their student there together.
Yes, even the possibility of poor assumptions had driven my choice of location. Safe and steady, always.
I took a deep breath as I put my hand on the cafe door and walked in, expecting to be the first to arrive.
But Professor Blackwell was already there, seated in a window nook.
He looked deep in thought, his head leaned back against the booth while his eyes took in the sidewalk on the other side of the glass.
He was beautiful.
That was the first thing that struck me to the point of stillness. Anyone could see that he was handsome, but there was something about his intellect and credentials that amplified my nerves even more than just his looks.
Here was someone who was basically where I wanted to be, someone who could potentially give me a stepping stone to reach my goals.
I wanted nothing more than to make a good impression on him, to make him see just how passionate I was about this field and to prove to him that I deserved the time he’d taken out of his day to see me.
If I messed this up…I squared out my shoulders and forced myself to walk over the cafe threshold.
Professor Blackwell saw me before I got there, standing up in greeting. “I hope you don’t mind that I chose a window seat. I like the view,” he explained as we shook hands and I slid into the spot opposite him.
“No problem. I usually pick this side as well,” I replied.
He nodded. I noticed that he was wearing a white T-shirt and straight-leg jeans, a simple outfit that matched the casual down-to-earth nature of his smile. If I didn’t know any better, I would really think he was just a regular guy and not a brilliant university professor.
“I half expected you to bring a binder with you. At the very least, a book or two,” he said.
I blinked, wondering for a moment if he was actually joking with me. It took me a second longer than it should’ve for me to thaw out and actually return his smile. “Oh, well…would that’ve impressed you more?”
“It would definitely have made you memorable but would’ve ultimately been pointless,” he said.
I placed my bag on the seat next to me. “Why’s that?”
“Because the questions I wanted to ask you don’t have answers you can find in a book or collection of lecture notes,” he explained, leaning back in his own seat.
For a split second, I panicked. I’d mentally prepared for anything he would ask me, from what drew me to his methodology to a more in-depth explanation for why I chose Muller & Co. as my dream company. But now it seemed we’d be going off-script. I hated going off-script.
Then something happened that took me completely by surprise: he laughed.
It was a warm, deep sound that seemed to seep into my rigid muscles and relax them. A genuine sound.