Chapter 6
SIX
Alis
My inner monologue is getting a kick out of this. Plot twist! If I could punch my inner self in the face, I would. This is not happening.
He coughs and continues his introduction. “Hi, I’m Dexter Belanger.” He extends his hand and I take it, lady bits reigniting when we touch. Cool it, vag. Now is not the time.
I plaster my most professional smile onto my face. “Hi, Dr. Belanger. Please, call me Alis.”
“Right. Alis.” He nods and releases my hand, his eyes full of confusion. “Is that a middle name?”
I swallow and shake my head. “No, not a middle name. Alis is the nickname my grandmother gave me as a child. It stuck. Aurora is a mouthful and growing up in the age of Gilmore Girls, I wasn’t about to let people call me Rory.”
Dr. Matthews laughs at this revelation. “How did I miss that?! Rory Gilmore. I love that show! Watched it religiously in college.”
Dexter looks between us, completely lost. “Never seen it,” he interjects.
Dr. Matthews smirks at him, playfully. “Well, considering you weren’t a high school or college-aged girl when it aired, I wouldn’t think so.” Dexter just nods.
Not skipping a beat, Dexter diverts from TV talk and gets straight to business.
“Dr. Matthews, thank you so much for bringing Alis down to meet me. Would it be alright for me to sit down with her for a bit? I’d like to walk her through my syllabi and better prepare her for the semester.
” Nope, nope, nope. Don’t leave me here alone. Please, don’t leave me here.
“Sure thing,” she says to him. “Alis, come back to my office when you’re done. I’ll put your paperwork with your bag.”
I nod, trying to act as normal as possible while internally I am FREAKING OUT.
I’m about to be in an office, alone, with the one man I’ve felt attracted to in nine years who is now completely off limits.
This. Is. Awesome. I’m not sweating; you’re sweating.
Is it too hot in here? Why doesn’t my top have buttons? I need to undo some buttons.
“Will do. Thanks, Dr. Matthews.”
She turns and walks toward the door, Dexter following close behind. He bids her farewell and gently closes the door, turning back to face me.
He scans me top to bottom and then looks at me expectantly. Yeah right, buddy. I’m not leading off in this conversation.
“So, this is ... unexpected,” he says. I nod. “You didn’t tell me your name was Aurora.”
I shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Nobody calls me that, so I don’t normally introduce myself by that name.”
I’m trying not to sound like a smartass, but I don’t think it’s working.
I turned him down; told him that now is not a good time for me.
But seeing him again makes me want him so much more.
No, Alis, you cannot have a cookie before dinner.
Cookie being Dexter and dinner being school, responsibilities, my freaking JOB.
“Of course. That makes sense. You explained that already.” He lifts both hands to his hair, pushing it back and away from his face.
That hair. Gahhhhh! I want to run my hands through it as I press my body against his and never let go.
And those glasses — I can only imagine how sexy he looks in the morning, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, hair falling loose around his face, glasses on while he reads the news.
Of course he reads the news in the morning — he’s too scholarly and mature for a morning trope through Facebook or a quick round of Two Dots. This man is delicious.
“You wear glasses.” I say, pointing out the obvious.
“As do you.” He gives me that smirky half-smile. Dammit, I don’t want to be attracted to him now that he’s my boss. Well then stop picturing him shirtless while reading the news. Ha — easier said than done.
“I guess it’s a good thing I said ‘no’ to dinner, considering I work for you now.” He gives me a puzzled look, like he’s confused by the statement I just made.
“And why would that be a problem?”
He can’t seriously be that dense. Are the glasses a lie? Is he actually stupid?
“I can think of a handful of reasons why that would be a problem, most notably: I’m your employee, I’m a student at the university where you’re a professor, Dr. Matthews would crap a brick if she found out her teaching assistant was dating a professor…
” I look up from my finger counting to his face. “Should I go on?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Yeah, okay. We’ll agree to disagree on that. When we met, I didn’t realize you were young enough to be my student. How old are you, anyway?”
He now thinks I’m a child. Frustration builds, but I bite back the snark and answer simply: “Thirty.”
He nods. “That’s what I would have guessed when we met. You don’t look early twenties.” I don’t respond.
“So you’re thirty and just now going to grad school?” You condescending asshat. Maybe it won’t be so difficult not to be attracted to him.
He leans against his desk, hands in his trouser pockets. My eyes trail down his shoulders to his biceps and forearms, across to his abdomen and down, slowly, to his … Dammit. Stop it, Alis.
I snap my eyes back up to meet his. “Yes. Is there a problem with a woman my age going to grad school?” I cross my arms over my chest. Now I look like a defiant child. Great.
“No, it’s just not the norm. Most students in our grad programs are twenty-two, twenty-three, just out of undergrad.
I’ve only been teaching here for three years now, and maybe other programs have students of all ages.
I just haven’t had any. Maybe we have some in the online programs, but not on campus.
” His face takes on a quizzical look, as if he’s only now considering people of all ages go to college.
“So, Alis, why go back to get your master’s now? ”
“I told you the other night — life happened and put my plans on hold. Now I’m in a better place and it’s the right time to finish my degree.”
“Finish? So you started once before?”
“Yes.” I say plainly. I’ve already had this conversation once today and I don’t have the energy to do it again.
“Care to expound on that?”
“Nope.” I look at him blankly, hoping my face effectively communicates: drop it.
“Alright, then. Let’s talk shop. Have a seat.” He gestures to a seat in front of his desk as he stands and circles back to his desk chair. I need the barrier between us, if only to keep my eyes on his face and not all over his body. Whyyyyyyy is this happening?
“You speak French?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow in question.
“Oui, je parle francais.” (Yes, I speak French.)
“Vous parlez couramment ou vous apprenez toujours?" (Are you fluent or are you still learning?)
“Je parle couramment, mais ca fait longtemps que je n'ai pas parlé francais.” (I speak fluently, but it’s been a while since I spoke French.)
“Et vous vous sentez à l'aise de corriger des devoirs en francais?” (And you feel comfortable grading homework in French?)
“Oui.” (Yes.)
He nods. “Wonderful. This should work out nicely, eh?” Eh? Is he Canadian? Belanger is French. He’s probably Canadian. Why does that make me want him even more?
“Looks like it.” I give him a stiff smile. I need to get out of this office.
“Right. Well, my class assignments are pretty straight forward. I teach Intro to French Language at the undergrad level. Those students don’t write any papers, but they are quizzed in each class and have a midterm and a final exam.
The exams include an oral component, and depending on the class size I may need you to attend that day to proctor while I administer the oral exam in the next room. ”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. Do you have a notepad I could use? I’d like to write everything down and I left mine in Dr. Matthews’ office.” He looks around his cluttered desk for a notepad, to no avail. “How do you find anything in here? I’ve seen teenagers’ rooms cleaner than your office.”
Dexter looks at me incredulously. “You’re kidding, right? I know where everything is in my office. It may look chaotic to an outsider, but I have a system.”
“And does your system include a spot for notepads?” I lift an eyebrow in question.
“Apparently … not today.” He lifts his hands in defeat. “We’ll just talk and I’ll send an email with all the information and the syllabi. Sound good?”
“Sure.” Time to exercise my nonexistent mental note-taking abilities. I’m sure I’ll forget half of what he says, and he’ll forget the other half. Hopefully between the two of us we can remember all the pieces to this conversation.
“Okay, so, we’ve covered Intro. Then I have another undergrad course — English Comp — and a graduate level French Lit.
English Comp is basic, and since you’re teaching one of Dr. Matthews’ comp classes you shouldn’t have any issues grading for mine.
All syllabi are approved by Matthews before finalization to ensure continuity, so we’re covering the same stuff. ”
I nod. “Yeah, I don’t foresee any issues there.”
He continues. “My grad students have to pass French 1, 2, and 3 before they can take Lit because I require all texts to be read in the original language. The assignments in that class are mainly essays, but they don’t write assignments in French.
Read in French, respond in English. I want my students to understand the meaning of the text in the original language, especially because the English translations often miss the true depth of feeling or meaning. ”
I listen intently. I can tell by his animated speech that he loves teaching. He’s gorgeous no matter the setting, but if he lights up like this just talking about teaching, I can’t wait to see him in action. I bet he’s breathtaking.
Is there anything sexier than a man who is fully alive? I doubt it. I’m a textbook introvert, filled with social anxiety and preferring solitude, but when I’m lecturing about something I love, my anxiety melts away and I’m fully in the zone. I bet Dexter operates similarly.