Chapter 3
SUMMER
Professor Stirling goes to The Pour House a lot.
I’ve seen him there twice already. I start my second week of classes, wondering if maybe I need to find a new bar to frequent since I saw my professor there again last night.
It makes me think maybe we’ve both been there before over the past few months, and we somehow haven’t noticed each other.
I’m not sure how I wouldn’t notice someone who looks like him.
No, definitely don’t go down that train of thought, Summer.
I can’t help it. A fantasy of meeting him before he was my professor flits through my mind as I wait for class to start.
If I had crashed into him in the bar’s doorway instead of his classroom, would he have approached me in the bar after that?
Offered to buy me a drink? Would I have been able to make him laugh?
Would he have asked to see me again? There is some sort of age difference, but he doesn’t appear to be that much older than me.
Maybe I’m thinking too highly of myself. We both go to that bar a lot, and I’ve seen him twice in one week. We both go alone. And obviously, we’ve never caught each other’s eye before.
Yesterday, though I noticed him the second I’d walked in, I had refused to look at him while I was there.
He was sitting in the same spot he’d been at on Tuesday, and even though he was there before me, he stayed after I left.
I could have sworn I felt him watching me leave, and traitorous butterflies erupted in my stomach.
I bounce my leg up and down as I continue thinking about what could have been.
Maybe all the daydreaming of meeting in a different way is pointless.
He would still be a professor at Cascadia University, and I would still be a student.
He seems like the kind of stickler who always follows the rules; he probably would’ve ended it before it even began once he found out.
I can’t say I’d blame him; it would be his career on the line, and if it were my future, I would do the same.
This is why this line of thinking is pointless, because nothing can come out of it anyway.
Professor Stirling finishes setting up a PowerPoint and stands to collect everyone’s essays.
He’s the only professor that I’ve had in years who still requests we turn in physical copies.
All my other professors have us submit assignments electronically.
It makes me think that Professor Stirling must get a kick out of physically marking up students’ papers and giving them back with their grades circled in the top corner.
I cross my legs as he makes his way toward the first row, and I swear he catches the movement and grits his teeth in response. I make eye contact with his piercing green gaze, and a heat ignites deep in my belly.
I hastily look away and make sure not to let our fingers touch when I hand him my essay.
Sam leans over the aisle to whisper to me as Professor Stirling finishes collecting everyone’s assignments. “Are you heading to The Pour House today?”
My eyes flit back toward our professor, already wondering if he’ll be there. I shrug as I look back toward Sam. “I might try to get some schoolwork done at home instead. Spend some time with Milo.”
He gives me a playful wink. “I swear you love that cat more than people.”
“You’re not wrong.” I shrug.
He laughs. “Well, I’m thinking of heading there around seven to meet Derek if you wanna join.”
“Who’s Derek?”
“The guy I met last Tuesday. He wants to see me again,” Sam says, puffing out his chest proudly.
“Do we like Derek?” I ask with a little smile.
“We might,” Sam says, mulling it over. “The jury’s still out.”
“I’ll let you know how I’m feeling after I get home and get some work done.”
Sam gives me a nod before Professor Stirling clears his throat to get everyone’s attention as he starts the lecture.
I try my best to take clear and concise notes, I really do. But halfway through the lecture, Professor Stirling unbuttons his shirt sleeves and rolls them up, showing off perfectly muscled forearms.
If the man wants short sleeves, why doesn’t he dress accordingly?
I think to myself, holding in a groan. The dress pants and button-ups, paired with wanting physical copies of our work and refusing to let any of us call him anything besides ‘Professor Stirling,’ make me think this guy’s as old-fashioned as it comes.
I’m surprised both times I’ve seen him at the bar that he’s been drinking beer and not whiskey neat, that feels like something this man should be partaking in.
I drum my fingers against my desk as the lecture continues.
He turns his back to the class as he writes something on the blackboard, and I pull my phone out of my bag, open the web browser, and pull up the school’s website.
I glance up to make sure the professor’s attention is still on the blackboard as I click on the faculty page and type in ‘Stirling’.
His picture pops up right next to his name, Asher Stirling.
Asher, that name is surprising. I would’ve guessed it would be something more traditional. Some old family name, maybe a name that’s passed down from father to son over the generations. Not something so… cool? Interesting? Hot?
“Ms. Nyx,” Asher’s sharp voice rings across the room. Professor Stirling. Do not start calling him by his first name. “Is something on your cellphone more interesting than my lecture?”
My head snaps up to see our professor glaring at me. I click my phone off and quickly shake my head. “Sorry, Professor.”
“May I continue the lesson now?” he asks, gesturing back toward his writing on the blackboard and the PowerPoint screen.
“Yes, sir,” I mutter, slouching down in my seat, hoping that the floor will open up and swallow me whole.
Professor Stirling turns back to the board and continues with his lecture as I let my hair fall in front of my face, hoping no one can see my flaming cheeks.
“Pst!” Sam hisses at me. I scrunch my brows at him and give a small shake of my head.
I refuse to get in trouble twice within just a handful of minutes.
“What were you looking at?” Sam asks, ignoring my look.
“What was it?” he whispers. I ignore him, looking at the strong, broad shoulders of our professor.
A balled-up piece of paper bounces off the side of my head, and I look at Sam incredulously.
“You’re going to get us kicked out of class,” I say in a hushed tone.
Sam waves his hand at my phone, and I take a deep breath to calm myself.
I look toward the front of the class to make sure our teacher is still facing away from us before I quickly hand over my phone.
I watch Sam unlock it and stare at Professor Stirling’s faculty page.
“Asher?” he mouths back at me, fanning himself.
I roll my eyes as Sam tosses my phone back to me. I quickly drop it in my bag and refuse to look at Sam. The rest of class goes by without incident, and as soon as our professor dismisses us, I am out of my seat and making a beeline for the door.
Sam is right behind me but has the decency to wait until we’re out in the hall before he says, “Care to tell me why you were looking up our professor?”
I scramble for some kind of non-creepy answer. “I was just thinking about what a stickler he is and remembered how adamant he was about not calling him anything besides ‘Professor Stirling.’ So, I got curious about what his first name was.” I shrug as if that’s completely normal.
“Out of all the names he could’ve had,” Sam sighs almost wistfully.
“I know, right?” I say back. “I thought he’d have a name like Gerald or Christian.”
“Like Christian Grey?” Sam exclaims, practically bouncing up and down.
“You know I hate it when you try to connect things to 50 Shades of Grey,” I groan.
“It’s just so relatable.”
“No, it’s not,” I deadpan back to him.
Sam opens his mouth to say something else when someone interrupts our conversation.
“Man, that guy sure is a dick sometimes, isn’t he?
” A guy from class says, jogging to catch up to us.
Sam blatantly checks the guy out before he waggles his eyebrows and walks a bit faster to let the guy chat with me.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes at how incredibly unsubtle my friend is.
“Huh?” I ask, not really paying attention.
“The way he laid into you for being on your phone.”
“Ah,” I sighed. “Yeah, that was embarrassing.”
“Well, at least one good thing came out of it.”
“Yeah?” I laugh. “And what’s that?”
“It gave me an excuse to talk to you,” he says, smiling. He’s cute. He has shaggy, sandy-blond hair and light blue eyes, offset by his tan skin. Maybe he spends a lot of time outside, though people in Washington rarely get that tan naturally.
“You needed an excuse?” I grin.
“An excuse felt less obvious than coming up to you and randomly telling you that you’re pretty.” He shrugs. “Something I’m sure you’re well aware of.”
“And yet, it’s always nice to hear it.”
He laughs. “Maybe I’ll say it to you more often then.” He smirks before starting to walk backward down another hallway. “I have to get to my next class, but I’ll catch you later. My name’s Matt by the way.”
“Summer,” I respond.
“Oh, I know.” He winks before taking off.
I giggle and shake my head as I make my way out to my car. Maybe flirting with someone appropriate would get my mind off of my Counseling Theories professor for good.
Somehow, I doubt it.
Later that evening, I try to focus on getting through some of my other classwork—I have a particularly difficult test coming up in my Developmental Psychopathology class, and the study guide is giving me a migraine—but I keep finding myself distracted.
I ignore my mother’s repeated calls and feed Milo as I start looking for something to do other than anything resembling schoolwork.
I manage to force myself to answer a few questions on the study guide before slamming the laptop shut.
I groan before deciding that’s about as productive as I’m going to be this evening.