Chapter 3 #2
Still at Pour House?
I fire off the text before checking my appearance in the mirror. Normally, I wouldn’t care what I look like, but knowing I could run into Asher… it makes me want to look my best.
Don’t think that way, I chastise myself for what feels like the hundredth time.
Sam:
We’re still here, join us!
Just ordered you fried mushrooms!
Better hurry.
Be there soon.
I snag my keys and say goodbye to Milo before making my way out the door, eager to get to my favorite appetizer.
It takes me about ten minutes to get to the bar, and I pull down the mirror to get one last look at myself before heading in. I bite my bottom lip and dig around my purse before I find my favorite lipstick and swipe a layer across my lips.
I make my way inside and see Sam and Derek at our regular spot by the window. I plop down beside Sam, who grins at me before raising his eyebrows. “Your lucky lipstick, huh? Is someone hoping to get lucky tonight?”
“No,” I say as if it’s a ridiculous idea while I resist the urge to wipe the bright red stain from my lips.
Sam shrugs, then lets me know he ordered fried mushrooms and an apple martini for me. “Summer, you remember Derek?”
I smile at the boy across from us. He has dark brown skin and stunning hazel eyes. His hair is cropped close to his head, and I can tell his arms are muscular through the sleeves of his shirt. Sam really hit a jackpot with this guy as far as looks go.
“It’s nice to see you again,” I say.
“You too.” He grins back, showing off bright white teeth.
Sam and Derek start up idle chatter as I try and fail to resist looking over into the corner of the bar where I’d seen Professor Stirling the other two times before.
He’s here. My heart beats faster as I watch him go through stacks of paper and mark them up with a red pen. I can’t help but feel somewhat connected to him in this moment—knowing that we both come to this simple dive bar to get work done, to find solace, not to feel so alone.
A small smile tugs at his lips as he writes something down on a packet of papers in front of him. If he’s grading our essays already, I hope mine is the one that got that smile out of him.
I want to impress him, but more than that, I want to do well so that I can be the best child and adolescent therapist possible.
I want to help kids. I want to be able to help kids who are experiencing trauma and grief, or developmental challenges.
When I first got to college to pursue a bachelor’s degree, I had no idea what I wanted to major in.
Freshman year, I babysat a kid named Craig for one of my mother’s friends during Thanksgiving break.
Craig had not been diagnosed, but everyone thought he might have been on the spectrum.
My mother said that his parents were too nervous to find out one way or the other and refused to seek treatment.
I think that was the moment I realized I wanted to be someone who helps create a safe space for children like Craig and families who don’t always know where to turn.
That experience made me feel like this wasn’t just something that I was interested in, but that it was something I was meant to do.
Asher flips the page of the essay in front of him, drawing my attention back to him.
He runs a hand through his already mussed dark hair.
He’s sitting near a Bud Light neon sign that bathes him in blue light, and I can only imagine that his green eyes must look otherworldly when the colored light hits them.
The scratching of his pen across parchment pauses as he stops to take a sip of the dark-colored beer in front of him.
He licks a runaway drop off of perfect pink-colored lips that I ache to feel with my own.
What I wouldn’t give to run my fingertips along those sharp cheekbones, over what I’m sure are flawless abs, to get tangled up in that satiny hair…
“Who do you keep looking at?” Sam asks as he cranes his neck to see our professor grading in the corner.
“No one,” I say, just a moment too late.
“Is that Professor Stirling?” he asks excitedly.
Derek turns to look at who’s causing all the commotion. I want to hunker down in my seat and pray that Asher doesn’t notice all of us looking at him like he’s some exotic animal in a zoo. “That is your professor?” Derek chokes. “Do all of your professors look like that?”
“Oh, definitely not.” Sam shakes his head. “I think Summer has a thing for him.”
“I do not,” I say, a little too quickly.
Both boys give me shit-eating grins. “I mean, who wouldn’t want a piece of that?” Derek sighs dreamily. “I would’ve considered going back to school if I’d known there was a chance someone like him would be my professor.”
“I can’t even be mad that you’re checking out another guy right in front of me, because I am constantly checking that guy out,” Sam agrees in a similarly wistful tone. “So is Summer.”
“I do not,” I lie again.
“Oh, you do too,” Sam laughs. “He literally caught you cyberstalking him today in class.”
Derek lets out an ‘ooooh’ as he rests his chin in his hand. “Do tell.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” I sniff. “He didn’t see anything, just that I was on my phone. He probably thought I was texting.”
“You should go say hi,” Derek suggests innocently.
Sam lets out a small squeal. “That is a great idea!”
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that Sam’s excitement has snagged our professor’s attention. Great.
I can feel my face flush as I refuse to make eye contact with him. “Absolutely not,” I hiss. “He told us on the first day of class that he didn’t want students bothering him in public.”
“He’s probably on his second or third beer.” Sam shrugs. “Maybe he won’t mind.” Sam leans in close to me with a devious smile. “Maybe he’ll even like it.”
I roll my eyes. “That is completely inappropriate.”