Chapter 3 #3
“Okay, I just have one question,” Derek says as he pops a fried mushroom into his mouth. “If he wasn’t your professor… would you walk over there right now to talk to him?”
Yes. “Maybe,” I mutter before stuffing my own fried mushroom into my mouth. I take my time chewing so that I won’t have to say anything else.
“The fact that student-teacher relationships are frowned upon is a real bummer in this one situation,” Sam adds. I groan, and he holds his hands up in surrender. “Look, I understand why it’s not chill, but Meredith and McDreamy ended up okay, didn’t they?”
I resist the urge to toss one of the mushrooms at him. “That’s completely different and also fake.”
“He was technically her teacher there for a while. They were also in Seattle.” He pokes me in the side as if that’s some undeniable proof.
“And on that note,” I say, finishing my drink and pushing myself to my feet. “I’m going to head home and hang out with my cat.”
“I remember when I wasn’t getting laid,” Derek sighs. I give him an exasperated look on my way out the door.
The next day, Professor Stirling stops me before I can exit class. I wave at Sam to go on without me as I make my way toward our professor’s desk.
“Yes, sir?” I ask, and I see a muscle in his jaw twitch.
“I just wanted to say that I read your paper last night while I was getting some grading done, and I found it very thought-provoking. Your analysis of Freud’s psychoanalytic theory was incredibly interesting,” he says.
He had leaned forward across the desk as he talked, bracing his hands on the mahogany wood.
His hands are huge. I tear my eyes away from them and meet his gaze again.
He clears his throat and shakes his head, seeming to shake himself out of something. “Good job.”
“Thank you, Professor.” I turn to leave, but stop a few feet away from his desk.
“Professor Stirling? Do you often go to The Pour House?” I ask before I can think better of it.
He startles and stands up straight before rolling up the sleeves of his button-up.
Maybe he does it when he’s nervous—or concentrating on something.
“I’ve just seen you there a few times and was just wondering why out of all the bars you choose to go there so often,” I try to clarify in case he thought my question was rude.
He ran a hand along his jaw before the corners of his mouth just barely turned up in a hint of a smile. “Why do you go there so often? Sunday, you spent your time typing away on a laptop, a bar hardly seems a conducive place to work.”
“I could say the same to you,” I shoot back, grinning in return. “You read and grade papers there.”
“I find that having a beer or two helps to unwind from the day or lower my stress levels. Plus, it’s far enough from campus that I never run into students there.
” He looks me up and down with a glint in his eye before saying, “Well, hardly ever.” I blush as he starts to shuffle a stack of papers on his desk to put them in a backpack hidden behind his desk.
For some reason, I thought he’d use a messenger bag.
“And you?” he asks. “Why do you go there?”
I decide to answer honestly. “It’s not too far from where I live, and because it’s far enough from campus, I hardly ever run into fellow students there.”
That gets a chuckle out of him, and I can feel my heart skip a beat at the sound.
“Great minds think alike,” he muses. Silence settles over us, and I swear I see the tiniest glint in his eyes as he speaks again.
“Were you working on the essay I assigned at the bar on Sunday?” There’s something in his tone that makes me feel like he’s teasing me, playing with me.
I chew on my bottom lip before responding. “Were you grading my essay last night at the bar?”
He crosses his arms, making his biceps bulge as he nods. “I might have been.”
“Then there’s a fairly good chance I was working on the essay at the bar.”
I watch him try to bite back another smile. “Do you write all your essays drunk, Miss Nyx?”
Is he flirting?
“Drunk is a strong word,” I scoff. “Does it always take a couple of beers to get some grading done?”
“It makes most of them bearable.” He smirks. That elicits a giggle from me that I have never heard before. His tongue darts out to lick his lower lip, and I find myself unable to look away. He clears his throat, and I quickly look down at the floor. “Well, Ms. Nyx, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you.”
“Oh, I’m not going to the bar today,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck and taking a step away. He stutters, and I realize that I just assumed he meant he’d see me at the bar, not like I wouldn’t see him in class throughout the week.
“I didn’t mean—” he starts, and I promptly cut him off.
“No, of course not,” I laugh awkwardly. “I—uh, just—” I’m tripping over my words, and I also stumble over my own feet, my heels clacking against the floor. He takes a step forward, reaching out toward me, but I wave him away. “I will see you in class tomorrow.”
I make a beeline for the door and almost miss his quiet voice trailing after me. “See you tomorrow, Summer.”