Chapter 7 #2
“Less cynical?” he offers. “Not grumpy? Your skin would probably glow.”
“Very few men are that good in bed.”
“Very few straight men,” he corrects me.
“Touche.”
I use Sunday to get ahead on my coursework, and the day passes with Milo in my lap and my fingers flying across my keyboard.
Classes on Monday pass without incident.
I trade one assignment for another in each class and have just finished a meeting with my advisor when I make my way toward the elevators of the admin building.
I sigh as I trudge down the hall. High school, college, and grad school advisors are all pointless.
Each semester, we have a mandatory meeting with our advisors to plan out the following semester’s class schedule.
Since I have only a few classes left, the meeting felt unnecessarily long-winded, so I quickly tried to ask about other things.
I had been hoping to conduct my clinic interviews for my practicum placement early, but my advisor held firm to the original spring dates without providing a reason.
In my first year as a grad student, I asked if I could take an extra class per semester to graduate early, but they shot that idea down, too.
Requesting a different advisor elicited similar responses.
I hear the elevator ding, and I pick up my pace, hoping not to be stuck waiting for too long. The elevators in the older buildings tend to take forever to come back around, and I want to get home and start my homework as soon as possible.
“Hold the door!” I yell as I dart toward the closing elevator doors.
A large hand shoots out and stops the metal doors, allowing me to slip inside.
“Thanks,” I say, slightly breathless. I turn to see a broad chest, covered by a starched white button-up.
My eyes travel up wide shoulders, a strong jaw, until they stop, meeting bright green eyes.
“No problem,” Professor Stirling murmurs, gritting his teeth so that a muscle in that perfect jaw twitches.
We stand in awkward silence as I search for anything to say. Thanks for yet another grueling homework assignment, sir? The elevator jolts before coming to a halt, and an alarm beeps overhead. I look up, startled as Professor Stirling groans.
“Dammit,” he bites out before jamming his finger against the call button.
He crosses his arms, pushing glorious biceps out as he taps his foot impatiently.
He glances over at me and notices me blatantly checking him out. I quickly look away, red flames climbing up over my cheeks.
The intercom crackles to life, and a staticky voice surrounds us. “Yo, something up?”
I see Professor Stirling roll his eyes, and I bite back a laugh. “Yeah, the elevator stopped working.”
“Ah, I see,” the voice responds. “Let me see what we can do about that. I’ll call someone.” And with that, the line disconnects.
I sigh before slowly lowering myself to the ground and leaning against the wall.
“What are you doing?” Asher demands, sounding startled.
I smooth out my skirt as I look up at him.
“Oh, I’m sorry, you think that dude is going to get us out of here anytime soon?
” I gesture to the intercom. “Yo, something up?” I mimic.
“That guy is probably blazed out of his mind. We’ll be lucky to get out of here in a few hours.
” And my ankle is still a little tender, so there’s no way I’m standing for however long this takes.
“You think he’s smoking marijuana on the job?” he asks, eyes widening.
“How old are you again?” I inquire. “Have you never done that?”
“No.”
“Not even back before you were a professor? What about when you were a busboy or something?”
“No.”
“I think you should try it sometime,” I sigh, settling in for what is sure to be an excruciatingly tormenting time. “It might mellow you out a bit.” He bristles at the jab but doesn’t respond.
Being stuck in an elevator with a hot dude sounds great, but when the hot guy is your professor, whom you shouldn’t have a crush on… well, it sounds more like torture.
“Were you having a meeting with your advisor?” he asks after a few moments of silence.
I nod. “Yep, just planning out the last semester before interning at a clinic for my field experience.” He bobs his head up and down but doesn’t respond.
When it seems like he’s about to start pacing in the three feet of space we have, I speak up again.
“What about you? What brings you to the admin building?”
“My friend’s convinced their coffee is better, so sometimes we meet here on our breaks.”
“A friend or a friend?” I question without thinking.
He widens his eyes, and his mouth drops open just slightly.
His startled expression sends a fresh wave of embarrassment washing over me.
Way to go, Summer. Can’t you ever just keep your mouth shut?
“Um, I’m sorry.” I let out a sharp laugh.
“That is absolutely none of my business.”
“No, it’s not,” he responds, but I swear I see a small smile tug at the corner of his lips.
“Well, is it better?” I wonder, trying to get past a mortifying moment that I’m sure will keep me up at night for years to come.
“Is what better?”
“The coffee?”
He chuckles. “It tastes the same to me. I think my friend just wants an excuse to hit on one of the advisors.”
“Oh, I hope he’s hitting on my advisor, Ms. Torero; she could use some… happiness in her life,” I say, sounding disturbingly like Sam.
Asher lets out a surprised laugh. “She is… a bit harsh sometimes.”
“That’s a polite way of saying she is a major pain in the ass.” I watch as he tries to cover his next laugh by running a hand over his mouth. “Sorry, I am just completely out of line today.”
“Rough day?” he asks, finally sitting on the ground across from me.
I shrug. “I just have a lot to do, and being stuck in an elevator wasn’t really on my agenda.”
“Heading to The Pour House to work on that new essay?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Either there or just back to my place to keep Milo company.”
His spine straightens. “Milo?”
“She’s my cat,” I explain.
His face softens. “Ah, she was very cute. A little judgmental, but cute.”
I feel my cheeks heat again, remembering how he carried me home and basically tucked me in.
“About that,” I clear my throat. “I’m really sorry about that.
I don’t enjoy it when anyone has to take care of me, considering I’m nearly thirty, but I definitely don’t ever want a professor feeling like they have to see me home. ”
“We’re all allowed to get hurt sometimes.”
“I’ll remember that the next time you need to be carried home and tucked into bed.
” His eyes darken at the suggestion, and I quickly continue.
“And I would be sure to call you a full-service Uber to get you safely home,” I awkwardly chuckle.
He’s still staring at me, and against my better judgment, I just continue to talk, totally unable to stop myself.
“I mean, there’s no way I could carry you anywhere.
Look at me,” I laugh uneasily, gesturing to myself. “I’m like half your size.”
I watch as his eyes gradually rake down my body, slowing down to take in my exposed legs before traveling back up to meet my eyes.
I feel hot again, but it’s not the embarrassment I’m feeling.
He is significantly larger than I am. But that just leads to ideas of him throwing me around, picking me up, holding me off the ground. I bite my lower lip, and his eyes drop down to the movement. His jaw clenches, and he balls his hands into fists.