Chapter 26
ASHER
Summer has spent half of the nights here at my apartment for the past week before spending one night at home so that her cat wouldn’t be too lonely. Though she says her friend Sam has enjoyed going over and spending a few nights here and there with her.
I have gone over to her apartment once, but with two of us and a very grumpy cat, it was tight. So, this evening she’s coming over with dinner.
I’d run to the store earlier in the day to get some things that I’m hoping Summer will like and not find desperate.
I’ve just noticed that Summer always has a decent-sized overnight bag whenever she comes over.
I want to have a few things here for her so she doesn’t feel like she has to bring half her apartment when she spends the night.
Elijah had called when I was at the store to ask if I was interested in going to the bar tonight, and when I’d told him my plans for the night, he’d scoffed and told me I was whipped. I know Elijah is jaded when it comes to women, so I brushed off his comment and didn’t let it affect me.
A knock on the door sends me jogging through my apartment. Nerves settle in my stomach like acid.
But when I open the door and see Summer standing there, a big smile on her face, and arms full of Chinese food, the nauseous feeling starts to dissipate.
She flicks her head to get long golden strands of hair away from her face.
The light catches her eyes, turning them the color of warm honey.
She’s wearing another one of her skirts, this one is plain black and matches her knee-high boots.
My fingers itch to trail up her bare thighs and push the fabric higher.
I take the bags of food from her, eager to get her inside after noticing that she has another overnight bag.
“Hi,” she greets sweetly before giving me a gentle kiss. “I’m absolutely starving,” she groans, stripping off her jacket and laying it over the back of my couch. “If you want to grab silverware, I just need to use the bathroom really fast.”
The anxious feeling spikes in my stomach again as Summer starts for the hallway. I drop the bags on the dining table so that I can follow her.
She looks over her shoulder when she hears my footsteps, her brow furrows in confusion, but she gives me a small smile anyway.
She walks into the bathroom as I slowly trail behind her to gauge her reaction.
I see the moment she notices an additional toothbrush next to my own when her eyes widen in surprise.
Her head pivots to take in the rest of the bathroom.
Her shampoo and conditioner are on the shower shelf, and her face wash is by the sink.
Is she going to find it creepy that I took note of the brands she used when I spent the night in her apartment so that I could get them for her here?
She opens one of the drawers and sees scrunchies, a hairbrush, and tampons. She fingers a scrunchy before turning to me, confusion written all over her face.
I shove my hands in my pockets, not really sure if her reaction is good or bad.
Her gaze darts past me toward the bedroom. I step aside so that she can pass me. She walks into the bedroom, mouth still agape, and notices the silk pillowcase on the side of the bed she prefers to sleep on.
I rub the back of my neck nervously. This is probably too much too fast. She’s freaking out and thinking I’m way more invested in this relationship than she is. I brace myself for her to run out of here.
“What?” she says, at a loss for words.
I shrug. “I didn’t want you to need anything or feel like you have to run to your apartment for something, or like you constantly need to bring an overnight bag.
” I point toward my dresser and give her a hesitant smile.
“There’s a free drawer for you as well… if you want it. For pajamas, or spare clothes.”
Summer looks utterly taken aback. I wonder if I’ve completely overstepped.
I’ve never really wanted someone in my personal space before, so I’m not sure at what point you’re supposed to be more accommodating toward your partners.
None of my previous partners had ever asked for anything like this.
I just thought it would be nice for Summer to have some of her preferred items here as well as at her own apartment.
Summer blinks rapidly as tears well up in her eyes. She tries to ward them off by looking up at the bedroom light.
My smile drops, and I walk across the room to her side immediately. “What’s wrong?” I ask, cupping her cheeks with both of my hands.
“Nothing.” She shakes her head. She lets out a little hiccup of a laugh. “I feel so foolish for crying over something so simple,” she sniffles. “I’ve just… never had anyone try so hard to make me feel so welcome in their space before.”
Another smile plays along my lips as I lean my forehead against hers. I stroke my thumbs along her cheeks, collecting missed tears, and Summer closes her eyes. “It’s important to me that you feel welcome here,” I say softly. “That you can imagine a space that is ours, not just mine.”
Her whole face lights up with joy and appreciation, effectively erasing any remaining anxiety I have over this moment.
“You’re trying to make me cry again, aren’t you?”
I laugh before leaning in to kiss her. My tongue darts out to delicately stroke her own. She sighs into my mouth, and I can feel myself hardening against her.
“Does this mean I have to clear out a bunch of space for you at my place?” she asks while pulling away, but she keeps her arms wrapped snuggly around my middle.
“Because I hate to break it to you, but my apartment is about the size of a shoebox, and there really isn’t room for another person. Milo takes up most of the space.”
“We wouldn’t want to displace Milo,” I muse.
“The queen must be respected at all costs,” she says, nodding seriously.
I tickle her side, and an unexpected squeal escapes her lips, sending both of us into a fit of laughter. “All right, all right,” she says between laughs. “Let’s go eat before our dinner gets cold.”
We unpack the take-out bags and lay everything out on the table before sitting across from each other. Summer also pulls out a notebook and begins to go over the copious amount of notes she has scrawled onto the page.
“Studying?” I ask.
She nods. “I have to ace these upcoming finals.”
“You will,” I say with confidence. “You’re always finishing assignments early and getting great grades back.”
She bites the inside of her cheek. “I just have to make sure to keep my grades up so that I can get into a good clinic for my practicum placement. I want the practice I’m assigned to provide me with good real-life experience.
” She scoops some additional rice onto her plate.
“I just want to help kids,” she finishes quietly.
“You’re going to help so many kids,” I say earnestly, reaching across the table to cover her hand with mine. “You’ve dedicated so much to this program and to becoming a child therapist; there’s no way you’re going to fail now. It’s not possible.”
Her eyes brighten at my words, and she clears her throat, obviously wanting to change the topic to something more light-hearted. “Okay,” she says between bites of rice. “But I cannot come over during finals week.”
“What if I promise to help you study?” I offer with a smirk.
She huffs out a laugh but shakes her head. “No way. I have three different exams to study for and an essay to finish. I do not have time for any sort of distractions.”
“I can be… not distracting,” I say while trying to bite back a smug grin.
She playfully swats at me. “Believe it or not, your exam is the one that I’m dreading the most.”
My brows furrow at her statement. Although I know we shouldn’t be talking about her work in my class, it doesn’t stop me from asking, “Why?”
“Because it’ll be the hardest final I have all week,” she says as if it’s obvious.
I scoff. “I doubt that. What other classes are you currently taking?”
Her eyebrows raise in a you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me sort of look. “Are you completely unaware of your reputation at this university?”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
She shrugs. “All I’m saying is that you’re known as kind of a hard-ass.”
“I am not,” I say indignantly.
“It’s not a bad thing. You’re probably one of the best teachers I’ve ever had, but you don’t make it easy. Would it kill you to provide a study guide for your exams or something?” she asks, giggling.
“I’ve never provided study guides for my tests,” I growl.
“Why not?” she questions.
“It feels like cheating.”
“Not being able to memorize everything from a textbook feels like cheating?” she counters with a raised eyebrow.
I narrow my eyes at her. “How many of your other professors provide study guides for their tests?”
She tilts her head back and forth, considering. “I’d say about fifty percent.”
I snort. “I doubt that.”
She glares at me. “You do know that out in the real world, when practicing psychology, we’ll be allowed to refer back to certain texts and look things up on the internet when we have questions.”
“You should be able to remember what you’re practicing.”
“Can you remember everything you learned back in grad school?” she challenges.
And she’s got me there. “If students tend to get lower grades in certain classes… or from certain professors, does that not say more about how the course is being taught instead of the students themselves?” She holds up her hand, stopping me from saying something.
“I’m not saying you’re bad at your job. I think you’re an amazing professor.
I just think that the educational system might be a little broken in the way that we expect students to perform. ”
She bites her lower lip as I mull over what she’s said. I quickly lean across the table to give her a chaste peck so that she knows I’m not upset with her. “You make some excellent points,” I admit.
A relieved smile breaks out across her face before she takes another bite of food, grateful that whatever small disagreement we just had has passed.
I scoop some chicken into my mouth. I’m also happy that Summer and I were able to talk about something we don’t see eye-to-eye on, but I can’t help but wonder if she’s right.
As we lie in bed later that night, Summer’s soft breathing fills the room as I stare at the dark ceiling.
The only light filters in through the window from the surrounding city buildings, casting a yellow glow around the bedroom.
Despite the late hour, I can hear cars honking on the street below and the faint sound of music from an apartment across the street.
What Summer said about me being a hard-ass echoes in my head.
Am I a hard-ass?
I know that kids aren’t taking my class and bragging about how it’s an easy A, but do they dread each session?
Should I draft up a study guide for the final exam?
Are the average grades in my class lower because, instead of helping my students, I’m expecting an unreasonable level of performance from them?
How can I consider myself a successful educator when I’m more focused on difficult exams that boost my own ego than the success of my students? Maybe I’m not as good a teacher as I think I am if my tests are just about proving something to myself.
I stroke a hand over Summer’s hair. She makes a soft humming noise, and a cute smile tugs at the corner of her lips as she snuggles closer to me.
I’ve never enjoyed sharing a sleeping space with someone else.
I usually get too warm or feel like spreading out.
But with Summer it’s different. I want to be close to her at all times.
I don’t mind that my arm loses all feeling as long as it’s wrapped around her.
I don’t mind having to kick the blanket off of me and dealing with a little sweat as long as I get to inhale her vanilla lavender scent.
I’d sleep on the edge of the bed, only giving myself a sliver of space, if it meant giving her all the space she desired.
I want Summer to know that I’m growing. As a partner. As a man. As an educator.
I slowly untangle myself from Summer, covering her with the comforter before making my way out into the living room, where my laptop sits on the coffee table. More city light cascades through the room, across the floor and couch.
I sit down on the black leather couch, the material creaking. I flip open my laptop but don’t turn it on; instead, I drum my fingers on the dark mahogany of the coffee table.
Am I really going to do this?
Should I do this?
My brain tells me I shouldn’t, but my heart wants to take Summer’s feedback seriously. I want to be a professor my students can look up to and feel comfortable coming to for help. I want to be better. Summer makes me want to be better in all aspects of my life.
And just like that, I’ve made up my mind.
I boot up the device, crack my knuckles, and begin drafting a study guide.