Chapter 38 Dane
DANE
The wait for Tuesday morning to arrive was excruciating.
I deserve an Olympic gold medal for the restraint I showed not using his number that’s burning a hole in my phone. Seriously, going the entire weekend without texting him with a snarky remark is next level maturity that even I’m shocked by.
Not to say I didn’t attempt to, more times than I’d like to admit.
The text messages went something like:
Me: Can I get a side of semen with my mashed potatoes please?
Delete
Me: Is that a pepper grinder or are you just happy to see me?
Delete
Me: Mmmm. Sweet and salty.
Delete
Me: You kinda left me hanging….
Delete
Me: Can I take you out properly? Both of you. I swear I’ll behave.
Delete
My desperation over the course of the weekend shifted from wanting to continue to push his buttons to just wanting to hear from him. I half expected to get a call or message from Hannah because she’s always been that middle ground for us, but it’s been crickets.
“Hey, Professor Campbell,” Jodi calls out from behind me. Her heels clack against the tiled flooring in a rush to catch up. “How was your weekend?”
“It was good. How about yours?” I reply with a monotone expression. I’ve learned to minimize my excitement and refrain from engaging too much with the students, especially ones like Jodi who are clearly interested.
“Kind of boring. Maybe you could take me out, show me a good time?” She looks up with an innocent expression I know all too well.
“I’m sure you have plenty of friends that can do that.” I pick up my pace to my classroom door.
I wrap my hand around the cool brass handle and hold my arm open to allow her to pass through. “Ladies first.” She wears her pout as thick as she wears her makeup but manages a fake smile as she passes by.
I follow her through the doorway and my eyes quickly scan the room. There are only a few students—the punctual ones—already here.
I peek over to where Ethan and Hannah usually sit and I’m shocked to find their chairs empty. It’s uncommon for the students to sit somewhere else but it’s always a possibility. I glance around the room and still nothing.
They are always early. Hannah is the best student in the class and there hasn’t been a day where she’s been late, other than that first day when she had to go to the office before class.
The same unsettling feeling of being left alone in that hotel room wafts over me and I hate the deja vu it brings.
He wouldn’t have dropped the class, right? Even if he did there’s no way he would have convinced Hannah to drop.
I second guess my thoughts. Disappointment blankets me as the students begin to pile in and I glance at the clock.
So, it’s official. They’re absent.
Pulling out my phone, the screen is blank and empty and I hate the silence. Maybe I pushed him too far this time.
I palm my face and suck in a deep breath.
“Good Morning,” I announce.
A few grumbled mornings, followed by a few heys, is the standard good morning melody of college students after a long weekend.
I ask the students about their weekend and a few rave about the Smashers back-to-back wins. Others have their heads tucked into their arms as they lean on their desk, with zero motivation to be here.
I feel you.
I start the lecture, using my dinner with Edward Russo—leaving out any names, of course—as a topic of conversation.
Edward was driven, a true salesman in his determination to get my business.
But, when is it too much? We chat about strategies on selling yourself, your brand, your idea, and the students liven up a bit.
I assign them in groups and ask them to come up with a joint pitch. I want them to work as a team and find a way to convince me. Convince me to need what they have. I want to feel that passion.
This isn’t necessarily a sales class per se, but in life we need to learn to sell ourselves, our brand, and they need to know how to build relationships and talk to people, so I came up with this as a way to push them out of their comfort zone.
Most of these students are only comfortable behind a computer; it’s time to get them out in front of it.
As the students converse amongst themselves, my cell phone lights up with a text from Ethan. My heart beats heavily behind my breastbone before it jumps to my throat. A mix of excitement and worry battle each other and I find myself urgently reaching for my phone.
I click open the message; there’s no text, only a video. I squint then glance around the room, everyone is consumed in what they are doing so I click the volume button down then tap play.
The video is aimed at the floor then pans up as I see a very familiar dark wood desk come into view. My desk.
I glance over my shoulder at my office door. It’s shut and I’m trying to recall if I locked it when I left last week.
Turning back, the video pans to my quote-a-day flip desk calendar showing today's date—I sure as hell didn’t change that—and a quote; "One day your life will flash before your eyes.
Make sure it's worth watching." - Gerard Way, then the clock showing the time.
I glance at the clock on the wall of the classroom. Ten minutes ago.
What the hell?
I snap my gaze back at the video and Hannah appears on the screen. She’s sprawled out over my desk, her pink dress is bunched around her waist, legs spread open touching herself.
I smother my feral expression as I clench my phone, my cock thickening instantly behind my pants.
Goddamn it. I turn around to look at the door as if I have X-ray vision and could see through it. Is she still there? It has to be Ethan recording, right?
Just as I internally ask myself the question, the camera flips around and Ethan's face comes into view, smirk on full display.
“Enjoy your class,” he says, as he records himself diving into Hannah, his tongue flattens as he presses his face in between her legs and the video ends.
Fuck.
If that wasn’t the best fucking invitation of my life, I don’t know what is.
Looking back at the clock, there’s still thirty minutes left of class.
Fuck it.
“Class dismissed!” I close my laptop and place it in my bag.
They all look up stunned and some go back to talking like they plan to stay in my goddamn classroom.
“Class dismissed,” I repeat. “Work with your groups and prepare for a practice speech on Thursday. This project will be part of your final so take it seriously.” Finally they stand and start to exit and I’m practically bouncing on my toes as I walk the last student out and lock the door behind them.
I’m at a roadrunner pace as I walk through the classroom. Reaching the office door, I grab the handle and use my body’s momentum to walk through it, but it doesn’t fucking open. Instead I crash into it, my shoulder zinging with the pain of the impact.
“Ow!” I groan as I grab my keys out, flipping through them frantically.
“You stop, you stop right now!” I call out from behind the door as I fit the key into the hole and turn the handle.