Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
MONDAY NIGHT, I RUSH THROUGH the quad, my laptop bag pelting me with each step.
After all my meticulous planning the last few days, I’m late for my first class.
Well, not mine. Alex’s. Thanks to my mother and her ominous parting words, I’ve been woefully off my game.
And for the first time in my entire career, I’m late.
I check my watch again. His seven PM class started thirty minutes ago.
He should be done with the syllabus overview and well into the icebreaker by now.
If he’s doing it, that is. Which he absolutely should.
I meant to pop in a half hour early to make sure he was set, but I got caught up in a sexual health podcast and completely spaced it.
In my defense, the guest was Evelyn Davera.
It’s a miracle I was able to turn it off at all.
Besides, it’s not like Alex needs me. He aced the study session. Answered every trick question the Bang Gang threw at him. And even though he’s never taught this class before, he’s taught others. Still, I’ll feel a lot better reporting to Dr. Padilla if I actually witness him in action.
I stop to catch my breath as I round the last corner of the Humanities building.
He’s in room 102. Lucky bastard. This is hands-down my favorite space on campus to teach human sexuality.
An intimate classroom with free-standing desks that can be arranged for group work.
I’ll never forgive Rita for assigning me lecture halls my first three years.
It made group dynamics nearly impossible.
As I approach the room, I expect to hear chatter and laughing, but it’s complete silence.
When I open the door, forty-five heads jerk in my direction.
Alex’s eyes close for a moment, and then ever so slightly, he nods to the left.
I follow his gaze to the row of desks along the adjacent wall.
Sitting in the front seat is our department chair.
She tightens her lips, and I look back at Alex.
With trembling hands, he gestures to me. “This is Professor Wells.” There’s a palpable desperation in his eyes, and my chest tightens in response. He always exudes confidence; I’ve never seen him so flustered.
The last page of the syllabus is projected on the screen behind him. I have no idea how long it’s been up there. One thing is for sure: He’s floundering, big-time. And because Dr. Padilla is here, witnessing his blunder, I’m floundering by association.
Dammit!
Luckily, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to do damage control. I flash the class a warm smile and lift the messenger bag off my shoulder. “Who’s ready to talk about sex?” I ask coyly.
A few giggles break out, as well as some shifting in seats, then right on cue, the ooooh. I dig through my bag and hand a stack of papers to Alex. “Professor Cardoso, I brought your icebreaker activity. Sorry I’m late.” I wince theatrically. “The printer was jammed.”
“Thanks,” he says, staring at the pages, still anchored in place. I elbow him, and he begins handing them out.
“Everyone, it’s time to put your cell phones away.” I pace up and down the rows of the cramped classroom, letting them know I mean it. “No laptops, no tablets, no internet. We’re doing this old school.”
A ripple of shuffling breaks out as students zip open their backpacks and pack up their electronics. One by one, their mouths drop open as they scan the activity. They need to define the clinical terms for twenty-six paraphilias—without the use of technology.
“Now,” I continue, raising my hands. “Everybody up. Your goal is to talk to as many people as possible until you can identify every term.”
They start out shy, barely able to make eye contact with one another. But after a few minutes, their timid voices become a little louder.
Once everyone is paired up, I check on Alex. His face is whiter than the copy paper.
“Hey.” I nudge his arm, and he startles. “You okay?”
He drags his hand down his face. “This has never happened to me before. Dr. Padilla came in and … and …” He searches my eyes, looking for understanding.
Saying I told you so isn’t going to help, so instead, I nod encouragingly. “It’s okay. We’ll get through it.”
He exhales, and Dr. Padilla steps toward us.
Before she can say a word, I start rambling.
“Man, that is one finicky printer. Alex had the activity ready to go, and the Bluetooth just wouldn’t connect.
He emailed it to me, and I tried printing it.
Next thing I know, there are ten documents in the queue waiting to print.
” I shake my head, praying she buys it. “I was finally able to restart it and get Alex his copies.”
She narrows her eyes. “Is that true?” she asks Alex.
He nods quickly. “Yeah, June really saved the day.”
My eyes dart to his. I want that on a billboard.
Dr. Padilla looks between us, then collects her purse and keys. “Well, it looks like you’ve got it from here. I expect you’ll have the materials ready to go at the start of class next week.”
“Absolutely,” he assures her. “In fact, I’ll print them after class today.”
“Good.”
As soon as she leaves, Alex slumps against the wall. “I don’t know what happened, I—”
“Get your shit together,” I hiss. “Class is still going. We’ll talk about it later.”
The rest of the class runs smoothly. The students mingle, there’s laughing, and even some cheering, as they connect and share their guesses. By the end, the mood has lightened significantly.
Alex dismisses them, and the students file out. When the room is empty, he flops into a chair. “That went well.”
I have no idea why he was so off his game, but I’m not going to dwell on it. I drag a desk over so I can sit across from him. “Everyone has bad days,” I try to reassure him. “The good news is, this one is over, so let’s put it behind us. What’s your plan for next week?”
“Anatomy,” he says, breathing a sigh of relief. “Straightforward. I’m just going to do a slideshow.”
Ugh. He can’t be serious. I grimace, and his face falls.
“What?”
“Alex, this class has the potential to be the most fun on campus. Why would you bog it down with slideshows? That’s so boring.”
He scuffs his foot along the worn linoleum. “What do you suggest?”
“Well, in my class, I break the students up into teams. First, I set a timer to see how many slang words they can come up with for each part. Then, they have to draw the anatomy on the whiteboards from memory. After we laugh at the hot messes on the boards, we go over the real structures.”
“Damn.” He leans back in his chair. “That does sound fun.”
“It really is.” I stand up and tilt my head toward the door. “Come on, roomie. Let’s go make some lesson plans.”
Over the next two hours, Alex takes copious notes while I walk him through the first five weeks of my curriculum.
He may have learned enough to pass a sex class with flying colors, but the one thing we didn’t cover was how to teach the material.
Topics like contraceptives and interrelationship communication are much different from statistical formulas and epidemiological definitions.
No wonder he just defaulted to PowerPoint.
By the time we finish, Alex has solid lesson plans for the next five weeks, complete with fun activities and minimal slideshows.
I close my laptop and stretch my arms overhead.
His class ended just before nine, and now it’s almost eleven.
We’re faced away from each other, back-to-back in our respective chairs.
I’m ready to go home and face-plant into bed.
He stifles a yawn as he says, “I can’t thank you enough, August. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
A prickle of annoyance climbs up my throat. If he had just let me properly help him from the beginning, we wouldn’t have been in this mess tonight.
“That’s why I was assigned as your mentor. You know, to mentor you.”
Silence.
Good. I hope he’s learned his lesson.
When he still doesn’t reply, I add a snarky, “Consider this insurance in case my parents’ check bounces.”
He drops his pen and swivels to face me. “I’m sorry I said that.”
I nod without looking up from my notepad.
The wheels screech across the tiles as he scooches toward me, then he grasps my chair, turning me to face him. There’s only a whisper of space between our knees. He dips his head, meeting my gaze. “Seriously. I’m really sorry.”
I manage a tight-lipped smile. “Thanks.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “I honestly had no idea how accomplished you were.”
Those words hit even harder than his initial assessment. I cross my arms, glaring at him. “So what—you thought I just bought my PhD? That I got hired as some Barrett nepo baby?”
His eyes widen. “What? No.” He waves his hands as if he’s shooing the accusation away. “It’s just—”
“Just what?” I snap.
His face softens. “I didn’t know you were published. Your research is really impressive.”
The flames raging inside me quiet down. “You read my articles?”
“Well, yeah.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “After I found out about them.” He scoots back, then pulls a legal pad out of his messenger bag. “Now, how about I repay you for earlier by helping you plan Sextival?”
I glance at my watch. “It’s late.”
A mischievous grin stretches across his face. “Someone waiting up for you?”
The words send a shiver rolling through me, and suddenly, I’m wide awake. Does that mean he doesn’t have someone waiting up for him? My body tingles as I search his eyes, the flecks of gold twinkling under the fluorescent lights.
“No …” I draw the word out.
He holds my gaze another beat, then directs his focus to the notepad. “Uh …” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat. “What’s your vision? When you think of Sextival, what do you see?”
My stare burns through him, but he doesn’t look back up.
I close my eyes, trying to picture the event. “The quad,” I say after a few moments. “Pop-up canopies on either side of the walkway.” With my eyes shut, I motion with my hands. “Bright tablecloths. Balloons. Games. Thousands of condoms.”
“Like carnival games?”
I nod, opening my eyes. “But with a sex twist. Imagine ring toss, but it’s on dildos.”
A wide grin splits his face. “Pin the clitoris on the vulva?”
“Oh, for sure.” I laugh as he scribbles on the sheet. “And they have to answer sexual health questions to get a prize.”
“And the prizes are condoms?”
“Obviously.”
“What about campus orgs?” He flips the page, jotting more notes. “Like the Gender Equity Center? The Multicultural Center? We should get some outside groups to come, too. Like Planned Parenthood. And I know the health department would be interested.”
“That’s a great idea.” I smile, swiveling in the chair. He’s not only taking this seriously, he’s getting passionate. My heart does a little swoop.
He rolls the pen between his fingers. “Any others?”
The health department and Planned Parenthood are great, but we need to lighten things up a little. “How about Come As You Are?”
His brow scrunches. “What?”
“The sex shop?”
He stares blankly.
“On Fourth Street?”
He shakes his head.
My jaw drops. “You’ve never been?”
“Nope.” He turns his focus back to the legal pad, continuing to write.
I eye him curiously. Has he never been to a sex shop before?
“What?” he asks without looking up.
“Nothing.” I shrug. I must say it too nonchalantly because his pen pauses, and he cuts his eyes to me.
“Seriously, what?” There’s a hint of playfulness in his gaze, and a hot blush sweeps up my cheeks.
I pick at my fingernails, studying them as I mumble, “I was just wondering if you’ve ever been to a sex shop before.”
He sets his sights back on the notepad. “Yes, I’ve been to sex shops before, November. Just not that one.” His lips quirk as a hint of color creeps up his neck.
“Cool,” I say quickly. Except now I have a million questions. He said sex shops. Plural. Did he go alone? With a girlfriend? Has he been recently? What did he buy? Does he have an arsenal? Is he kinky?
And I realize—none of that is any of my business. We’re colleagues, and it would be completely unprofessional to ask.
I clear my throat. “Well, you should check the shop out if we’re going to approach them about Sextival.”
Still keeping his gaze locked on his notes, he says, “All right. How about we go tomorrow?”
My stomach freefalls straight through to the ground.
We? Together?
He said it so casually, too, as if it will be a jaunty little field trip.
I suppose that’s what it is, though—two coworkers scoping out a business for an event they’re planning.
Except it’s two sex coworkers, scoping out a sex business because they’re planning a sex event.
Oh, yeah. And one of those coworkers used to have a monster crush on the other that was vehemently one-sided.
I stifle my scream.
You know what? No.
This would never affect me if it was a different colleague. It would be a simple work errand if it were Millie or Tina or Vera. Why should it be any different with Alex?
“Sure. We can go after my eleven o’clock class.” I stuff my notepad into my messenger bag and sling it over my shoulder. “I’ll be done by two.”
“Great. We can swing by the health department while we’re at it. It’s only a few blocks away.” An easy smile stretches across his face, and despite my resolve, my heart flutters.
Shit.
The truth is, it is different with Alex. And I know why.
Because as much as I want to believe I’m 100 percent over him, I’m not.