Educated

by Charles, Colleen

  Of him.

  Of myself.

  Mostly of my galloping heartbeat and tingling body. I couldn’t control either at even the thought of him. What would happen when I actually saw him? Talked to him?

  Just thinking about his face had my skin prickling with awareness, had every part of me pinging with desire. And his hands. The man had the most stunning, sculpted, and creative hands I’d ever seen. A shot of adrenaline rushed through my body as I pictured them running from my ankles, over my calves, and drifting higher until they reached the seam of my thong and…

  “Earth to Devon!”

  My head snapped up and I saw Geoff sitting in the low, leather chair, tuning his guitar. Busted. Shit. I hoped he wouldn’t start grilling me about my apparent lack of focus. Because I couldn’t tell him the reason why. I was laser focused. Just not on the appropriate thing.

  “Hey, Geoff. How are you? Sorry I’m a few minutes late. I got sidetracked at the commons. Some feminist Nazi preaching to the masses about cutting men’s dicks off.”

  Geoff shivered and a disgusted frown creased his chiseled features. He stuck his tongue out in the general vicinity of the window. “Jesus. Won’t they ever stop? Is it some female collegiate rite of passage? I hope you never go over to the dark side, Devon. In the words of my idol, Mr. Joel. I love you just the way you are. Just like I love my own dick.”

  “Never, Geoffie-poo. I’d rather emasculate you through the time-honored tradition of song. Just like women have been doing since the dark ages.” I executed a perfect twirl in time with my words and shoved my full breasts toward the sky. “I am a goddess and my pussy is divine. Don’t cross me or I will put a curse on you so deep and dark, your cock will shrivel up and fall off. After that, I’ll chant to the scaly remains.”

  Geoff laughed full-on and I delighted in his charming smile. Complete with dimples. My favorite. Too damn bad his door didn’t swing my way. But then again, with my shyness and my propensity to adore another man, even if Geoff were available, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself around him. I’d clam up, dim my light, and he’d never even notice my existence.

  Kind of like someone else you know. Someone who couldn’t even be bothered to attend your graduation. As valedictorian of a 300-member senior class.

  I shook my head to ground myself back in the present. I loved writing with Geoff, and we tended to come up with better music and lyrics when we put our heads together. And since our professor had advised we could work in pairs for this first mid-term project, we’d both jumped at the chance to be each other’s beacon of musical light. The only thing holding us back was constant shit given by some jock asshat named Seth Arthur, who seemed to delight in tormenting anyone in the music department. But on the way to the music room, he and his usual crew had been blissfully absent.

  Geoff pulled out some staffed pages to write his notes, and I did the same with my journal of lyrics. I wrote poetry, and I just made observations about everyday life and the people living it. I had a full journal with all the lyrics I’d ever written about Judge. But that one stayed locked up tight. Even though it contained some of the most beautiful, profound, and deep words I’d ever written, I just couldn’t go there.

  Paging through the journal whenever I had time to myself and I knew I wouldn’t be disturbed was one of my guilty pleasures outside of the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. I wanted to be the next Erica Jayne. That woman was so badass she made Lady Gaga seem tame. I loved her, and I wanted to bypass becoming a singer/songwriter and shoot myself straight into the stratosphere of performance art, complete with glam squad and killer wardrobe.

  But at the same time, I vowed never to let the glitz of the performance alter the integrity of the music.

  Each time I’d run my fingertips over the vellum parchment of my high-end journal, I’d imagine the man as if my fingers were caressing his textured skin. The last time he’d been next to me I’d caught a whiff of his Gucci cologne. He smelled of pine trees, experience, and intelligence. I imagined his fingers trailing down my body to touch me where I craved it most of all.

  Judge Copeland would know just what to do to coax me into womanhood. No way would he disappoint me like Jared Alexander had let down Annie the night of the senior prom. Annie had cried for three days straight when Jared had taken her virginity, pumped and dumped, and left her broken and unfulfilled. A child didn’t know anything about a woman’s body. Or her heart.

  Or her soul.

  Chapter 3

  Judge

  Right in the middle of my lecture about To Kill A Mockingbird, I felt it. That damn tingling in my crotch. My eyes scanned the lecture hall. When I didn’t see her, I spun around to grab for something on the podium behind me. Then I just gave up and stood behind the damn particle board monstrosity. I wasn’t the kind of stiff intellectual who got off on pontificating for a crowd of plebes, so I usually walked around and tried to make the learning more intimate. After a quick gut check, I saw a kid in the front row texting and a girl with a platinum pixie nod off, so I hadn’t been outed.

  A glance at my watch told me I only had a few minutes left to wrap up the day’s lesson. “And that is why Harper Lee is one of the greatest writers of all time. She’s been quoted as saying that she never expected any kind of literary success with her book. She simply hoped that it would inspire others to offer her encouragement on her publishing journey. And that is my hope for all of you. Consider me your personal cheering section. I’ll be reading your first essays this weekend and offering encouragement. Or not.”

  Amid a chorus of groans and snorts, I flipped on the overhead projector and explained the assignment that I’d be uploading to the class portal. “I’ll be looking forward to hearing your thoughts on your favorite chapter in the book. And remember… I see you when you’re sleeping. I know when you’re awake. I know when you’ve been bad or good, so don’t plagiarize, for goodness sake.”

  “I can’t believe you know an American Christmas song, Professor Copeland. I thought you British dudes only rubbed elbows with St. Nicholas while singing ‘Last Christmas’ like George Michael wannabes.”

  I scoffed but I admired the kid’s dry wit. Much like my own. “Ha, ha. Not everyone who’s British listens to Wham throwbacks from the eighties. But I admire your knowledge of all things vintage. And don’t disparage a dead musical genius.”

  After the last student had exited, their peals of laughter and raised voices tinkling through the hallway, I sank down into my wooden chair behind the metal desk where Jason had been sitting and monitoring the class while grading papers and planning lessons. He’d left with the others, anxious to get to the cafeteria before they were out of French fries. Damn kid ate that cholesterol-filled carb fest every day but still looked like a beanpole. Oh, to be in my early twenties again. When I ate potatoes now, I had to run them off in a five-mile trip around my neighborhood.

  I grabbed my car keys from my briefcase and slung the strap from the faded leather satchel around my neck. I’d drop it off on my way to Starbucks. Today, I just wanted to veg out and watch and listen to the activity around me. Try to relax. Try to clear my mind of thoughts of Devon.

  On my way to the parking lot, I passed by the music rooms and wondered if she’d ever used any of them. John had said she’d been given a full scholarship to Diamond based on a song writing contest that she’d won. John’s voice had brimmed over with pride and even though I’d never heard her sing, I could only imagine what it would feel like to have her angelic voice flow over me.

  Like a verbal caress.

  Some little wanker stood in the middle of the hallway, raising his voice. Soon another joined and then another until they had their own little mini version of a pubescent gang ritual going.

  “Look at that fat bitch with her homo friend,” one taunted as the others laughed.

  What the hell? It seemed like some psychotic episode of Glee that ended up on the cutting room floor. All they needed was a slushie to throw in the face of th
e poor female student on the other end of their childish and inane insults. I’d never been one for bullying, especially not at the collegiate level, so I rushed toward the fray.

  A horrified squeal pierced my ears, and I quickened my pace, briefcase slapping against my ass in perfect rhythm. Once I had the doorway in my sights, I skidded to a halt, my heart pounding. The blood left my face in one long, drawn out whoosh. Devon stood inside that room with a young guitarist. One of the offenders had her arm clutched in an iron grip.

  Some little fucker had his hands on my woman. Mine.

  A blinding rage took over every sense, every logical thought. All that mattered was removing the bully’s hands from Devon’s tender skin. I lurched forward, shoving bodies to the side until I reached them. I slapped my hand down on the kid’s arm in a karate chop worthy of Bruce Lee, not caring if I snapped his bone in half like a piece of kindling. I heard a satisfying crunch as his arm flopped to his side.

  “Shit, Professor Copeland,” the kid stuttered. “We were just… just…”

  “Just assaulting this young lady,” I said in a steely voice that didn’t even sound like me. It sounded like death was coming to grab this kid’s soul and pluck it from his worthless body. How dare he call Devon fat? She was perfection. All soft, womanly, and curvaceous in all the right places. “Shall I call the campus police and give them my account? I’m sure they’d love to hear all about it.”

  The kid stood there in shock, rubbing his arm. He’d have a huge bruise in the morning, and my only regret was that I wouldn’t be there to see it.

  After he turned and fled and took his posse with him, I turned to gaze at Devon. I didn’t look into her eyes, consumed with making sure not one hair on her head or one inch of her snowy skin had been harmed. Once satisfied she’d been spared true physical pain, I speared her with a gaze containing all the concern swirling through my gut. I wanted to take her in my arms. I wanted to kiss the fright from her lush lips. I wanted to…

  “Professor Copeland?” she whispered.

  “Devon, are you okay?” I demanded, needing to hear it. “That didn’t look or sound good. If you felt threatened in any way, I swear I’ll—”

  She held up an elegant hand and waved it through the air. “If I had a fit every time I got made fun of because of my love of music and theater, I’d be in a constant state of upset. This has been happening since middle school. No harm done other than to my ego. I’ll be just fine. And so will Geoff.”

  The young man stood and started to put his guitar back in the red velvet-lined case. “True that,” he said, nodding toward the hallway. “Happens daily it seems.”

  I looked between the two of them, horrified to realize the truth in their statements. When would kids just grow the hell up? Every part of me froze as I stared at Devon. Unshed tears glistened in her eyes and in that moment, I knew that she was putting on some kind of front, hiding her emotion for my benefit. I never wanted her to do that again. She could be real with me. She could express any feeling that ever coursed through her body without judgment.

  Without censure.

  I tightened my hands on the leather strap of my briefcase. Part of me wanted to twirl it around and wear it against my stomach like a shield as if doing so would protect me from the emotions that threatened to overwhelm me and cause me to do or say something we’d both regret. I’d imagined this moment seven ways ‘til Sunday but never had it turned out like this, charged with pain. I knew the gentlemanly thing to do would be to walk her out to her dorm but I didn’t know if I could be alone with her. Everything still felt too raw. Too unstable.

  Instead, I stood there motionless, silent, and stared as she blinked, keeping the tears at bay, her full breasts heaving under the effort. Her eyes fluttered closed, blocking the sight of me, and I wanted to grab her by the upper arms and pull her into my chest. To demand that she open them and give me everything she had to give in this tumultuous moment. But she held back. And I was denied.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, feeling ashamed, but knowing I would do the exact same thing again if the situation presented itself. No way would I ever let her endure male stupidity on her own.

  “I’m going to head to the cafeteria and grab a Coke,” the boy said, breaking the silence.

  “Okay, Geoff. Same time tomorrow?” Devon asked, her voice stronger now. She sounded normal as the intensity faded away.

  Geoff grabbed the handle to his guitar case and took off at a lope down the hallway.

  “Are you really doing okay?” I asked. “Truly you look very pale. Can I get you a water? Anything?”

  She clamped her gorgeous green eyes shut and exhaled a ragged breath. Once her inhales returned to normal, she opened them and looked at me. And I nearly lost it. Her gaze. It contained something… more. Something I’d never seen before in the depths of her emerald gaze.

  Devon stood before me. Close enough to touch. Her aura sang to me like a siren calling a sailor to the jagged rocks. And she was all woman… all dangerous curves and softness.

  She slowly shook her head. “There’s really no need to worry, Professor. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself. Did my father call you? Did he ask you to look out for me? To stalk me?”

  Stalk her? For the love of God, I’d been doing everything within my power to leave her the fuck alone. Damn it. She was spectacular when she was annoyed. And I’d never seen it before, because this was the first time in her life she’d been annoyed with me. She offered me a saucy tilt to her chin and flung a hand on one generous hip, and that small gesture had every muscle in my body tightening harder. Including my dick.

  Shit.

  This wasn’t just about me wanting Devon in my bed, writhing in pleasure underneath my body, taking every inch of my cock until I’d impaled her tight body. This wasn’t about me needing a younger woman to validate me. This wasn’t about some Neanderthal caveman urge to spread my seed to fertile soil. Shit, no. This infernal ache was about me wanting her as my woman. All mine.

  Forever.

  Chapter 4

  Devon

  I felt his eyes on me. Searching. Wanting something I couldn’t understand. Damn my dad and his helicopter parenting style. How many other times had Judge Copeland been waiting in the wings to rescue me? Out of sight but never for even one second out of mind. I shivered. All I wanted to do was curl into the fetal position, hug myself, and cry. But there he stood, right in front of me, all six feet of him. Making me want to stay strong and act like a mature adult so he wouldn’t think I turned into a blubbering baby at the first sign of an insult hurled by the real world.

  I stood and pierced him with my most capable glare even though my words didn’t match the pain that probably shone through my eyes like a lighthouse beacon. I dare you, Judge Copeland. I double damn dare you to say anything about how I can’t handle myself in the face of a little music major abuse. It’s nothing I haven’t been dealing with my entire life. Just never in front of you before. He stood so still, his big body seeming tight and immobile. What was he thinking right now? Then he glanced at the door and all the wind bolstered by my false bravado left my sails. He wanted to flee.

  Several tense moments passed where we didn’t speak. It was a little strange standing there in the tiny music room with Judge within touching distance as we stood in a Mexican standoff. My hands itched to touch him so I put one on my hip as I jutted out my stubborn chin and fisted the other one at my side. There. No touching would ever happen between the two of us. Judge scanned the curve of my hip with his hypnotic brown eyes, and I shut mine against the assault. He looked awkward and reached up to adjust his glasses. Just one more thing I loved about this brilliant man. In that moment, it hit me hard how much I’d missed him.

  “It’s been a long time, Devon.”

  Yeah. It’s been a long time because of you. Why weren’t you at my graduation, asshole? I slaved away in high school, beating out hundreds for valedictorian with my perfect 4.0 GPA. For my dad. For me. But I have t
o admit it was mostly for you. To make you proud. To make you notice me. To make you love me. I shook my head and popped my eyes open again. He hadn’t moved either his body or his concerned gaze. God, why wouldn’t he just get the fuck out of here before I lost my shit?

  “It has,” I said, following his eyes to look out into the hallway. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him and tried with every breath in my body to keep my face a mask of indifference.

  “I wish I could have been there for your graduation ceremony,” he said. “Your dad couldn’t stop talking about how proud he was. It’s quite an accomplishment. And your scholarship—”

  “Thank you,” I rudely interrupted him, not wanting to hear his platitudes. A little too little and a little too late. I just wanted to slink back to my dorm and tell Annie about this while going straight into the ugly cry but Judge’s rock hard body stood between me and freedom. And running away now would mean I had to slip past him, within inches of flattening my breasts against his muscled chest, complete with the leather strap holding his briefcase. My nipples pebbled into hard, aching nubs. I crossed my arms over them and tapped my foot on the vinyl floor.

  His eyes noticed my tapping toe and they narrowed in concern. “Can I walk you back to your dorm? It would make me feel so much better if I saw you home safely. Will your roommate be there?”

  I smiled but my mouth felt so tight I think it came out looking more like a sneer. “No, I told Geoff I’d meet him in the cafeteria. I still have a class this afternoon.”

  The lie slipped off my tongue like butter. No way was he getting anywhere near my dorm room. I’d never look at it the same way again. It already resembled a prison cell, and I didn’t want to become the caged bird inside it, afraid to fly lest Judge Copeland clip my fragile wings.

  Judge looked the same except for a sprinkle of gray hair at his temples. I’d always loved his thick, dark hair and how it always fell over his brow in an unruly cowlick. He’d shove it back but it never stayed put. I longed to run my fingers through it and many nights were spent alone in my bed, imagining what it would feel like if he had his head between my legs with that hair in the perfect position for me to yank it.