“Neither are you,” she observed. “What’s with you this morning, anyway?”
I grinned at her.
“This is seriously weird, Eden,” Petra continued. “What’s going on?”
“I ... dunno,” I said. “I’m just excited.”
“For class?” Petra asked skeptically. “Jesus, is George Clooney doing a guest seminar or something?”
“Close,” I said. “I have Professor Marks for Faulkner and Woolf, first thing.”
A sly smile crossed Petra’s face and I blushed.
“That explains it,” she said. “Although, I’m not sure that he’s worth all of this,” she added, spreading her face into a wide, happy smile and raising an eyebrow at me. “You’ve had him before – I mean, yeah, he’s hot. But he’s a professor,” she said. “It’s not like you’re going on a date or anything.”
“God, no,” I said quickly, still flushing hotly. “It’s more than that. It’s not just him.”
Petra still looked skeptical as she took another sip of her coffee. “What, then?”
I pressed my lips together. Petra and I had been best friends ever since we’d been randomly assigned to each other as freshman roommates. We’d shared almost everything – and I was thrilled to finally have an off-campus apartment with her instead of another year in the cramped, dingy dorms. But knowing that she didn’t share my excitement made me feel weird, like a gulf was growing between us.
“It’s just, well, I guess I’m excited to be almost done,” I told her. “It feels like college has lasted forever – even longer than high school did.”
Petra nodded. “That’s true,” she said. “But like, aren’t you worried?”
“About what?” My smile faded and I shifted uncomfortably on the stool where I was sitting.
“Just about the future,” Petra said. She gulped the last of her coffee down and set the empty mug on the counter. “Like, we have to start taking internships and applying for jobs in like, March. That’s like, less than two months away. And then if we don’t get anything, we have to worry about finding some stupid fucking retail job until we can actually find something with a salary. And then we have to worry about dealing with a boss and like, learning how to use Excel and stuff.”
I frowned.
“Yeah, well, that’s why I didn’t sleep so well,” Petra cracked. When she saw my frown, her tone softened. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said. “I think I’m just anxious.”
“It makes sense,” I admitted. “I guess I just haven’t been thinking about all of that. Not yet, anyway.”
“Well, go and enjoy the sexy Professor Marks,” Petra teased. “I’m sure he’ll put all unpleasant thoughts out of your head.”
I finished my muffin while Petra rinsed out her coffee cup and then we left for campus together. Classes hadn’t been canceled, or even delayed – such was what came with living in Connecticut and only getting two inches of snow – but I had to admit that campus looked beautiful. Oakbrook College was an old school, founded at the end of the nineteenth century, and I loved the gothic buildings with their brick facades and bright white columns. Everything looked so majestic and proud, like the very campus itself was proud to be right where it was.
And I was proud to be there. My parents had wanted me to go to a state school, some anonymous, former land-grant university with tens of thousands of students and massive seminars and ugly modern buildings. But I’d fallen in love with Oakbrook from the very first brochure that they’d sent me. And while I hadn’t really been a spoiled kid growing up, I was an only child. In the end, I hadn’t even had to beg, despite the fact that Oakbrook was private and cost thousands and thousands of dollars per semester.
It was like Oakbrook and I had been made for each other, and I loved it there. As I tromped through the snow on my way to the Liberal Arts building, I tried to push Petra’s warnings and anxieties out of my mind. Not because she hadn’t been correct – she absolutely was – but because I wanted to thoroughly enjoy my last semester as an undergraduate. After I graduated, I was hoping to work in publishing: Oakbrook had a reputation of sending students into successful, arts-based careers, which I knew was practically unheard of in the modern world. It was all STEM-this, STEM-that.
I’d never been interested in science, or math, and I could barely use the word processor on my laptop without having a panic attack. I didn’t think them useless or anything like that, but it was just something I didn’t personally care for. My dream job would have been sitting quietly at a desk, surrounded by old documents and books, inhaling that musty fragrance all day long.
I made it inside the building and hiked up the steep stairs to the second floor, where my first class would take place. There were already a few students I recognized – all English and Communication majors – but no one I was particularly friendly with, and I settled on a seat in the second row, to the left, right in front of the lectern.
You’re such a suck-up, I could hear Petra saying in my head, but I pushed the thought aside. My GPA was stellar, and I intended to keep it that way.
Staring at hot Professor Marks was just a bonus.
At just after nine-thirty, the man himself strode into the classroom and I felt my jaw clench. There seemed to be a collective sigh in the room but I couldn’t look at any of my fellow classmates. My eyes were focused right on Professor Marks. He wore a dark blue button-down shirt and dark khaki pants with a tweed blazer and I had to swallow to keep myself from salivating over him. His dark blonde hair was brushed away from his high forehead and the deep tan on his perfect skin made me wonder if he’d spent the entire winter break skiing in somewhere like Aspen or Sun Valley.
I’d spent my holiday working, at the Oakbrook bookstore, even picking up overtime just in hopes of covering my own textbooks this semester.
“Morning, everyone,” Professor Marks said, without taking his eyes off the dark blue notebook in his hands. “I trust you all had a good break.”
Without waiting for us to answer, he cleared his throat and surveyed the room with his intense dark eyes. I swallowed hard as he flicked his gaze over me for a mere second – it felt like we were the only two people in the world when he looked at me like that.
The moment didn’t last, though.
“But, as all good things do, that break has come to a close and here we are,” Professor Marks said. Some of the students mock-groaned, but I knew better.
Maybe I really was a suck-up. At that moment, I didn’t care. The only thing better than learning something I was passionate about was being taught by a sensual, leonine professor who was smart as hell.
And I was there to make the most of it.
The class quickly sprang into motion after Professor Marks made a show of taking the roll and letting us know that more than three absences per semester would result in a lowering of our grade. He went over policies quickly and businesslike, then turned his attention to our first book.
Virginia Woolf’s The Waves.
“Now, some professors would conclude the course with The Waves,” Professor Marks said. “As many consider it her most experimental work.” He paused and glanced out at us once again, gauging our reactions. When his eyes landed on me, I couldn’t help but give him a shy smile.
Professor Marks raised an eyebrow at me and I blushed hotly.
“But I’ve decided that it’s the best place to start, the best place to truly get inside of her head,” he continued smoothly, his eyes already torn from mine.
As he continued, I found myself growing more and more enraptured with every passing second. I’d had Professor Marks before for a class or two, but nothing like this – there were only nine people enrolled in this class, and by the way some were muttering I had a feeling that by the next time we met, there would be significantly fewer of us, his gorgeous looks aside. This was so intimate, it was almost like a conversation at a party instead of a senior-level seminar.
By the end of class, I was filled with even more
excitement than when I’d woken up this morning. I felt practically lightheaded as Professor Marks gave us our first assignment – the first half of The Waves and a short essay on our thoughts so far.
With a short, clipped wave, Professor Marks was gone, just like that, leaving the rest of us in his dust. I felt like I was an astronaut slowly coming back down to Earth after a long voyage in space, like I was suddenly in the middle of the ocean with nothing but my wits about me.
“Wow,” a girl sitting beside me who I vaguely recognized muttered. “That was intense.”
“Yeah, well,” I said, feeling lame. “I’m excited. I think this is going to be a great class.”
She raised an eyebrow at me. “I thought this would be cake,” she said. “Reading novels and talking about them? No hard research papers or anything like that,” she continued. “At least he’s hot.”
I felt a strangely protective surge of feelings towards Professor Mark.
“He’s a great professor,” I said. “He’s so young and he’s already on tenure-track.”
She blinked at me, then snorted. “Wow,” she said sarcastically. “Sorry, I forgot you English majors are basically cheerleaders for him.”
The remark should have stung, but I didn’t let it. With my head held high, I gathered my books in my arms and left the classroom.
Outside, the sun was shining high overhead and the snow was already starting to melt, showing patches of brown, dead grass below. Watching the light sparkle on the remaining snow was beautiful, but it almost made me sad, like the early morning magic was beginning to fade. I went to my second class – a core technology requirement that I’d been putting off since freshman year and promised to be boring as anything – and then to the school bookstore, where I had a quick, two-hour shift before lunch.
On my way, I texted Petra to ask how her classes were going so far. When I got to the bookstore, I stashed my stuff in an employee locker and pulled on the orange polyester smock with my nametag.
Karen, my manager, looked relieved to see me.
“Oh, Eden,” she said, yawning and rubbing her face. “Thank god you’re here – it’s a zoo.”
I chuckled. “First day always is,” I told her as I got to work helping clueless freshman with their textbooks. The two hours passed quickly and just as my stomach was rumbling and I was taking off my smock, I glanced up and looked out to the main floor of the student union.
Professor Marks was standing there, talking to another professor and nodding. He was so handsome that just the sight of him took my breath away. His hands gesticulated and motioned in the air and he smirked as the other professor – an attractive woman – laughed.
Instantly, I felt a hot bolt of jealousy seize me. It was completely irrational: especially considering that Professor Marks likely wouldn’t have known me from Adam.
I felt it all the same, though, and I sighed as my cheeks grew pink and hot. Look at me, I thought as I stared at the professor through the thick glass window of the bookstore and the union.
Look at me.
Professor Marks didn’t look. He didn’t even turn his head. After nodding once more at the woman professor, he merely chuckled and walked away.
“Eden?”
I glanced up and saw Karen standing to the side with a concerned look on her face. Realizing that I was still holding my smock in my hands, I flushed.
“What?” I asked. “I mean, yes?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you okay?”
I nodded. “Of course,” I lied. “I’m fine. Just tired – you know, first days and all.”
To my relief, Karen didn’t push – she just laughed.
“No kidding,” she said. “You’re off to lunch, yeah?”
I nodded.
“Have fun,” she said. “And if you feel like picking up a couple of extra shifts this week and next, I know we could use the help.”
I nodded again, still feeling distracted by Professor Marks and his gorgeous, cocky smile.
“See you,” Karen said. She ducked her head at me and then walked away to deal with a freshman who appeared to be crying over the condition of her ‘new’ textbook.
Shit, I thought to myself. This semester is going to be a lot harder than I thought.
2
Will – Tuesday
“Any questions?”
I surveyed my class – the last of the day, a group full of freshmen who, judging by the blank looks on their faces would have preferred to be doing anything but sitting in a lecture hall.
They shook their heads.
“Then I’ll see you on Thursday,” I said. “And please, email me if you have any questions about the assignment.”
The looks on their faces changed to pained – of course, I’d just reminded them of their College Obligation: a five-hundred-word essay on Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale, a book which they were supposed to have read over the January break.
When the head of the department had approached me and asked if I wouldn’t mind taking on a class of students who had spent their first college semester completing a remedial English class, I’d of course said yes.
I basically would have said yes to anything. Years into my career and I was finally in a tenure-track position, something that I’d worked my entire life to get to.
I figured that teaching a bunch of eighteen-year-olds couldn’t be that bad.
I had been wrong, of course – I could already tell by the end of our first class together that these students would basically be useless, that I’d have to work my ass off just to get something smart and insightful out of the back corners of their brains.
But it was my cross to bear, I figured as I watched them depart my class solemnly, as if they were on their way to the executioner. Rolling my eyes as the last student left the room, I flicked off the lights and made my way down to my office.
Already, the unpleasant miasma of the last hour and fifteen minutes was beginning to wear off. I made myself an espresso from the machine in the lounge, then went into my office and left the door open behind me. I didn’t think anyone would really attend my weekly office hour, but it couldn’t hurt to be sure.
Tenure track, I told myself as I sipped my coffee. Tenure track, tenure track. This is all for tenure, and I can’t fuck it up.
The next hour and a half passed relatively quickly and painlessly. I’d been correct – not a single student appeared to darken my doorway – and I spent the time thumbing through The Waves and debating what to go over in my next senior seminar, the class that was surely going to be the highlight of the semester for me. It was a reward to teach smart, engaged students – especially after dealing with those bovine freshmen – and I’d try to have as much fun with the class as I could, all while managing to maintain a professional demeanor.
That, at least, was easy. I’d seen the way things used to play out in academia: lecherous professors taking advantage of their nubile young students, like something straight out of a porno. My best friend in grad school, Amy, had even dealt with something similar herself: her advisor had ... exposed himself to her during one of their meetings and when she’d reported it, she’d nearly been kicked out of the program, even though the old asshole had done it before. Academia was still very much a boys’ club, but I was determined to make it as equal as possible.
Not that I would have ever stooped to such antics, of course. Even at Oakbrook, which was incredibly liberal even for a liberal arts school, there were whisperings and rumors of bad behavior on part of the faculty. I couldn’t understand how even the tenured professors would be willing to sabotage their livelihoods just for a piece of ass here and there. It wasn’t that some of the girls weren’t attractive – of course, they were – but sometimes, I marveled at how men could be so utterly stupid.
It didn’t help that I was quite attractive. Ever since I’d began teaching, my female students – and even some of my male ones – had made it quite clear that they thought I was hot. It was the reason w
hy I’d stopped allowing students to close my office door during office hours and appointments, the reason why I had become so hesitant to mentor female students, or conduct independent studies with them on subject matters of their choosing.
Academia was a tricky walk when it came to proper conduct, at least for some.
For me, though, it was my life.
It was nearly the end of my office hours period when I heard a knock at my door and looked up. Gina Grant, a fellow professor, was standing in the doorway with a smirk on her face. She yawned as I motioned her in.
“How were your kids today?” I asked.
Gina sat down in the chair across from my desk and rolled her eyes.
“It’s the first day of the second semester,” she said. “It’s not new anymore, but they know they’ve got weeks ahead of them.”
“So, not very fun, I take it,” I said with a smirk.
She shrugged. Gina was an attractive woman, somewhere in her late thirties, which put her only a few years younger than myself. With dark hair and a brassy, deep voice, I knew that students found her intimidating ... and I knew that she liked that just a little too much. For all the talk of academia being a world of creepy old men, I sometimes thought that Gina brought a little sinister energy of her own to the table.
That being said, I liked her a lot. We had even been hired at the same time: brought in for the same group interviews and everything. We’d attended the same conferences over the years, taught joint seminars, and co-authored more than one paper together. Publish or perish had been the saying in academia for decades, and Gina and I had worked together to ensure that neither one of us perished.
“It was okay,” she said comfortably, like a cat settling into her favorite recliner. “How about you? You got that freshman seminar at the end of the day, right?”
I groaned. “That class is going to be a huge pain this year,” I muttered. “Those kids don’t want to be there. They just wanna be back in their rooms with Halo or whatever.”
Gina laughed brashly. “God, you sound like such an old man sometimes,” she said. “We need to get you out,” she added, her dark eyes sparkling. “What’re you doing tonight?”
Forbidden First Times: A Contemporary Romance Collection Page 103
