The Professor's Heart (Her Perfect Man Contemporary Romance)

by Z. L. Arkadie

  I was so worn out after Friday and Saturday that I slept through most of Sunday. I woke up at about seven at night, studied for three hours for today’s class, took a shower, and went right back to bed.

  Now I’m walking briskly from one side of campus to the other. I’m not even close to being late for my nine o’clock class, but I’m moving fast out of habit more than anything. Elena used to make me late for class every Monday by making me banana nut waffles and talking my ear off about every single piece of gossip she could think of.

  I stop. That’s right. I have my first session with Professor Valentine today. I forget what time we’re supposed to meet, so I check my cell phone.

  “Oh!” I have a new email from him.

  My heart skips a beat, which makes me feel embarrassed. There’s no reason I should feel this way. He’s not my boyfriend or my lover—we’re not even friends—so I get a grip and open the message.

  221 Baylor St. Unable to meet in my office today. Had an emergency at the house. Must be there this afternoon for an appointment.

  Can you meet me here? Call if you can’t make it and we’ll figure out a time to reschedule. (612) 555-6849. If you can make it, then I’ll see you at two.

  I look around, wondering if anyone is seeing this. Obviously they can’t see it. I’m the only one reading the screen on my phone. But Professor Valentine and me alone in his house? That’s pretty scandalous. Or maybe not. He’s just trying to help, and I need the help. So I take a deep breath and write:

  I can make it. See you at two.

  I look at my screen for a second then hit send.

  There. I did it. I continue my brisk walk to my favorite class, Criminal Defense Clinic.

  Today we’re using active cases during rounds. We break into groups of five to work on them, and the three hours go by fast. My head is so full by the end of class that I stop by Before I Blink, the little teahouse on the corner of Van Buren and Eiffel. I order a large green tea and read as many chapters as I can from Valentine’s textbook before I’m back on the road and heading to his house.

  I’m too frazzled by my day to be nervous about seeing Professor Valentine again. I put his address into Google Maps, and it directs me to his house with ease. Finally the voice in my phone says, “Your destination is on the left.”

  I park across the street from Valentine’s house. It’s a cute one-story, Tudor-style home with a wraparound front porch and hanging planters. The lawn is well manicured, and there’s a “For Sale” sign staked in the yard. I grab my book bag, get out of the car, and run across the street, but I take my time going up the walkway to the door. I’m admiring the little yellow and red trim lining the gable.

  The front door opens before I can knock, and the professor appears. He’s smiling, but he has dark circles around his eyes and looks strained.

  “Thank you so much for being flexible today,” he says.

  I climb the four stairs to the porch. “No problem. Thank you for going out of your way to help me.”

  I try not to blush when he smiles that irresistible sexy smile of his. Finally he steps back to give me space to enter.

  “Come on in,” he says warmly.

  Unfortunately, I have no idea what to say when I’m nervous. I am, however, startled by how his place looks on the inside. Not anything like the rosy and cute exterior, which says Welcome home! In fact, it feels rather cold. His living room has only one couch—and it looks hardly used—a newish-looking coffee table in front of that couch, and that’s it for furniture. Above the fireplace is a large portrait of the professor and a woman with caramel hair and honey-colored skin. The woman is quite beautiful. She must be his late wife. Other than that, the walls are completely barren.

  I turn in the opposite direction. There’s the kitchen. The floor is soaking wet, and a tool kit lies in the middle of a puddle.

  “Watch your step,” he says.

  “Wow, had a leak?”

  He snickers. “More like a tsunami. But the plumber’s going to stop by this afternoon to get me all fixed up, so...”

  “Right,” I say, enchanted by his smile.

  “Yes,” he says while scratching the back of his neck. “Let’s go over here. I have a study where we can get some work done.”

  I nod and follow him. It would be nice if I had something clever to say. I could ask him how the sale of his house is going, or compliment the portrait above the fireplace. If I did that, maybe he would explain it to me. It just seems so weird sitting up there all by itself. Instead, while we walk to the back of his home, I count rooms. By the floor plan, I can tell he has four bedrooms and perhaps three or four bathrooms. It’s way bigger on the inside than it looks on the outside.

  We go into the study. The decorating is slightly improved but still overly bachelor and overly male. There’s a desk in the corner of the room with two large windows behind it. The blinds are open, and sunlight is pouring in. A couple of filing cabinets and some bookshelves, which mostly contain law books, line the wall. In the middle of the room is a square table with four chairs. Loosely organized files and folders sit on the tabletop.

  “Please, have a seat,” he says.

  I hang my book bag on the back of a chair and sit down.

  “Forgive me in advance,” he says as he sits across from me. “We might get interrupted by the plumber.”

  I take my computer out of my book bag.

  Professor Valentine holds up his hand. “No. Do you have a notebook and pen?”

  “Um, yes.”

  “Use that instead.”

  I hesitate. What difference does it make if I use my computer or paper? I look at him, and he’s already reading the expression on my face.

  “The old-fashioned way is the best way to retain all the information I’m going to feed you. Hand to paper—writing it down.”

  “Oh, okay.” I say. I stuff my computer back into my bag.

  Now that we’re settled, Professor Valentine opens a folder and goes right into the lecture. I write down everything he says, and he even waits for my pen to stop moving before he continues. Two and a half hours later, after learning all about how trade agreements are structured, I take a moment to rub my tired eyes.

  “I know, we’ve been at it a long time,” he says.

  I look at him. “Oh, I’m sorry, Professor Valentine—”

  “Call me Derek.”

  My mouth hangs open in awe. He’s inviting me to get personal? “Um. Okay.” I yawn accidentally. “Sorry, I had a long weekend.”

  Dr. Valentine’s—I mean, Derek’s sympathetic gaze remains trained on my face. Finally, he tilts his head. “How about we take a break? We can go outside and get a little fresh air.”

  I rub my eyes again. “That would be great,” I say.

  “Good.” He sets the papers on the desk. “Would you like a drink? I have Coke…”

  I nod. “Sure.”

  He stands. “Okay, let’s go then.”

  Derek waits for me to get up. My eyes remained trained on his and his on mine. Finally he leads me out of the room. We stop by the kitchen, and Derek takes two cans of soda out of the refrigerator.

  Then we go to the backyard and sit on the bench in the gazebo. I look around. The yard is surrounded on all sides by tall, well-manicured hedges, except for the driveway, which leads to a detached, two-car garage.

  I take a drink of soda. “Wow, it’s nice back here.”

  “Yeah… Mariah really liked it.”

  “Your wife?”

  “Um, yes.” He studies the property. “I guess it wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t feel like I had to build Noah’s ark to survive living here. A pipe is always either breaking in the kitchen or a bathroom.”

  I chuckle. “It’s that bad?”

  “This house has been problematic ever since I bought it. Only my wife was the one who put out all of the fires.”

  “So she was handy with a screwdriver?”

  The professor laughs. “She was handy with the phon
e book.”

  I laugh. It’s nice to be shooting the breeze with Derek Valentine. He’s smiling, and I think it’s because of his happy thoughts of his late wife.

  “You must miss her,” I say.

  Derek’s smile fades, and he gazes out into the distance as if something heavy is on his mind. He shifts in his seat. “How are you doing with the loss of Elena?”

  I’m jolted by the quick shift from talking about his wife to my best friend. “I’m doing better.” I look down and chuckle nostalgically. “I mean, we lived together, so she’s no longer around to drive me crazy in the morning with her loud electric toothbrush.” I pause to let the memories fill me with warmth. “Whenever we had midterms and needed to study, it seems like that’s when she would play her music the loudest. I use to hate it, and now I feel like I would kill just to be angry at her again.”

  I look at the professor. I can feel that my emotions are about to get the best of me.

  He shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “I know. When you lose someone, it’s tough in the beginning. Eventually things will get better, and life will go back to normal.”

  I glare off in the opposite direction. The image of his empty living room flashes to the front of my mind along with the lonely wedding portrait on the wall. I turn my glare on the professor. “It seems as though you’re still working on it.”

  At first it looks as if he’s trying to absorb what I’ve just said. Then he creases his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

  “Getting your life back to normal,” I say.

  The professor stares at me. I take a deep breath. I just stuck my foot in my mouth. If only I could take back what I said.

  A loud buzz sounds.

  Derek’s perplexed expression remains on me.

  I gnaw on my lower lip. We’re stuck in this moment for way longer than I’m comfortable with.

  The buzzer sounds again.

  Finally Derek looks toward the house. “I’d better get that.”

  I gulp nervously. “Okay.”

  He struts across the grass on his way to the house.

  My shoulders slump. “Nice work, Naomi. Way to screw up a moment,” I mutter.

  He’s back soon. As I watch him approach, I feel the need to fidget, but I remain still.

  “That’s the plumber,” he says. “I have to take care of this. Why don’t we pick up where we left off tomorrow? Same time?”

  He smiles, but it seems forced. I think my careless comment may have hit a nerve.

  “Two o’clock it is,” I strain to say.

  “Good.” He sounds distant.

  “Great.”

  “You can go into the study to get your things. Will you be able to see your way out?”

  He’s being formal again, and my heart sinks a little. I put on a smile. “Sure.”

  “Okay.” I watch him trot across the grass until he enters the house.

  Finally I can relax my shoulders. I hop off the bench and head into the house. When I walk past the kitchen, Professor Valentine is too absorbed by what the plumber is doing to pay attention to me.

  I need immediate female therapy.

  “Gina,” I whisper. I check my watch. She goes on break soon. Calypso Café, here I come.

  7

  I sped all the way to the café. Thankfully I didn’t get pulled over. Gina couldn’t take a break though, so I’m at the counter, near the register where she’s ringing up a customer.

  “No way. You said that to him?” she says.

  I cover my face and groan. “I know. I feel so stupid.”

  Gina punches the keys on the cash register. “Well, if you expect a good grade from this guy now, you better prepared to get on your knees.”

  My eyes widen with shock, and I look at the customer. Her face has turned red.

  “Could you be any more vulgar?” I ask.

  “It’s the truth. And hey, it should be fun.” She looks at the customer. “That will be seven eighty-eight,” she says, and then looks back at me. “I mean, the package on that man—O.M.G.”

  I shake my head as the girl gives her ten dollars. Gina gives her change, and she gets away from us faster than I can say go. I lean against the counter as Gina takes the next customer.

  “How can I help you?” she says to the guy, smiling.

  He side-eyes me. “I’ll have the pastrami on rye and a large black coffee.”

  Gina rings up the order. “Will that be all?” she asks him.

  “Yes,” he says and scampers away from us.

  “Well… I’m going back tomorrow for another session,” I say.

  Gina sighs with relief. “Oh good, then he still wants to fuck you.”

  The guy she’s ringing up quickly turns to look at me. I think he’s sizing me up, trying to determine how fuckable I am. I should feel embarrassed, but surprisingly I don’t.

  “That’ll be seven dollars and fifty-five cents,” she says.

  I roll my eyes. “Will you stop saying that? He hasn’t tried anything with me. He’s been the perfect gentleman.”

  “They’re always the perfect gentleman in the beginning, Nom. You know that.”

  The guy hands Gina a ten-dollar bill.

  “He’s my professor. I assure you he has none of the foul thoughts that you have in your head.”

  She smirks and hands the guy his change. “But you want him to have them,” she says to me. “Here you go. Your order will be right up,” she says to the customer.

  I lean closer to her and measure the air between my index finger and thumb. “Well, just a little.” I keep my voice low. I’m sort of ashamed to admit that.

  “Ha! I knew it!”

  I shake my head. “Look at the things you talk about in front of customers. Why hasn’t Randy fired you yet?”

  “Because he’s a tool and no one can tolerate him like I can.”

  The next customer walks up, and I nearly choke. It’s Barbara Lipton. Her expression is wide. Oh my God, did she hear me say that I wanted Professor Valentine to want me? My skin runs hot, and the world feels as if it’s moving in slow motion.

  Randy walks out of the kitchen, snapping his fingers. “Gina, pay attention to the customers.”

  Gina blows a sharp breath. “Two more weeks, then I’m out of here.”

  “I have to go,” I say, avoiding Barbara’s scowl.

  “I’ll call you tonight!” Gina says as I speed toward the exit.

  I wave while on my way out. “Okay!” I say without looking back.

  As soon as I get home, I make dinner. Nothing elaborate, just two frozen bean-and-rice burritos in the microwave. I also make a big pot of coffee, pour myself a large mug, and take it and my food into the bedroom, where I settle in front of my computer to study.

  Professor Valentine did an excellent job imparting his knowledge this afternoon. He has a way of connecting complex details and making the subject matter graspable. It only takes me an hour to write out explanations for the list of terms that Derek gave me as tutoring homework. After that, time flies by as I analyze the evidence from today’s clinic. When my brain has had enough, I turn off my desk light and my computer, take a shower, and climb into bed.

  I lie in the dark. The day was so perfect until I screwed it up by getting snappy with my tutor. Why did I say that? I guess because he seemed like a hypocrite. I mean, after just one look around that house of his, I could easily see that Derek Valentine’s life really isn’t all that together. Why is there hardly any furniture in his living room? And on top of that, the only thing I saw hanging on any of his walls is that portrait of him and his wife, making it feel kind of creepy. It’s as if he’s made a shrine to her or something.

  On the other hand, Derek smells so good. What is that cologne he wears? If I ever get a boyfriend, I’m going to make sure he buys that brand and wears it often. And goodness, Derek’s perfect windswept hair, light-brown eyes, and supple lips... I want him to kiss me. Even at this very moment, I can feel his lips slide down the side of my ne
ck until he gently sucks the skin over my collarbone into his warm mouth. The thought is driving me crazy.

  I quickly open my eyes. “Shoot…”

  What am I doing? Derek Valentine is my professor, who’s only helping me out of charity for the poor in spirit. Plus, he’s still grieving his wife in a way that borders on creepy. I’ll just rest with the notion that I’m grateful he’s offered to help me catch up. I turn on my side, close my eyes, and at some point, I fall asleep.

  8

  In the morning, the rat race starts again. I make breakfast, get dressed, and head off to campus for my first and only class of the day. It’s also one of my favorites—Investigative Procedures and the Law. Even when I was at my lowest after Elena’s death, I made sure I never missed it. The only anxiety I feel about going today is that Barbara Lipton will be there. I’m sure she heard me tell Gina I want to bang Valentine. At least I didn’t say I really wanted to do it; I said just a little. Regardless, when I get to class I decide to just avoid looking at her. Out of sight, out of mind.

  Today’s lecture is as riveting as last week’s. Professor Comely has brought in a series of actual evidence from crime scenes and tells us how each item was used to prove that a defendant was not guilty.

  “Remember, the acquitted were not found innocent. They were found not guilty. There’s a difference, and as lawyers, we must remember that,” he says as he concludes for the morning.

  It takes me, and probably the entire class, a few seconds to realize that the session is over. I’ve been sitting on the edge of my seat for the entire three and a half hours, oftentimes holding my breath.

  I feel as if someone is watching me, so I turn to my right. Barbara Lipton is glaring at me. I’m by no means intimidated by her, but I notice her moving toward me, so I stuff my laptop into my book bag and make a beeline to the door.

  I walk as fast as I can without running down the hallway. The main exit isn’t that far away. Once I’m outside, the sun falls on my face. I got away from her today, but I’m not out of the woods yet. I’m starting to think that Barbara’s got a serious fatal attraction for the professor. I can see it in her eyes. Not until I get into my car and back out of my parking space do I feel free of her.