by Sj Hooks
I slept with my student! My highly annoying, badly dressed, foul-mouthed student!
I banged my forehead against the shower wall, twice.
Ow.
I rubbed the spot, feeling utterly ridiculous.
I finished up and dried off quickly, hoping that I might shake off the memory of last night by getting back to my regular routine, which included a trip downtown. Usually I would meet Matt for lunch twice a week since I was only on campus three out of five days and he spent most nights out. The sports bar was mostly run by his friend Shawn, which meant that Matt had plenty of time to womanize and have what he considered “a good time.”
I didn't know why Matt wanted to spend so much time with me since he thought of me as boring, but it probably had something to do with him thinking that I was lonely. I enjoyed my own company, my books, and my TV, but I couldn't deny that it would be nice to have a lady friend to spend time with, and someday I did want a family of my own. The possibility of that happening seemed less and less likely as the years passed by and I attended the weddings and christenings of my college friends and their families, perpetually alone. Still, I wasn’t one to complain. Solitude had become second nature to me. Even in high school, I had spent most of my nights and weekends on my own. I didn’t fit in anywhere. Branded a nerd because of my glasses and gangly physique, I was welcomed into their ranks, only to discover that I had little interest in role-playing games, the fantasy genre, or computers. I liked reading the classics, listening to my father’s old records, and playing chess, which made me an outcast even among the outcasts. In college and grad school it became a bit easier, and I was thankful for the handful of good friends I made back then, even if I didn’t get to see them very often.
Getting back to the matter at hand, I dressed in one of my usual outfits, shaved and looked at my hair. Matt had said that it looked like I had a combover with the way I usually did it, but it looked strange just sticking out in all different directions. I sighed heavily and decided to leave it as it was. I was sure to get an earful from my brother if I tried to style it in any way.
Half an hour later, when I reached the café, I saw him sitting outside and hurried over.
"Hey, bro, I almost gave up on you," he said, giving me a strange look. "You're late, and you're never late."
"I know," I said, sitting down across from him. "Sorry about that, I overslept."
"You overslept?" he asked. "I guess hell just froze over."
I didn't offer an explanation. As far as Matt knew, I had gone home before nine last night and I had no convincing lie to tell him.
"Burning the midnight oil?" he asked with a concerned look on his face. "You shouldn't work so much, Stephen. It's not good for you."
I just nodded and looked at my menu.
"Although," he added, "you do look a lot better than yesterday. Either I need glasses, or the vein has mysteriously vanished."
Reflexively, I touched my forehead and watched as my brother grinned.
"Did you have a nice little session of self-loving after seeing your Ms. Wilde on that table last night?" he asked, making a crude motion with his hand.
"Matt!"
"What?" he shrugged. "It's not like it's going to make you blind. There's nothing wrong with a round of Jack Kerou-whacking to ease a little tension!"
Jack Kerou-whacking?
"I made that one up just for you," he added with a grin.
I rolled my eyes, although I had to admit that his pun was somewhat clever.
"So, did you?" he asked.
"Are you seriously asking me that? You should know me well enough to realize that I would never answer your question," I said sourly, hiding my face behind my menu.
"I know. I just like to mess with you. You're so serious all the time, Stephen. You need a little fun in your life."
"I have fun," I said defensively, lowering my menu.
"Oh, yeah? Like what?"
Luckily, the waitress came out to take our orders. I watched as Matt flirted shamelessly with her. She responded with a smile, hitting his shoulder playfully as though they were old friends.
"Do you know her?" I asked him when she left.
"No, but I think I’m going to," he said, his eyes following her as she walked inside. "Nice ass."
How can women like a man who says something like that? I don't understand it at all.
I had been perfectly polite to the waitress and she had barely looked at me. But Matt had made a suggestive comment about wanting something sweet, and it made her laugh. I really didn't comprehend those sorts of interactions.
"How can you just talk to women like that?" I asked. "Don't they ever get offended?"
"No, why would they? I always look for a wedding ring first, and if they're single, it's my experience that most girls like a little innocent flirting to brighten their day."
I supposed that made sense.
"Why do you think your Ms. Wilde is always flirting with you?" he asked. "She's probably trying to cheer you up a little. Pretty decent of her, if you ask me."
A terrifying thought popped into my head.
Did she sleep with me because she feels sorry for me? Out of pity?
It seemed plausible. She was young, bizarre, and pretty, and I assumed that guys her age liked that a lot. She had plenty of options to choose from, and she probably could have had her pick of the men at Matt's bar last night. It made me feel horrible to think that she may have only wanted to be with me as an act of charity, because I was so socially inept.
"Plus, it sounds like she's into you," he added, unaware of my inner turmoil.
I hoped that he was right. She had, after all, called me both good-looking and…what was it? “Insanely hot”? That doesn’t sound like pity. Plus, she did have an orgasm.
That was important to me. I was thrilled to know that she had enjoyed herself, since it had been the best sex of my life, and I did not want to be selfish in bed. I had just never been with a woman who was so willing to show me how to make her feel good. I never would have figured it out for myself, and I certainly never would have mustered up the courage to ask her.
"Incoming, bro," Matt stage-whispered across from me, yanking me out of my thoughts.
"What?" I asked.
His eyes were fixed somewhere behind me and, like the idiot I was, I turned and looked to see Ms. Wilde and her two friends from last night, sauntering down the sidewalk in our direction, talking and laughing.
In two months I have never seen her outside of class and now that I've slept with her, I see her the day after? The universe is against me.
I faintly registered saying something and whipped my head back toward Matt.
"Did you just say ‘shit’?" he laughed.
Did I? I hardly recognize myself anymore.
I ducked my head, wishing that I still had a menu to hide behind. I could hear Ms. Wilde laughing just a few feet behind me, and it sent tingles up and down my spine.
Please don't notice me, please don't notice me.
"Stephen!"
Of course. Why did I even bother trying to hide?
I looked up, stunned by the bright smile she gave me. Was she actually happy to see me? My eyes traveled over her body, taking in the long-sleeved shirt that hugged her body, making it possible to make out the shape of her nipples under the fabric. Underneath her arm she had a rolled-up mat and in her hand she was holding some sort of blended ice drink. I looked at her face again and realized with complete humiliation that I had been caught ogling her like some sort of degenerate and my cheeks flushed. She simply smiled wider and gave me one of her winks.
"It's Professor Worthington," I heard myself mutter.
"Well, Stephen. Who's your friend?" Matt enquired, as if he didn't already know.
"Ms. Wilde, this is my brother Matt. Matt, this is Ms. Wilde," I said in a monotone, while I avoided looking at either of them as they shook hands.
"Nice to finally meet the famous Ms. Wilde," I heard him say. “
I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I wonder what the sentence is for committing fratricide? Surely the judge would be sympathetic if I showed him video clips of Matt's asinine behavior.
"I'm famous?" she asked, sounding amused. "Well, I guess I should get myself a stalker and a drinking problem, then."
Matt laughed. "And who are these two lovely ladies?" he asked, motioning to her friends.
"This is Sophia Perez and Megan Wilson," she said. "Girls, this is my lit professor, Stephen Worthington, and his brother, Matt."
I studied the faces of her two friends, trying to see if my name elicited some sort of reaction from them. That would certainly reveal if Ms. Wilde had told them anything about our tryst last night. Their faces held neutral smiles and I breathed out with relief. They didn't seem to know anything about me.
"Nice to meet you," I said in an effort to be polite.
"Yes, very nice," Matt crooned, addressing the tall girl with the red hair. "Megan, was it?"
"Yes," she said, looking slightly bored.
"What have you been up to?" he asked her, using the same voice I’d heard him using minutes earlier with the waitress.
"Take a wild guess," she said, holding up her yoga mat while looking at him as if he were a dimwit.
I took the opportunity to sneak a glance at Ms. Wilde, who was still smiling sweetly and sipping her drink. The sight of her lips wrapped around the straw brought images from last night into my head and I quickly looked away.
"We should get going," the girl named Sophia said. "We're late for our afternoon classes as it is."
"Yeah, you’re right. It was great seeing you again, Stephen," Ms. Wilde said.
"Yeah, uh, you're g-great," I stammered, fighting the urge to bang my head on the table.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She chuckled, brushing her hand over my shoulder for a second. The contact made me flinch as if I had been electrocuted. I glanced over at my brother to see if he noticed what a gargantuan fool I’d just made of myself. Thankfully, he was preoccupied staring at Ms. Wilde's friend.
"I'll see you Friday," Ms. Wilde said as she turned to leave.
"Friday," I echoed.
"It was nice to meet you," she said to Matt.
"You too," he said, all the while trying to catch her friend’s attention. "Have a lovely day, Megan."
She whipped her long hair over her shoulder and sauntered away without giving him a second glance. The three of them walked down the street and I found myself unable to not stare at Ms. Wilde's backside. I suddenly realized that I was leaning out of my chair to do said staring, and sat up straight again. Matt was looking at me, a huge grin plastered on his face.
"So, not your type at all, huh?" he asked.
"No," I muttered.
"She didn't seem annoying to me," he said. "She seemed pretty great, actually."
"I guess."
Just then, the waitress came out with our food and drinks, and this time, Matt didn't flirt with her. I had a pretty good guess as to why he wanted to get rid of her so quickly.
"OK, so you need to hit that," he said.
The only thing I need to hit is you, stepbrother dear.
"She's my student, Matt. And I don't even like her."
"You’re so full of it. You were practically drooling all over her. If that wasn't a total eye-fuck, I don't know what is."
"It wasn't," I said firmly, although I didn't have a clue what an “eye-fuck” was.
"She did it to you too, you know, She’s totally into you."
"No, she isn't!" I insisted. "I'm too old for her and, according to you, I'm exceedingly boring. Can we drop it, please?"
"I'm just saying. That little firecracker could be just what the doctor ordered to resuscitate you. If you've ever been alive," he added under his breath.
I sighed and started to eat my sandwich, which wasn't even that good.
Ms. Wilde's was better.
"Oh, and I really liked her friend, Megan. Do you think you could get me her number?" Matt asked eagerly.
"I think that would be crossing a line.”
Like I haven't done that already.
"Besides, you only like her because she wasn't fawning over you like most women," I added.
"Yeah, what was that about?" Matt asked, seeming genuinely surprised. "I think it will be fun to pursue her. A little chase makes for an interesting change."
"Well, I'm not asking my student Ms. Wilde for her friend's number, so I guess you'll have to find an alternate way of wooing the girl," I said, taking a drink.
" ‘Wooing’?" he asked. "Dude, what century are you living in?"
"You're one to talk. You sound like you belong in an ’80s movie when you call me ‘dude.’ ”
"Ooh, snappy comeback," he chuckled. "I think Ms. Wilde may be a good influence on you."
I highly doubt that.
"Maybe I should find that Megan girl on Facebook and send her a message," he mused.
“Do you think she’s on there?”
Matt gave me a look. “Everyone’s on there.”
“I’m not.”
“Everyone who doesn’t still use a fountain pen for writing, I mean.”
“I have a computer!”
“An old one. It’s not even a laptop.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I should definitely contact her. What was her last name?”
"I'm not telling you if you're going to write something obscene," I said.
"I won't.”
"Why don't I believe you?"
"Please, I swear I won't write anything offensive. I like this girl."
"You've known her for two minutes," I said.
He looked so pathetic in his attempt at making puppy-dog eyes that I figured this must mean a lot to him. Besides, I didn't think he had any chance with her after seeing her reaction to him so I decided that it probably wouldn't cause any harm.
"Wilson," I said. “Megan Wilson.”
"Thanks, you're the best!”
We finished our lunch and I was grateful that Matt didn't mention Ms. Wilde again. Afterward, he said that he might go to work. I shook my head and wondered how my stepbrother’s business was running so well when he was hardly ever there.
* * *
Once I was home again, I made some tea and turned on my apparently outdated computer with the intent of working on an article I was writing for a literary magazine. First I checked my emails and saw that I had one from Matt, which he’d sent five minutes earlier. I opened it and read:
What was her last name again?
I chuckled and wrote back “Bilson.” That ought to teach him to pay better attention when he learned a girl's name. Maybe it was a little mean, but I had every intention of giving him the real name later…possibly.
I wonder if Ms. Wilde is on the Facebook?
No, it was definitely better not to look. I couldn't figure out why I even cared, and yet before I knew it, I was creating a profile for myself and logging on. I told myself it was probably a good thing to look at her profile, to see what sort of person she was. It would help me decide whether I could trust her not to tell anyone that we had slept together. All in the name of protecting myself, of course.
Her profile picture was not at all what I expected. She was dressed up in a Halloween costume—or at least I hoped it was a costume, and not one of her strange outfits. She looked just like a 1950s housewife in a red dress with white polka dots and an apron. Her hair was curly and she had on red lipstick. She was giving the camera a demure but flirty smile and I could faintly make out other people in the background. The photo looked like it was taken at a party. She probably went to plenty of those.
As I perused her profile, which was, thankfully, public, I saw that she had lots of other pictures. The albums labeled with the names of cities and countries around the world were by far the most interesting and I looked through all of them: Ms. Wilde in London on a bridge, looking out over the water as if she didn't know she was being photogr
aphed. Ms. Wilde in Brazil, holding a parrot, an old man with a large mustache next to her, both of them smiling. Ms. Wilde in front of the ruins of a castle in Scotland.
Does she always travel alone? No—then who would be taking the pictures? How can she afford this?
I looked at her personal information and discovered that she was as young as I had thought, namely twenty-two, turning twenty-three this year. From the dates on her pictures I could see that she had done most of her traveling after high school and figured that this was why she was slightly older than her classmates. Not that it made a difference.
My eyes almost popped out of my head when I saw her relationship status: “It's complicated.”
It's complicated? What's complicated? Is she seeing multiple people casually? Why am I asking myself all these questions?
I looked at her recent status updates. She had written Yoga with the girls and then classes a few hours ago. Scrolling further down the screen, my heart started racing when I read her status update from last night: Sometimes a boring Tuesday night becomes fun out of the blue.
Is she talking about me? Am I the fun she's referring to? Does she actually think I'm fun to be around?
She was probably talking about going to Matt's bar. A lot of her friends had commented on the update, wanting to know what it meant. I held my breath as I scrolled to the bottom and saw that she had answered them with a smiley face. That was all, just a smiley face. I let out my breath and logged off the Facebook. It seemed that Ms. Wilde hadn’t told anyone about spending last night with me, at least not her girlfriends or her online friends.
That's a load off my mind. Now I can forget that it ever happened and things can get back to normal.
Chapter 6
But they didn't. By Friday afternoon, I was a complete nervous wreck, knowing that I would have to see Ms. Wilde in class. I was sitting in my office trying to mentally prepare myself when my colleague and friend Brian came in. He sat across from me, giving me a strange look.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
