Filthy Professor (A Forbidden Student Teacher Romance Novella)

by Lila Younger

  Still, I try my best not to get attached. Ian’s never promised me anything beyond the night. But then he’ll do something nice, like pull out a book on an artist he thinks I’ll find interesting, or make me a late night snack so I can finish up my readings, and it’ll have me wondering all over again. I could straight up ask him, but I don’t want to know the answer. I’m scared because what if he thinks I’m pushing and decides to end it altogether? I wouldn’t fault him for it, but I can’t bear for that to happen, so I go along with how things are now, waiting for him to text me to meet up.

  I’ve got it all under control.

  Or at least, I thought I did. One Sunday morning, I come downstairs to find Tif sitting at the breakfast table. She’s made waffles for two people, and I pause in the kitchen doorway.

  “Hey Kaitlyn,” she says cheerily. “Sit.”

  I go over to the chair she’s pulled out for me. She’s usually never awake this early by choice on the weekend. I take a seat, ready for the other shoe to drop.

  “You’re never awake this early,” I say.

  “You’re right. I’m not. But I feel like we’ve been ships passing each other in the night lately.”

  I bite my lip and instantly feel a pang of guilt. I’ve been ‘studying’ a lot more, and making up excuses for why I don’t feel up to our usual hangouts. Tif doesn’t have a thesis to write, so she accepts that I’m working a lot more than usual, but she’s also been my best friend for a long while.

  “I’ve been really patient, waiting for you to tell me, but I can’t hold it in anymore. You’re seeing someone, aren’t you?”

  I figured she’d find out eventually, but I really didn’t think it’d be right this second. I’m too surprised to think up something on the fly, and Tif jumps on it.

  “I knew it! I knew it!” she crows. “This is fantastic! Who is it?”

  Part of me wants to lie, to keep things covered up, but I already feel guilty about not telling my best friend. And I know that she would be the last person to blab about it. She’s just not that kind of a person. I hesitate for a moment anyways though, because once I say it, I can’t undo it.

  “You can’t tell anyone,” I warn her anyways.

  She nods, even more intrigued now. Then her eyes open wide.

  “It’s not someone who already has a girlfriend is it?” she says, her voice hushed.

  “No,” I say patiently.

  “A… married man?”

  “What? Tif, no! What are you talking about? I would never do that.”

  She sits back in her chair perplexed.

  “I don’t get it,” she says.

  “It’s… It’s my teacher,” I say.

  “Which one? Prof. Denning? No! Wait. Is it Prof. Taylor? OH MY GOD IT’S PROF TAYLOR ISN’T IT?!” she squeals excitedly as she catches the look on my face. “IT IS! IT IS!”

  You know, it’s a really good thing that we’re not living in the dorms still, because my whole floor would have heard it with the way Tif is shouting. She grabs my arm excitedly.

  “Oh my God Kaitlyn! I’m not even mad that you didn’t tell me about this! I want details!”

  So we sit together and I tell her everything. The waffles get cold, but it doesn’t matter, because I feel a really huge weight lifting off my shoulders as I tell Tiffany what’s going on. I mean, she knows way more than I do about relationships and men. But even she has trouble figuring out exactly what I should do. If I’m happy with the way things are, I should just see what happens, she says in the end. After all, there are going to be some big changes after graduation. What’s the point of looking too far off in the future? She does make sense, but it’s not easy advice to take for someone who’s always planned out far in advance what they want to do.

  I decide that maybe I should go talk to Grandma. I already feel a little guilty for not visiting sooner, and the longer I put it off, the harder it will get. So after we finish cleaning up the table, I grab my purse and head out of the house. My grandmother’s old Volvo is sitting in the driveway. She gave it to me when I first started school here because she didn’t need it anymore living at the nursing home. It’s not a glamorous car, but it is a car, and I’m grateful to her. I get in and program my GPS, and I set off.

  My grandmother is one of my favorite people in the world. She was a schoolteacher back in the day, teaching art and English. In fact, it was her that inspired me first to take an interest in art, and then later to pursue education for it. I have so many wonderful memories of my grandma and I going to museums in Seattle, or down to Pike Place to look at what the artisans have put out, and wandering into various galleries pretending to be important art critics for an afternoon. It was the highlight of my summers growing up. One of my biggest reasons for coming to Washington for school was to be around her, especially after her heart attack forced her to move into an assisted living facility.

  The drive is almost an hour and a half long, so it’s long past lunch by the time I show up at the home. It’s a three-story building painted a pale beige, and the inside is just as washed out. It’s got lots of windows at least, so it’s not completely depressing, but every time I go through the sliding doors I wish that my grandma could have stayed in her home in the mountains. She had talent, and loved doing watercolors. I should take her to the park again once the weather gets better, I remind myself. She doesn’t get out enough here.

  My visit coincides with the end of Bingo, which I know is Grandma’s favorite, so instead of going in there and collecting her, I stand at the back of the room until she’s finished. I wheel her over to a quiet nook at the end of the hallway so that we can chat in peace. She can technically walk, but a wheelchair is best for covering long distances. I notice a bit of tremor in her hand today too so I get us coffees with lids to prevent it from spilling.

  “So how are you doing Grandma?” I ask once we’re settled in.

  “Good, good. I finally got my hair done,” she says, patting her short gray curls.

  “I noticed. Did they bring in a hairdresser?”

  “Yes, a good one this time. They finally listened.”

  I smile and break my news to her that I met someone.

  “Oh that’s fantastic Kaitlyn! What’s the young man’s name?”

  “Ian Taylor.”

  I try to keep my voice neutral, but I still can’t help but smile a little.

  “Good name. Is he also in Art History like you are?”

  “Yes,” I say, fibbing a little. Grandma loves me, but she’s also old and conservative. “He’s brilliant.”

  “So are you dear, and don’t let anyone tell you different. When will I get to meet him?”

  “I don’t think we’re quite that far yet Grandma.”

  She harrumphs.

  “Well where has he taken you? A nice restaurant where they have tablecloths at least?”

  I remember that one time we did it at the dining room table and blush furiously. There was a tablecloth on it, but I don’t think that would meet Grandma’s standards.

  “Things are different nowadays,” I protest. “We’re both really busy.”

  Grandma leans forward, shaking her head in disappointment.

  “Kaitlyn dear, don’t just settle for this ‘Netflix and chill’ business. You won’t find love if you’re someone’s, what did Gloria call it… ‘Friends with benefits’? Yes that. Men can tell these sorts of things you know.”

  I’m boggled by the fact that my Grandma knows anything about friends with benefits, much less something like Netflix and chill. This conversation has taken a nose dive off the deep end. Never in our entire lives have we discussed sex together. Is this even my sweet old grandmother? She catches my expression and laughs.

  “Gloria, my new friend, has a seventeen year old granddaughter,” she explains as she takes a prim sip of coffee. “Very informative about what young people are up to these days. Always snapchatting this and that. She’s even teaching a class on how to use our IPad!”

&nb
sp; That’s fantastic, but I’m still not quite ready to discuss my sex life with my eighty-nine year old Grandma, so I pounce on the comment about her IPad and ask if she’s tried out the app I downloaded so she could exercise her brain. It’s supposed to help her with her memory, and I think it’s doing its job because she definitely didn’t seem as confused as my last visit. In fact, it seems like Grandma’s learning quite a bit these days.

  I stay another hour and a half, but then it’s dinnertime and I head out. I would love to stay longer, but the fact is, I’m quite behind on my thesis and I was hoping that I’d be able to get some work done on it this weekend. I even told Ian that when he messaged me about having dinner at his place, so I feel obligated to actually do some work and not make a liar of myself.

  My Grandma’s words stay with me on the drive back to the university. What she says about going out on a date stays with me. I know that one reason we can’t just go out on a date like a normal couple is the fact that Ian could lose his job. But that doesn’t mean we couldn’t get out to Seattle for a weekend. There’s no way we’d bump into anyone in a big city like that, and the art museum is showing an exhibit on the Dutch Masters that I would love to see. But would Ian see a weekend away as too romantic? I chew on my lip. It does sound very couple-y. We’d be together all day and night. Then again, it’d at least be a clue as to what he thinks about us. It’s not a bad plan.

  I’m feeling a lot more motivated to get work done once I’ve settled on my plan. I’m going to bring up the exhibit, and if he sounds interested, I’ll ask if he’d like to go with me. When I get back into town, I turn towards the university instead of home. I’d get a lot more done at the library, and I won’t be distracted either. I send Jason a message asking if he’s working on his thesis too. The library isn’t busy since it’s a Sunday night, so he’s managed to snag a place on the first floor, where people are allowed to talk and get together for group meetings.

  “Haven’t seen you here in a while,” Jason says as he moves his backpack out of the way for me.

  “Yeah, I’ve been pretty busy.”

  “Too busy for schoolwork? I know you put things off to the last minute, but it kind of seems like you haven’t done anything in the past few weeks.”

  “That’s why I’m here now,” I say with a rueful smile.

  I uncoil my laptop cord and plug it into the wall behind me. Then I pull out my notebook where I’ve been taking notes as well as my phone. Jason turns back to this thesis. Unlike me, he’s always been very good about doing his work. He just plans things out and then does it, which is as weird as it sounds. I’m pretty sure every other college kid sort of puts things off at least a few times before they get around to the work, but Jason is actually known in the department for handing things in early even.

  We go back to our work, but I’m distracted by my phone. More accurately, I’m picking it up again and again wondering if maybe Ian will call and rescue me from this drudgery. Eventually Jason calls me out on it.

  “Are you waiting on a text?” he asks curiously.

  “No. Well, not really. Kind of.”

  “A boyfriend?” he asks, kind of incredulously. I frown a little. Is it really that strange?

  “No, not a boyfriend,” I say slowly. Just then my phone beeps. He leans over.

  “Ian huh?”

  “He’s just a friend,” I mumble as I pick up my phone.

  But then I get another text, and this time it’s from Joan, the night nurse who takes care of the people on my Grandma’s wing.

  “Just a friend huh?” Jason says, but I ignore him because there’s no reason for Joan to message me unless it’s serious. I open up the message and I’m right.

  Kaitlyn, the home has already told your parents, but I know that you care very much about your Grandma so I wanted to let you know that she had a bad fall in the bathroom. I think she had a heart attack and we’re pretty sure she’s broken her hip. She’s being taken to Grace Memorial if you want to be there, she texts me.

  A cold fear grips my chest. I’ve been to the nursing home long enough to know that any kind of surgery at that age can lead to a lot of complications and risks post-surgery. I slam down the lid of my laptop and begin to pack my stuff.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” Jason asks. “You haven’t even started.”

  “I gotta go,” I say tersely. I really have no time to explain. Everything’s just getting shoved into my backpack, and then I’m grabbing my coat.

  “Wow. This Ian guy calls and you just drop everything for him huh?”

  I have no idea what’s going on with Jason, but I don’t have the time to answer. Instead I tell him I’ll see him in class and hurry out. Luckily it’s pretty late now so I can probably hurry a little and get to the hospital in an hour. I try to push down the panic rising in my stomach. Grandma is strong. She’ll make it. I have to believe it, otherwise I won’t be in any condition to drive.

  Chapter 8

  Ian

  Kaitlyn hasn’t replied to my text for over an hour. At first I figured she might be away from her phone, looking up some reference material in the library, but as the minutes tick by, I get more and more worked up. I finally give up on my book after reading the same sentence for the last ten minutes and just stare at my phone, willing it to vibrate. Nothing from her. It bothers me more than it should because she always replies. Always.

  A vision pops into my head of Kaitlyn and that guy that’s always sitting beside her in class, Jake or Jason or something. What if she’s studying with him? So what if she is, my mind snaps back. It’s not like you guys talked about being monogamous. My head might be logical, but I still feel a tightening pressure at the thought of it that makes me jump off the couch and pace. She’s mine. I don’t want anyone else to have her. Just imagining someone seeing her gorgeous and naked on the bed, her crying out their name instead of mine as she comes makes me see red. I am possessive of her, even though I have no right. I feel like I have to do something to quell this irrational fear that Kaitlyn is slipping through my fingers so I grab my phone and call her.

  Jealousy. Who knew it could make someone almost physically sick?

  “Come on, come on, pick up,” I mutter under my breath.

  It goes to voicemail, and it confirms my thoughts. Instead of just putting down the phone though, I find myself dialing her number again. This time she picks up right away.

  “Kaitlyn,” I say.

  “Yes?” her voice sounds hushed.

  I try to compose myself before I speak again.

  “How’s your thesis? You didn’t respond and I-”

  She’s talking to someone, and it’s muffled, like she’s covered up the phone.

  “What was that?” she says, tuning in again.

  “Are you with someone?” The question comes out before I can stop it.

  There’s a long pause. Fuck, she is with someone. I’m just about ready to tell her to forget it, I’d call her later when she speaks up again.

  “I’m at the hospital. My Grandma’s in surgery.”

  Her last words break off into a sob. The anger I was feeling dissipates immediately, replaced by a surge of protectiveness and remorse. Now that I notice it, there’s a stuffed quality to her voice, like her nose has been running. I’m an idiot.

  “What happened Kaitlyn?”

  “They think she had a heart attack and she fell.”

  The tears are definitely coming back. Hearing her crying there, all alone, is more than I can take.

  “Where are you? I’m coming.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” she says automatically.

  “Kaitlyn, tell me where you are. I’m coming.”

  I’m already tearing through the house, grabbing my coat and keys and slamming the door as she gives me directions. It’s over an hour away to the hospital, but I can step on the gas. It’s a weekend, so cops are probably out in full force, but I don’t care. She needs me right now. I can hear it in her voice.

&
nbsp; “I’ll be there in an hour Kaitlyn. Hold tight for an hour.”

  I hear her cries subside a little.

  “Thank you,” she whispers gratefully. I can hardly hear it, but I hold it close to me as I reverse out of my driveway and head out of town.

  **********

  The hospital, Grace Memorial, is surprisingly modern. I was expecting a sort of drab, concrete affair, but this is all glass and steel, with warm lighting and high ceilings that can almost fool you into believing it’s not a hospital. I spot Kaitlyn, hunched and small, in one of the long benches in the emergency room. I go over and sit beside her.

  “Kaitlyn,” I say, putting a hand on her leg. “Any news?”

  She looks up and gives me a watery smile.

  “Thanks for coming Ian. They’re still in surgery right now. It’s been almost four hours. They say she’s stable, that the nurse doing the rounds found her early enough that she should be okay.”

  “That’s great news,” I say.

  There’s a part of me that wants to do more, like give her a hug or something, but something in me holds back. This feels different from all our other meetings. Usually when we get together we go right to sex. And while we do talk afterward and eat together, it’s light hearted stuff. This feels more serious, and now that I’m here, it’s almost like maybe I made a mistake. What she needs isn’t me. She needs emotional support, a friend. Or a loved one.

  “Do you want a coffee or something?” I ask, standing up. Suddenly it’s all I can do to not run away.

  “Yes please. I don’t think the cafeteria’s open, but there’s a vending machine down the hall.” She fumbles with her purse. “I’ve got some money.”

  “I’ve got it.” I say putting a hand on her shoulder.

  I walk through the emergency room again, past a guy with a nosebleed and a mom holding a little boy with what looks like a sprained foot. It takes me a few minutes to find the vending machine Kaitlyn’s talking about. Once I’ve got the coffee going, I glance over at the other machines and get her favorite Kit Kats and a pack of Sun chips for myself. Once I’ve gotten everything, I go back. Kaitlyn’s up at the counter again, talking to one of the nurses. She comes back over.