by Alexis James
And I do.
Far too often.
In sleep she appears much younger than she is, although either way she’s far younger than I am. I’d venture to guess there’s at least fifteen years between us. Why I’m even considering the age gap, I have no idea. I value my job more than anything. I’d never betray the trust my students and the staff have in me simply because I happen to be attracted to my assistant
I’m not allowed to be attracted to her, but as much as I try to talk myself out of it, she intrigues me. There’s something about her that makes me curious, and I wish I could explain why. I’ve had beautiful students before, many who have tried to get me to breach that student-teacher relationship. It puzzles me. I know that the majority of those I teach are afraid of me; they wince when I bark out demands, avoid me in the hallway, and refuse to make eye contact.
I admit, I get a sick little thrill out of it all.
Something is different with her. Sure, Sophia’s winced a time or two, but usually she refuses to look at me at all. Though, she has no trouble pleading her case or challenging me if needed. Case and point: I know I was being unreasonable earlier today. I also know I was pissed off that she neglected her studies just to fly home for a visit. More pissed off than I care to acknowledge. I want her to succeed. She’s bright and energetic and has her whole life ahead of her, wide open and ripe with possibilities.
Moving closer to the desk, I take in her slightly pink cheeks, glossy lips, and long dark lashes. Damn if I don’t feel a tremor of need slicing through me. How easy it would be to reach out and touch a few strands of silky hair, bend her over this desk and have my way with her. I doubt she’d tell me no. I’ve seen the occasional longing in her eyes, the looks she gives me when she thinks I’m not watching.
Yes. It would be so very easy.
And also very, very wrong.
Blinking, I stand upright and shove my hands in my pockets. Pushing the unwarranted thoughts aside, I hiss, “Miss Moran, wake up.”
It takes a few tries, but slowly she rouses and sleepy, mocha eyes find mine.
“What time is it?” A soft smile lights her face as she moves from Dreamland to consciousness, and the sigh that exits her lips sounds all too enticing to my ears.
“Past midnight. Go home.” Stomping into my office, I dig around for the lecture notes while watching her out of the corner of my eye. She stretches her arms overhead, making a mewling noise like a cat. And that same hot, tremor of desire settles over me again.
Swearing under my breath, I avert my eyes and shuffle through the papers. Finally finding what I’d been looking for, I give myself a moment to calm down before facing her again. By the time I’ve got my game face on and am making my way to the outer office, she’s shoving her things into her backpack and zipping it closed.
“I have a few things left to finish,” she says softly, looking up at me hesitantly.
Of course the grades need to be posted, but I’m not about to insist she stay here any longer. I may be a complete bastard, but I have to draw the line somewhere. “Do it tomorrow.”
She nods, slinging her heavy backpack over her shoulder. I watch her eyes widen as they skim the surface of my body. I realize this is probably the first time she’s ever seen me in something other work clothes. Since I didn’t plan on running into anyone, I pulled on a pair of worn jeans and a T-shirt that’s seen better days. My intention was to get in and out as fast as possible without anyone seeing me.
Her cheeks flush bright red as she averts her eyes and walks past me. “Have a good night, Professor. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The thought of her traipsing around campus by herself concerns me. Although we do have security, I doubt they patrol much late at night. “I’ll walk you to your car.” Eyes wide and filled with shock, she starts to protest. One harsh look from me, she snaps her mouth shut and nods.
After locking the office doors behind us, I follow at a respectful pace, through the dark auditorium and down the hall toward the front doors. I make a conscious effort to keep my eyes off her firm little ass, but I do glance at it a time a two. I am human, after all—though my students would say otherwise.
She’s moves quickly, eyes forward, arms crossed over her chest to ward off the chill. As we walk out of the large double doors, I notice the rain has picked up once again, which immediately halts my forward progress.
Sophia pops open her umbrella and says, “Here, you can use this. My jacket has a hood.”
The protest is on my tongue, but there is no way in hell I can make it to her car and back to mine without ruining the lecture notes and drowning myself in the process. With a curt nod, I take the bright pink umbrella from her outstretched hand and step out into the rain.
We move quickly now, down the sidewalk and around the buildings toward the parking structure. As we walk, the rain comes down harder, followed by a crack of thunder. With a happy squeal, Sophia takes off running. I’m right on her heels. By the time we’re shielded from the rain, under the cover of the garage, she’s completely soaked and every part of me that’s not covered by the umbrella is too.
Laughing, she swipes the water from her face and turns bright, happy eyes up to mine. “Wow. The heavens opened up on us.”
“That they did.”
We step up to an older model blue Jetta. As she shoves the key in the door, she says, “Let me drive you to your car.”
The close proximity to her in the compact car would severely threaten the tight hold I have on my restraint, which has been pushed far past the limit tonight. There’s no way in hell I’m getting in there with her. I don’t want her to see the truth.
“No need. I’ll just borrow your umbrella, if that’s all right.”
She frowns. “Of course. Are you sure? I don’t mind.”
An odd surge of anger bubbles up out of nowhere. Something I can only blame on the phone call with my ex and the exhaustion of the day. “Good night, Miss Moran.” I turn without waiting for her to respond and dart back through the downpour toward where I’m parked. Behind me I see the lights of her car and listen as she drives away. I finally feel like I can breathe again.
When we’re working together, I handle her just fine. She knows her place and rarely deviates from it. Seeing one another out of context adds a whole new element to a situation that I normally can control. Had I not been so distracted by Rianne’s call, I might have remembered that Sophia would be there and avoided going into the office in the first place.
Why is it that I’m allowing women to make my life miserable? I’ve paid my dues and then some. Being married to Rianne was no walk in the park, but it did have a few perks. She was easy on the eyes and a hellcat in bed. I tolerated her never being satisfied with anything and allowed her to spend most of my money. You’d think since I waited until I was almost thirty to marry, I’d have found the right one. Looking back on it now, I think I married her because I felt it was what I had to do. A pressure I’d put on myself to fit into that perfect mold I’d created inside my mind.
In the years since we split, she’s made quite a nuisance of herself. She’s done everything in her power to delay the divorce, even though she hooked up with someone new long before we even considered splitting up for good. Hell, I doubt she was ever faithful to me—even in the beginning; I know she wasn’t in the end. Why does she feel she’s entitled to more of my money? I gave her the house in Los Angeles, where we used to live together, and the Mercedes. There’s little she could want for, but she does. Again and again and again.
Stashing the umbrella on the floorboard of my car, I bring the engine to life and get the heater going. One thing I learned from Rianne is that marriage is not for me. I have no desire to be tied down to any one person. I sure as hell don’t want someone dictating what I can and can’t do. My life is my own now and for the most part I enjoy it. I have a great job, a nice car, and a beautiful apartment. There are a handful of women I date occasionally, and by date I mean fuck. Of course, I’m n
ot a total bastard about it. I do buy them dinner ahead of time.
My eyes stray to the bubblegum pink umbrella. Sophia is so full of contradictions. She can be shy and easily embarrassed or strong and feisty; innocent enough to own this gaudy contraption and wise enough to see through my bullshit. No wonder I’m intrigued. She’s everything Rianne isn’t and never will be. Hell, she’s everything most women never will be.
Throwing the car into reverse, I shove those unwanted thoughts aside yet again and remind myself that she’s a student and I’m a faculty member. By this time next year she’ll be busy getting her masters, and she’ll probably have forgotten I exist. In a few short years she’ll be starting her career while I’m considering when I should retire. If I know what’s good for me, I’ll quit thinking of her as woman and remember that she’s a student here. If I know what’s good for me, I’ll quit thinking about her at all.
“I don’t think I ever want to have a baby,” Charlotte whispers as we stare at the computer screen. It’s late on Saturday night and poor Mia has been in labor for hours. Things are starting to get serious now, so chances are Cruz will cut us off before too long. Being able to video chat with them during this precious time has certainly reminded me how much I miss my family, even if I tell myself most of the time that I don’t.
I take a sip of my soda and lean close to the screen, attempting to read the emotions on my brother’s face as he whispers in his wife’s ear. He has the typical Moran protective air about him in the gentle way he cups her face and in the hard, fixed look he gives her. The tension is obvious, though, and easy to read. The longer this goes on, the harder he clenches his jaw. They’ve been through this before with the birth of little Thomas a few years ago, so I’m not sure why he’s so wigged out. It’s not like he doesn’t know what to expect.
Mia lets out an animalistic groan, and Charlotte and I turn to look at one another with nervous expressions. “Oh crap. This is getting serious,” she says.
Rolling my eyes, I scoff, “You think?”
“I can hear you, you know,” Mia says, panting.
“Sorry,” I reply, wincing because I expect my brother to start in on me any minute for being so loud.
Char pulls out her phone and taps furiously and a moment later my phone buzzes. Snickering, I find it humorous that she’s taken to texting to me to insure we remain silent. There is a mute button on the computer. Maybe we should consider using it.
Even though I was just home for a visit, I wish I could be there to hold my new niece or nephew. I wonder what Professor Asshat would say to that. I bet I could literally recite his diatribe.
I have no idea what’s crawled up his ass, but ever since he walked me to my car a few weeks ago, he’s been ruthless. He won’t ever speak to me unless he has no other choice. When he does, I feel completely dressed down, like a child being scolded.
He’s not the type of man I can come right out and ask what I’ve done wrong. I’ve watched him interact with other students much the same way, so I’m not even sure if he has an issue with just me or society in general. Why do I take this personally? I’ve done nothing to incur this wrath of his. I come in every day, do my job and leave without a word. It’s the same thing, day in and day out. Yet as each day passes, his mood becomes darker. He’s not violent, but there’s a violent undertone to the way he looks at me; dark, seething eyes whenever we happen to glance at one another. It’s certainly not at all like the way he looked at me that late night in the office when for a brief second it seemed like he might actually want to get to know me.
I’d like to get to know that man better, particularly the one that came to the office late at night wearing snug, faded denim and a tee that clung to his chest like a second skin. I got a chance to see all of that magnificent body he hides so well under his professor clothes. My mouth literally watered when I got a load of the sculpted muscles in his arms, his thick, strong chest, and the outline of firm abs. And when he turned away from me and I got a peek at all the other finery, I had plenty of visuals to fantasize about when I got home.
My face warms now when I think about what followed … me writhing around my bed with my hand working between my legs. I called out his name, more than once, and when all was said and done, I could only lie there and hate myself.
Charlotte points furiously toward the screen, pulling me away from the naughty sexual thoughts that have overtaken me. From our side view, I can only see Mia’s face and a bit of her gown-covered chest. No girly bits, she’d insisted when I suggested that we be a part of the big event. While I love Mia to death, I have no intentions of seeing her girly bits being torn in two. I don’t want to see them at all, actually.
Cruz leans close once again and whispers as she scrunches up her face and starts to push. When the contraction has passed, she nods and whispers something back to him. The love between them is so tangible I feel like I can reach into the screen and touch it.
My eyes suddenly fill with tears, which I blame on the miracle we’re witnessing. I know it’s more than that. I long to have what they have. For a man to look at me with reverence and adoration like Cruz looks at her. I’d like to believe Caleb … um … Professor Bonham could be that man, but chances are after graduation, he’ll send me off with a hard shove out the door and never give me a second thought.
I know I’m wasting my time on him, but there’s something about him that I simply can’t give up on. Yes, I’m too young for him and yes, it’s completely inappropriate to be thinking of him on a personal level. But as the old saying goes, the heart knows what it wants. My heart is invested in him, not for any substantial reason particularly, but because it’s what I feel. My entire body responds whenever he’s near, and not just in the way one would expect. Sure, I get heated up in places I shouldn’t when he glares at me with those green eyes of his, but how do I explain that my heart beats stronger when I’m around him? Or that I’m simply more aware of everything—sounds, smell, taste—whenever we’re in close proximity. My reaction to him is a visceral one, one beyond explanation, beyond contemplation. It just … is.
Char takes my hand in hers and squeezes tight, saying without words that she understands how torn I feel. I am torn in so many ways: about my need to be with my family and that equal need to remain steadfast and continue my life here. I’m torn inside out about my feelings for Caleb, which continue to grow day after day, even though he does everything humanly possible to push me away. Over and over again.
On the screen, I watch Cruz lean toward Mia’s legs and see his face fill with relief and joy that I can only assume means the baby has arrived. I hear someone say, “It’s a girl,” and the brief amount of joy on his face fades as does Mia’s.
“Oh God. Something is wrong,” Charlotte whispers.
I can hear what I assume is the doctor, talking to them about something that causes all the color to fade from both their faces. Cruz disappears out of sight, and Mia’s eyes fill with tears as her head rolls toward the computer screen, face covered with sweat. “Soph, she’s not breathing.”
Now would be a good time for me to be the strong one, but I can only sit like a dumbass on my couch and watch my sweet sister-in-law attempt to deal with her pain. She’s been one of my dearest friends since the first day we met, back when she was working for my brother and came to pick me up for him at the airport when our father was ill. That feels like a lifetime ago and in the years since then, she and I have grown exceptionally close.
“Say something,” Charlotte snaps, nudging me with her elbow.
“I love you Mia,” I stammer out.
“Love you too.” There’s a funny squeal in the background and suddenly a smile lights her face. “Oh thank God.”
Relief surges through me as I start to sob, but it’s short lived when Cruz appears at Mia’s side and cradles her face in his large hands. He speaks to her in soft undertones, and the entire time he’s speaking, tears run down her face. He’s stoic, strong as an ox, though I can see the s
tress he’s carrying and the worry he tries to hide. When she finally nods and he moves off screen again, she covers her face with her hands. Suddenly her mom moves into the picture, cradling her in her arms.
Long moments pass and finally I can’t take anymore. Rising, I start to pace the length of my apartment down the hall to the bedroom then slowly back out toward the living room. Charlotte keeps a watchful eye both on me and the screen, and just when I think I’m going to lose it completely and start screaming in frustration, I hear a familiar voice.
“Sophia, where are you?”
Running to the couch, I resume my seat and take in the sight of Amita, who looks just as haggard and broken as my brother did. She bypasses any niceties, and says, “I told Mia I’d update you. It’s a girl. She’s seven pounds, ten ounces and twenty-one inches long.” She bites down hard on her lip as her eyes fill. “She’s so beautiful, Soph. Looks just like her mama.”
“Is she gonna be okay?”
Amita shrugs. “They are taking her to the NICU to check her out. They said she’s having trouble breathing because she inhaled meconium.” She leans close to the screen and chuckles through her tears. “Kid inhaled her own poop. Can you believe it?”
Having taken a ton of early childhood classes, I’m well aware of the complications resulting from this. “How are her Apgar results?”
Amita makes a face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Cruz is going with the baby to the NICU because that’s what Mia wants. We’ll stay here with her while they finish up. Can I call you later?”
“Yes, please do. And, Amita, kiss everyone for me, okay?”
“Will do, babe. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Charlotte ends the call and closes the computer screen, taking me in her arms and holding me tight while I cry. I’d give anything to get on a plane and fly home to be with my family right now. Screw my classes and to hell with Professor Asshat. I need to go home. I need my family.
