by Kendall Ryan
Fuck.
I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. I was supposed to be the teacher, and she the student. It was just this damn distraction, the notion of her that made me second-guess everything I thought I knew. This was bad. The more she infiltrated my life, the worse off I’d be. Especially when I wasn’t even sure I was going to be here next year.
Running a hand through my hair, I considered my options. Clearly, I wasn't going to be able to work tonight, not when she was so on the forefront of my mind. I could, maybe, continue the work on my house, but I worried that the silence and the solidarity would only allow my mind to wander back to thoughts of her.
What she might look like sitting in my living room, snuggled close as we watched TV. Or better yet, what she might look like straddled on top of me on that sofa, her hips rolling into me as I—
Another aching throb surged between my thighs and I adjusted myself again.
I couldn’t afford to be left to my own devices.
Which, then, only left one option.
Getting the fuck out of this house.
Picking up my cell phone, I shot out a group text to a bunch of buddies to join me at the bar down the street from my house.
Sliding on my light fall jacket, I headed down the block, trying to focus on what autumn brew I’d try tonight instead of how badly I wanted to call Poppy and invite her along too. The idea of spending time with her outside of a school agenda, with the chance to discuss poetry to learn more of her fears, her dreams was a sharp pulse of desire. But I couldn’t think of any logical reason that an adviser would have for inviting a student out to a bar.
After a few minutes, the phone in my pocket let off half a dozen dings, all of which were messages from my friends letting me know whether or not they could make it. Dave was out of town with his girlfriend. Brandon was spending a night at home with his wife. Dean was looking after his baby while his wife went out.
All the unfortunate side effects of aging—friends who couldn't leave to head to the bar at the drop of a hat. Still, a few of my friends did say they were down for a beer, so when I walked through the fingerprint-smudged glass doors of The Local, I sidled up to the bar and ordered a few shots along with my beer.
Everything came in short order, and I sipped my beer, glancing at the baseball game on the television before taking one of the shots in front of me and downing it.
The sweet rush of heat coursed down my throat and I hissed my relief just as I felt a warm, huge hand clap down on my shoulder.
"Not messing around tonight, huh?" Tony, a professor in the math department, took the seat beside me and grabbed a shot, sliding the third and last glass toward me.
"To the end of another school week," Tony said, lifting his tiny glass and I clinked it against my own before shooting it back and letting out another low groan of satisfaction.
"How was your week?" I asked, more out of politeness than interest.
"It was a week," Tony said. "You?"
"Just about the same." I sighed, taking another sip of my beer. "Just wanted to get out and clear my head."
"Don't blame you there. These damn budget cuts have been insane." Tony shrugged before ordering from the bored looking bartender. "I'll tell you when I started here thirty years ago, things were different. The students were less entitled, the staff had more respect. It was a different world."
"I bet," I said.
Tony shook his head. "What I wouldn't give to get that time back. It was like the wild west compared to today when they micromanage everything you do."
I nodded. "I wouldn't know."
Silence fell between us and I took another sip of my beer as I considered Tony's words. He had a point, but more than that, there was something I needed to know. Something everyone talked about, but I doubted anyone addressed with him directly.
"Your wife used to be one of your students, right?" I asked.
He blinked. "Oh, uh, yeah. See, that was way back in the day. Nobody even thought twice about it back then. Now they look at me like...well, you know." Tony rolled his eyes. "It was my second year here and she was a master's student. We were only a few years apart. Not so strange."
"You think?" I asked.
"Not back then, no. Now, though..." Tony raised his eyebrows. "Why do you ask?"
I feigned my best nonchalant look. "Just curious, I guess."
A few more of our buddies arrived and I ordered yet another round of shots as we fell into a discussion about baseball, football, and educational pedagogies. For us, it was a pretty typical night, but even surrounded by my closest friends, I couldn't seem to stop thinking about Poppy.
Like Tony said, it was wrong to date her now. People wouldn't look on it kindly even if we did happen to get away with it.
Then, of course, there was Poppy herself to consider, too. Poppy and her damned insistence on swearing off men—no matter how much bullshit that was.
She wasn't done with men. I'd felt it in her kiss that night at the party, could see it in her eyes every time she looked at me. She had to know she didn't mean it.
And still…she was holding to those boundaries as best she could. Yet another thing I liked about her.
"Another shot?" One of the guys nudged me and I took the glass without thinking, toasting along with them before downing yet another round.
"You still here?" Danny, another friend from the science department, asked. “You look out of it.”
Vaguely, I nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I'm here. I just...I need a minute."
Silently, I slid from my stool and realized a little too suddenly that walking was easier said than done. Straightening, I made for the door again and pushed my way into the crisp, night air.
Rubbing my hands over my arms, I psyched myself up and considered my options one last time.
Poppy was a student.
Poppy wasn't interested in dating.
And fuck if Poppy wasn’t also everything I'd ever wanted in a woman.
Could I really let her slip away? All for some false excuse that didn't ring true to either of us?
Quickly, I shoved my hand into my pocket and dialed the number I'd been itching to contact all night—hell, all week—long.
Then her musical voice sounded over the line. "Hello?"
"Poppy?" I said.
"Zach," she said, her voice warming. "Hey."
"Hey. Would you like to attend a reading with me?”
There was a brief pause, and I wasn’t sure what she’d say. But when she spoke again, I could tell she was smiling.
“I would love that, actually.”
What could be more innocent than a poetry reading?
Chapter Twelve
Poppy
The phone call from Zach last night was unexpected, and our plans for later were threatening to take over everything else. But right now, I needed to focus.
I clicked off the radio in my car, and focused on the road instead. I took a deep breath in and let it out, slowly going over what I wanted to say. I’d rehearsed countless times this morning, but I still felt unprepared. I had a fear of public speaking, and even though this was just a group of seven-year-olds, I couldn’t help but get butterflies in my stomach at the thought of presenting in front of the class.
When I arrived, the teacher opened the classroom door and beckoned me inside. Connor was seated in the front row and I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him with his hair neatly parted on the side and the adorable gap between his front teeth. I gave him a little wave and he grinned at me and waved back. His eyes sparkled on mine, calming me, and I smiled wider when I saw he was wearing his astronaut t-shirt, which he only took off when I forced him to. He’d asked me to come to his class to present about being a writer for career day and I was touched that he’d asked me over my parents. I mean, technically I didn’t even have a career. My dad would have made a better choice—he was a retired manufacturing manager. But Connor had asked me, and so he
re I was, ready to present about being a writer.
Even though Connor was only seven, he was pretty much my best friend. He had such a big heart and always made me laugh, even on my worst days. He was obsessed with becoming an astronaut and I wanted to do everything I could to encourage him. My parents were notorious dream crushers; they’d wanted me to have a “normal” major so I could get a steady job straight after college. They’d never believed in my writing and it had caused so many fights that things were strained between us. I knew I could succeed as a writer and I wanted to prove it not only to them, but to Connor, so that he knew it was possible to achieve your dreams. I knew my parents were going to do the same thing to him that they did to me and try to force him into a mediocre life, but he loved math and science and I knew he could do whatever he put his mind to.
The teacher introduced me, and I launched into my speech about writing. And soon, my fifteen minutes were up and I was fielding questions from the class with a big smile. All the tension I’d felt earlier had disappeared. It turned out, when you were discussing something you were passionate about, even public speaking could be easy.
After the presentation I met Connor in the hallway, where he gave me a big hug.
“That was awesome, Mom!”
I pressed a kiss to his forehead. My son affirming that I had done a good job made me feel oddly sentimental and weepy. Blinking back the tears I felt stirring, I hugged my son again.
“So, did you decide what you want to be for Halloween?” I had promised to take him to the store to pick out a costume after school.
“An astronaut,” he said, proudly with a little smirk.
Of course. It was the same thing he’d been every year since he was four.
“Seriously, Connor, you can become anything you want. No matter what anyone says, or how hard it is, no matter the obstacles that might be in your way, you get to choose the life you want.”
“Just like you,” he said.
“Exactly.” I grabbed both of his hands and gave them a little squeeze. I could tell he didn’t fully know what I meant, but I hoped some of what I’d said would stay with him as he got older and his goals started to seem more and more difficult to achieve.
I hugged him again, squeezing tight, and sent him back to class. As I walked out to my car I couldn’t help but wonder if I was following my own advice. I was going after my dream of becoming a full-time writer, against all the obstacles that were in my way, but what about other parts of my life? I thought about Zach. Did I have to sacrifice relationships so I could succeed in my career? For now, at least, I couldn’t risk messing up, especially when there was so much riding on my success.
* * *
I checked myself in the mirror one more time, nerves making my hand shake slightly as I lifted a hand to bobby pin a stray hair from my face. Why am I even nervous? I had been alone with Zach a handful of times, but this felt different. We’d never gone out of our way to meet up outside of school like this. It’s just a reading. I told myself, which was basically like school. Plus, I’d been dying to hear Ariel Elderson read ever since Zach had introduced me to her work earlier in the semester, so when he’d invited me to this event I didn’t hesitate to say yes.
After picking out his Halloween costume, I’d dropped Connor off at my parents’ house for the evening. They lived nearby and still kept Connor overnight one or two nights a month. My parents loved it, Connor loved it, and despite how I felt about it— I needed the help. The truth was, sometimes having help made me feel guilty, like I needed to be doing more or that I shouldn't need so much help, but it was nice being able to count on them when I had a late night of schoolwork or just wanted to do something socially with friends. I’d missed so much of that having a baby in high school.
I applied mascara and a touch of eye shadow. I put on red lipstick, then wiped it off. Be casual, I told myself. I gave myself another once over, adjusting my fitted green turtleneck and black skinny jeans. Once I was satisfied I slipped into my favorite pair of black boots and headed downtown.
The reading was being held at Book Soup, a bookstore near the university. It had a funky, eclectic vibe and the walls were covered floor to ceiling with bookshelves. It was the best place near campus for writing events, and an even better place for finding cheap, used books. Zach was waiting for me out front, and as I approached I realized I had mostly seen him in his work clothes. I had to admit, the sight of him in a casual black jacket, dark jeans and brown lace-up boots was havoc on my libido.
“Shall we?” He gestured inside. Even after all this time, his smile still managed to turn my legs to molasses.
“Absolutely,” I said, letting him guide me inside the warm book shop.
As we took our seats near the front, I turned toward Zach.
“Thank you so much for inviting me, you have no idea how obsessed I am with her poetry.”
“I knew you’d like her.” Zach smirked at me. “I’m such a good adviser,” he said in a mock serious tone.
I punched him playfully on the shoulder.
“Don’t get too cocky. I still don’t understand who put you in charge.”
He opened his mouth, no doubt to come back with a playful remark, when Ariel walked onstage. Her words were beautiful, and so was she. She had long, black braids and wore thick glasses with white frames and a floor length black dress. Her poems were so moving I felt myself tearing up at one point, quickly wiping them away so Zach wouldn’t notice.
“That was amazing,” I said quietly when she’d finished. Zach quickly stood up and grabbed my hand. My heart went into sudden overdrive at the feeling of his hand on mine.
“Come on,” he said, pulling me over toward where Ariel was standing.
“What are you—” I started to say, when Ariel turned toward us and a smile spread across her face.
“Zach,” she said, going in for a hug. I stood watching with my mouth hanging open. They knew each other?
“Amazing as always,” Zach said to her, then turned to me with a mischievous look in his eyes. “And this is Poppy. She’s a huge fan.”
Ariel turned with a swing of her long braids. “Hi, Poppy, it’s so nice of you to come.”
I could feel my face burning as I reached out a hand, still in shock, and stammered out a hello. After Zach and Ariel said goodbye, I turned to Zach with my mouth gaping.
“You knew her this whole time?”
“We went to undergrad together. She was in some of my classes.” He was grinning, and I knew he was relishing how shocked I was.
“So, should we grab dinner? I know how you love to eat,” he said, as if nothing interesting had just happened.
I was still trying to recover from the surprise as we headed out into the chilly night. He was right, I was starving.
“I know a place over here.” He gestured down the street.
“If your taste in restaurants is anything like your taste in poets, I’m in.”
I shivered as we walked; the night had gotten colder than I’d expected and I hadn’t brought a jacket. Zach glanced at me and without a word pulled off his jacket and put it around my shoulders. I was about to protest when I stopped myself. He’s just being nice. When had I become so cynical?
As he led me toward the restaurant, Zach put his hand on my lower back. It was such a small, innocent gesture, but I felt the heat and energy from his touch as if it were burning right through my layers of clothing.
The restaurant was a small Italian place with white table cloths and small, glowing candles that made it feel cozy. The kitchen was open, and the cooks shouted to each other while the fire from the stoves blazed in front of them. Zach waved to a few of the staff.
“How do you seem to know everyone?” I asked, laughing after our waiter pulled Zach into a quick embrace.
“I come here a lot,” he said, shrugging casually.
Our server brought over two glasses of red wine, and after he left, Zach raised h
is glass to me.
“To getting to know you better.”
His sensual words washed over me, and I could no longer deny the effect Zach had on me was dizzying.
We clinked glasses and took a sip. The wine was smooth and rich. It was delicious.
Our server appeared again, and I ordered something I couldn’t pronounce that was made with thick noodles and a wild mushroom ragù.
This entire evening had already been more than I’d expected. He could really be a gentleman when he wanted to. “Thank you for your thoughts on my paper for Dr. Chan.”
Zach glanced up at me, setting his wineglass down on the table. “How’d it turn out?”
“She was impressed by my piece—she said the parallel I drew between daybreak and infancy was fresh and unique.”
“You’re a brilliant writer, Poppy.” There was no hesitancy, no playfulness to his tone—his compliment was genuine and sincere, and it meant more than I ever expected.
“So, you’re still thinking New York?” The moment the question was out of my mouth, I wanted to stuff it back in. I settled for taking another sip of my wine. I hated that I was so obvious—that my interest in his plans next year could be construed as my interest in him—but wasn’t that why I was asking?
“That’s the plan,” he said, voice low. “What about you? Thoughts on graduation, or where you’ll end up?”
It was a long way off. I’d just started a two-year program, and even though I loved making plans and setting goals for the future, I didn’t want to think about a scenario where Zach wouldn’t be here next year. “It’s too early to plan.”
“It’s never too early, or too late, to go after what you want.”
“Very poetic,” I teased with a smirk.
“I’m serious, Poppy.”
I licked my suddenly dry lips. “You’ll be hundreds of miles away next year. Long distance never works.”
“Quit inventing problems.”
God, it was like he could read my mind. A heavy sigh escaped my lips at this almost impossible scenario.
“There isn’t a single problem that can’t be solved with great sex,” he added, eyes still trained on mine.
