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Professor Martin walked us out to the parking lot, ensuring we were all safe to drive by making us stand on one foot and touch our fingers to our nose. Neither Fawn nor I could do the last one because we were giggling too much. Satisfied we could drive safely, the professor buckled me in, kissed my forehead, and asked if he could follow in his truck. He wanted to ensure I made it home safely and there wasn’t anyone waiting for me inside. Of course I said yes.
I live in a large Victorian house that has been converted into apartments and is perfectly situated within walking distance to campus and Main Street. Once we arrived at my tiny one-bedroom apartment, Professor Martin walked me to my door and quickly checked that no one was waiting for me inside. I usually don’t like people coming into my space since I don’t hide who I am. The decor is an eclectic mixture of Beauty and the Beast and photography history. I felt completely comfortable with Professor Martin seeing who I am though. I already know he doesn’t judge me.
“Sweet dreams, little girl,” he said softly at the door.
“Please don’t call me that.” I shivered. Then seeing his confused look, I told him, “That’s what he calls me.”
His face gentled, and he ran his hand along my arm. “He’s really scared you, hasn’t he?”
I nodded.
“Would you feel better if a friend came and stayed with you tonight? As much as I’d offer myself, I don’t think we’re there yet.”
Straightening to stand taller, I told him, “No, I’ll be okay.”
“Make sure you call me if you need anything,” he said sternly. “Even just to talk.”
“I will,” I promised.
“Good girl.” Looking at me with his eyes twinkling, he asked, “What if I call you my little professor?”
“I love it.” I giggled, filled with warmth at the special name. Feeling that he understood and valued both my little and big sides, I grabbed his hand.
“Sweet dreams, little professor.” He gave me a scratchy kiss on the cheek that sent tingles through my body. He squeezed my hand before letting go. “I’ll see you tomorrow, but call me if you need anything.”
Once I had changed into my PJs, grabbed my unicorn stuffie, and curled up in my favorite chair, I video-called Fawn and Samantha. We stayed up late giggling about the two Daddies and making wild speculations about who else in town we’d overlooked.
Professor Daddy has texted me twice so far, once saying good night when he got home and then again this morning. Each time, my heart beat a little faster when his name flashed on my screen. A totally different rush than when my unknown caller messages me.
Since last night, I’ve been ignoring thoughts that what’s happening between Professor Martin and me could be complicated. We not only work for the same college but the same department. I’m a well-respected historian in my field. What would people say if I start dating a colleague? What would people say if they knew I’m a little? That’s why the messages have put me so on edge. Not that I’m receiving them, but what they’ve been saying.
“Hi.” My voice is small, and my cheeks are flushed at seeing Professor Martin in the light of day. I avert my eyes from his penetrating gaze as he places his palms on my desk and leans toward me.
“How are you doing, baby?” he asks softly, then places a swift kiss on my temple before straightening back up.
“I’m tired,” I admit sheepishly.
Professor Martin crosses his arms and scowls at me. “Did you stay up late chatting with your friends?”
“Maybe.” I bite my lip, trying not to smile at how sexy the man is in “Daddy mode.”
Dropping his voice, he asks quietly, “Have you had any more messages?”
“No,” I exhale, hoping that maybe it really was a wrong number and not a stalker. “Not since the one last night.”
“Good.” His voice turns stern when he says, “You better tell me if you do.”
“Promise,” I say, lifting my hand to make a cross against my chest.
Professor Martin grins at me. “I texted Detective Berger earlier for an update.” I find myself scooting to the edge of my seat and leaning toward him as he continues. “He asked me to tell you he had a lead on one of his cases last night, so he’s still working on tracking your caller. But he’ll call us the second he knows who the bastard is.”
“Good,” I exhale, relaxing in my chair again.
“Have you had lunch?”
“No.”
“Little professor, you need to eat lunch,” he growls.
