“You were?”
“The editors are fantastic,” he said. “Why don’t you work on that essay, the same thesis you explained, and submit it to Breaking Edge? With a few tweaks, it would be perfect—”
“What about the contest? And your tenure?”
“The contest is all smoke,” he said, waving his hands as if he was shooing the contest away. “Don’t worry about the contest. Focus on what’s best for you.”
That didn’t explain his tenure, but right then, I couldn’t let go of the contest. “But I want to win that contest. To prove to them that I’m meant to be here—”
“Prove to who?” he asked, staring at me intently. “To prove what? Who is doubting you?’
His eyes were glued to me, as if he needed to hear me say it. But I couldn’t answer. I had gotten stares from other students, but for the most part, everyone kept to themselves here. And people like Jessica were kind to me.
Maybe I wanted to prove it to myself that I was meant to be there. That I hadn’t done it in vain. That Dad could have done it too. That I could do it for him.
“You don’t need to prove anything,” Nate said. His blue eyes searched me, and I knew he was right. I only had to prove it to myself.
He held out a hand. “Come on,” he said. “There’s something I want to show you.”
I lifted a brow. “Right now?”
“You said you make your own schedule?” I nodded. “Then reschedule the shift.”
I looked back at the cart, only the top row remained. It wasn’t uncommon for the assistants to leave a cart while they helped a student find the right book. No one would notice if I disappeared for a few minutes. And I could make up the hours tomorrow.
I clutched my bag and took Nate’s hand. On the bottom floor, we took a side door, walking through the grass and concrete. But when we got to the Liberal Arts and Culture building, instead of taking the elevators in the lobby, he led me to a hallway off of the main room, to a door at the very back. Unlocking it, he led me up the stairs. Eight flights in a seven-floored building.
He opened the door. I stepped out onto the rooftop. It was guarded by a short wall on all sides, like a railing. I held the edge. The trees covered some of the open area, giving shade and privacy to those wandering below, from onlookers like us. Students walked in between the openings like a bustling academic city. A group had set up a picnic in the outdoor theater, and a couple of booths were standing next to the student union. The afternoon sun cast the campus in a sunny glow, making it feel as if it weren’t real, effervescent, like everything might float away.
Beside me, Nate’s eyes wandered from place to place. His hands rested on the edge too, close to mine. If I wanted, I could reach out and touch him.
“This is my favorite place,” he said.
“Why?” I asked.
“It’s like watching the world from behind a glass mirror. Seeing everything for what it is.”
Nate seemed real then, more honest and open than he had been before. He turned to me, his shoulders firm. There was something about him at that moment that was different. Even if we were technically on campus, even if we were right on top of our department, he wasn’t Dr. Evans, the unbearable hard-ass professor with no shits to give about students. He was Nate. Nate, always dressed to perfection even in the desert heat. Nate with his unwavering critical outlook. Even at this moment. Nate, with that gaze that could make me melt with desire. Nate with his strong hands, his perfect lips.
I couldn’t think about kissing him. Not here. Not now.
Not ever.
“Your thoughts?” Nate asked.
“What?” I asked. “Oh, right. You’re right. It’s exactly like that,” I mumbled to myself. “Glass mirrors and all of that.”
“I want you to come to the Annual Lakehouse Retreat.”
If I remembered correctly, that meant going tohislakehouse on Lake Mead. Inviting me to the event on top of the building, where we were alone and out of sight, seemed so personal. Like it wasn’t simply a graduate event. It was more than that. Something else. “Yeah?” I asked.
“I hate the pretentious nature of it, but the food is good. And it might be beneficial for you.”
“For me?”
“As a student.”
Because that’s all I was to him. A student. We might have been friends, but in the end, we were teacher and student. Mentor and pupil.
But for some reason, I imagined Nate bending me over the edge of the rooftop’s wall, feeling my ass as I looked down at everyone passing below us. Exposing me. Touching me. Taking control of me. Of what was his.
But a teacher didn’t do that with a student. We had to be better than that. Even if I wanted more. Even if we wanted more.
But there was no we. It was silly of me to even let those words cross my mind.
And there were too many things to consider right then. And I knew that any step I took towards Nate meant that I was getting further away from my goal. From his goal too. Because going to his home, seeing another side of him, even if it was for a graduate student retreat? It was crossing boundaries that I wasn’t prepared to return from. What I wanted, and what I needed, were different then.
“I’ll think about it,” I said.
