“I won’t always be your student,” she says slowly.
My heart skips a beat at her words. I know she won’t always be my student. Obviously, I know that. But even if a student isn’t actively in your class, it’s still frowned upon to start a relationship with one. Neither of us would get in trouble, but I’m sure we’d both be judged by our peers. Summer, more so than me, solely for the fact that she’s a woman, and people will assume she tried to sleep her way to the top. That is the last thing I want for her. Even just thinking that some people would think that of her makes my blood boil. Summer is an extremely hard worker. She goes above and beyond on every single assignment, and I can tell by the way she writes her essays that she is incredibly smart.
I would never let my feelings cloud my judgment when grading. Not only would it not be in my character to cheat that way, but it wouldn’t be fair to Summer to boost her grade. I can tell by the way she writes her assignments that she wants to be the best child therapist that she can be. Raising her grades because of how I feel for her would do her a disservice, one that I can already tell would piss her off.
She wants to help kids, and she can’t do that to the best of her abilities if someone is fudging her grades.
Summer shifts her weight, drawing my attention back to her. “I know that,” I finally say. “But it’s not a good idea.” Her shoulders seem to deflate, but she nods in understanding. I hold the book back out to her. “But I do want you to keep this. Unromantic note be damned.”
She laughs at that and reaches out to take the book from me. Her fingers graze mine, and she stops, looking up at me. Her brown eyes catch the light shining in from my window and turn the color of my favorite whiskey. As the book slips from my fingers, I let my hand grasp hers for just a moment, just long enough to trail my thumb across her knuckles.
I hear her take a small, surprised inhale.
I immediately curse myself at her reaction. My words don’t match my actions, and that’s not fair. I just can’t help myself.
15
SUMMER
I know that I shouldstay away from Asher. If we’re being honest, the second we kissed in the elevator, I should’ve dropped his class. Or, at the very least, checked whether another professor offered it. But now, I’m well and truly screwed. Not only is it too late to drop the class without losing out on credits and therefore extending my schooling, but it’s too late for me to stop thinking about Asher in a nonprofessional manner.
I want him more than I can ever remember wanting anyone else. There has not been a single point during this graduate program where I have genuinely considered breaking my no-dating rule, until now. And I can’t even date him. Not really.
We’ve made it to Thanksgiving break without any more incidents, but Asher has clearly been doing his best to avoid me. He tosses my assignments on the desk in front of me so that he doesn’t risk touching my hand. He rarely calls on me in class—he’ll only do so if I’m the only one with my hand raised. I can’ttell whether he regrets what happened almost a month ago or just doesn’t want to make the mistake of repeating it.
I want to be pissed at him, but honestly, I’ve been no better. When I needed clarification on an assignment, I had Sam email him instead of doing it myself. When Asher shows up at The Pour House, I make an excuse after finishing my drink and head out early for the night. I do regret what happened between us, only because I walked away from that encounter feeling dirty. I don’t like being secretive or doing thingsthat Iknoware wrong.
We’ve both been avoiding each other like the plague, and I have to believe that means Asher feels at leastsomethingfor me. Even if that something is just lust, it makes me feel better knowing it’s not just one-sided.
And I hate that I can feel myself getting genuine feelings for him. He’s so smart and an excellent teacher. Talking with him while we played pool felt nearly effortless, and even though I knew it was wrong, it somehow felt right. Knowing that he is a decent enough human who makes sure people get back home safely leaves a warm feeling in my stomach.
I try to ignore the fact that our back-and-forth banter feels like the best kind of foreplay, because while that is a bonus, it’s not the most important part. He’s a good man, and he makes me laugh even though he frustrates me to no end.
I’ve nearly made it to the parking lot when Sam skips up to me and bumps my shoulder with his. “Okay, so to celebrate that we finally get some time off for Thanksgiving, we’re going out tonight, right?” he asks, but I can already tell that if I refuse, he’ll just keep pestering me until I agree.
“I’m guessing I can’t convince you to just go out with Derek tonight, can I?”
He’s shaking his head before I even finish asking. “Absolutely not. We always go out before we leave for breaks.”
I sigh. He’s right. It’s our own little tradition that we have, but after what happened on Halloween, the last thing I feel like I should be doing is going to The Pour House and drinking excessively. “Fine. But can we go somewhere new?”
“Somewhere new?” he scoffs. “Like where?”
I shrug. “Let’s go dancing or something.”
He takes a dramatic step backward as he slams his hand to his chest. “Summer Nyx wants to go outdancing?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m fun sometimes, you know.”
“I know you are. It’s just usually only five percent of the time, and then that type of fun is drinking at a bar where you know people will leave you alone or drinking wine at home with your cat.”
“None of that makes me sound like fun.”
“You’re right. ‘Fun’ isn’t usually a word I use when describing you.”
I shove him, but laugh anyway. “Are you up for dancing or not?”
“You know it takes very little convincing to get me to go out and party,” he snickers. “I’ll text Derek and make sure he’s up for it.”
