I respond to an email from a student already asking for an extension on their paper that’s due next week. I resist the urge to roll my eyes at the audacity of a grad student waiting all of one day before requesting an extension on an assignment that’s due a week away. A simple, The due date will remain next Monday, should suffice.
A text message appears in the upper-right corner of my laptop screen. I glance around to see that plenty of students are still working on their quizzes, though I immediately notice that Summer has already finished hers and is impatiently tapping her foot against the floor.
I click on the text to see that it’s from my coworker’s friend, Nikki. Jared had mentioned that he would give her my number, since he thought we’d really hit it off. I personally wasn’t sure if I felt like doing the expected niceties of a first date… but it has been a while since I’ve gotten laid—months, in fact.
My eyes flit toward Summer.
No, do not go there.
I return my attention to the text.
Nikki:
Hey! Jared gave me your # and I figured I’d reach out!
See if you want to get dinner or drinks?
The fact that she used the number sign instead of simply typing out ‘number’ doesn’t bode well for us, but as I catch myself looking back toward Summer, I figure it can’t hurt to go out with Nikki. Jared said she was nice… and most importantly, she isn’t one of my students. There’d be no breach of my contract by seeing her outside of the classroom.
A message from Jared pops up in our group chat.
Jared:
I let the freshies go early.
Heading 2 Pour House. See u there.
The Pour House is where we often grade papers. Well, it’s where I grade papers, and he usually tries to hit on women and will occasionally gossip to me about what’s going on with the other teachers in our program.
Eli:
OMW.
Elijah’s always very cagey about his work, but considering that he was born into money and seems to be free whenever we invite him to something, I assume he doesn’t work much at all. He claims to be a private investigator but seems to work very few hours in his downtown office.
I send back an affirmative before looking up at my class. Everyone seems to have finished, so I decide to let the class out early.
Some students give little cheers of excitement after I announce that class is ending, and I bite back a smile.Can’t let anyone see you’re a softy, Jared’s voice echoes in my head. He’s constantly poking fun at how much of a hard-ass he thinks I am. While I am usually trying to hold back from telling him he can’t consistently cancel class on Fridays.
Students push themselves to their feet as I collect their quizzes, filing out the door, eager to soak in some of the nice fall weather.
I start to pass by her desk, and she doesn’t look up as she reaches her hand out to give the paper to me. Her fingers brush mine, and I swear a spark of energy zaps my fingertips where they make contact with her. Her startled eyes meet mine, the brown catching the light so that flakes of gold appear.
She felt it too.
She bites her lower lip, and I quickly move on to the next student.
No, no, no. I will not get infatuated with a student. No matter how pretty she is, or how smart she is, or how her short skirts show off legs that seem to go on for miles.I won’t even think about her in those skirts. Even though apparently, she wears them. Every. Damn. Day.
She’s still looking after me as her friend clears his throat, startling her. Her face flushes as he gives her a knowing smile while she collectsher bag. I resist the urge to grin, knowing she felt just as flustered as I momentarily had.
I plop back down at my desk as I watch her leave. Her simple black heels click across the floor, and I mentally slap myself for thinking about how they’d look with her legs wrapped around my waist.
You are not supposed to think your students are hot.That’s going to become my damn mantra for the semester.
I shoot off another text to Nikki.
How’s this weekend work for you?
