“Oh, I’m not judging at all,” he assures me. “I just wish he played for my team.” Sam pauses and seems to think something over. “Do you think maybe he could play for both?”
“Seriously?”
“A guy can dream,” he sniffs defensively.
“Sam, I could get kicked out of the program.”
Sam gestures at Derek and mimes taking a shot. Derek eagerly nods before disappearing into the crowd in the direction of the bar. “Look,” Sam starts. “Am I going to downplay the possible consequences of your actions? No. You’re right, you could get kicked from the program, and he could lose his job, but is that really what’s scaring you?”
“What else about this situation would scare me?”
He gulps down the remainder of his margarita before saying, “Summer… you haven’t dated anyone throughout the entirety of your time in the program.”
“So?”
“So… what makes Professor Stirling so special?” I open and close my mouth like a fish out of water as I search for any kind of response. “Do you think there’s a small part of you that’s worried about developing real feelings for him, so you’re searching for any sort of reason not to pursue him?”
“I think the concerns I have regarding a completely inappropriate relationship are entirely valid.”
“I didn’t say they weren’t. I was just asking if there was any other reason you were trying to convince yourself that what you did was so wrong. You’re both consenting adults. Is he in a position of power? Yes. Do I trust that you would tell me if he was holding your grades over your head so that you would put out? Yes. Therefore, I think there’s something about him that genuinely interests you, and since I haven’t seen that reaction out of you with any other guys… I don’t know, Summer. Ithink it might be something worth seeing through.”
“He could lose his job, Sam.”
“Who’s going to find out?”
“I don’t know… anyone?”
“Well, I’m not going to tell anyone, are you?”
“I just told you.”
He rolls his eyes. “Okay, are you going to tell anyone besides me?”
“No.”
“Exactly, and I doubt he’s out here telling the world about what happened. So, if you have an open and honest conversation with him, and both agree to keep things under wraps until it’s more socially acceptable… what’s stopping you?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You just want me to get laid.”
“It’s totally possible,” he nods as he waves at an approaching Derek. “But I also want you to be happy, Summer. And if you think there’s even a little possibility of that with this guy… then I say rules be damned.”
Derek finally reaches us, a huge beaming smile stretching from ear to ear as he hands us our shots. “I took a wild guess and figured it was a tequila kind of night!” he shouts over the music.
I smile and try to give a nod of gratitude before downing the liquor.
After I finish my drinkand Sam coaxes another shot into me, the boys finally talk me into making my way to the dance floor.
I’m trying to have fun, I really am. But the lights are so bright, and it feels like the base is pounding an incessant beat into my brain. I should have just sucked up the possibility of running into Asher—Professor Stirling, goddammit—and just gone to The Pour House.
What? Just because I’m afraid I can’t control myself means I have to avoid my favorite bar? Forever? What if I stay in Seattle after graduating?
Well, after you’ve graduated, running into Asher really won’t be a problem anymore, now will it?
I push the dark little thought out of my mind and try to focus on whatever the words are in the song that’s screeching over the stereos. Thoughts like that will only get me in trouble.
Sam and Derek are all over each other, and a tinge of jealousy zips through me at how unapologetically happy they look. I envy them. I have always been content being alone; it’s never bothered me that Ispend more time on school than on dating. But now, seeing how happy someone could be with the right person? I want that.
Or maybe I’m only feeling this way because of how Asher has been making me feel. The way I felt with him when we played pool. In the elevator. When he gave me the book. I felt seen. Wanted. Desired. Valued.
