Hopefully, the delusional thoughts regarding my student are just because I haven’t gotten laid in so long. She’s beautiful, sure, anyone can see that, but I just need to have a nice time with someone appropriate to get her out of my head.
I fire off a message to Jared letting him know I’ll be at the bar in fifteen minutes before I start packing up my stuff.
Summer pokes her head back in the door. “Professor Stirling?”
I jump at the sound of her soft, melodious voice. I clear my throat before speaking. “Yes, Ms. Nyx?”
She hesitantly walks up to my desk and leans against the side as I push my chair farther away from it. She’s not leaning against it like some of my female students do, leaning across it to give a show of what’s down their shirt. She’s leaning her hip against the side and holding her books close to her chest.She’s probably leaning against the desk because her feet are killing her from those damn shoes.
It takes everything in me not to slowly look down her bare legs at the shoes in question.
“I just had a question regarding the essay due next week?” She flicks her hair over her shoulder, and the scent of vanilla and lavender assaults my nose. I’ve never liked lavender much, but on her it’s intoxicating. I hold my breath and resist the urge to move closer to her to see if the scent is stronger in her hair or on her neck.
“Yes, what is it?”
“Is the length of the essay a hard ten pages? Or is there some leeway there?”
She’s one of those students, I can’t help but think as disappointment courses through me. For some reason, I had expected more of her, despite having had her as a student for only two days.
My shoulders drop with a sigh of relief. If Summer can’t handle my class, then all this could ever be is physical attraction. There’d be no intellectual intrigue. “The requirement is ten pages, Miss Nyx, nothing shorter.”
Her face flushes as she tucks some of her golden blonde hair behind her ear. She lets out a breathy laugh that has my spine straightening. “Sorry, I was wondering if it could be a bit longer?”
“Longer?” I ask, surprised.
“Yes, I’ve already started it, and I’m just worried it might end up being a bit longer than ten pages.” She sees the flabbergasted look on my face and hurries to add, “Nothing too extreme, I was just thinking it might be closer to eleven or twelve.”
I run a hand across my jaw as I chuckle. “I’ll allow it for the first paper of the semester as long as it does not exceed twelve pages. But don’t make a habit of this, Miss Nyx.” I smile. “Contrary to popular belief, I do have a social life, and I don’t enjoy grading copious amounts of homework in my free time.”
She laughs again, and it does something weird to my chest. Almost like hearing her laugh makes me want to laugh right alongside her. “I wouldn’t dream of interrupting your social engagements, sir.” She gives me a knowing smile before turning on her heel and heading back toward the door.
“Miss Nyx?” I say before I can stop myself.
“Yes, Professor?”
Some unknown feeling churns in my stomach as she looks back at me over her shoulder.
“Have a nice rest of your day.”
“You too.” She grins before leaving the classroom.
I need someone to slap me. Or for her to randomly decide she needs to transfer out of my class.
You are not supposed to think your students are hot.
I met Jared and Elijahat the bar five minutes later than expected, thanks to Summer coming back in at the last second.
“Sorry about that,” I say as I hang my jacket over the back of my favorite chair near the back of the bar. It’s located right near the pool table, so that if I ever need a quick break from grading papers, I can hop over, play a quick game, and never have to move my things.
The bar is covered with different neon signs for all kinds of alcohol, giving the space a very vibrant look. One of the many reasons why I like this bar is that it’s in Ballard, not right on campus; I rarely see students here. This spot is a little hole-in-the-wall dive bar that I’ve been going to for years. Even though I live near Pike Place, I consider this bar worth the drive.
Jared nods at me without looking up from his phone. I can see the one blazer he owns thrown haphazardly over the back of his chair. He wears that blazer, a graphic T-shirt, and jeans every day. Today, the shirt has aTeenage Mutant Ninja Turtlesgraphic. There are already three beers on the table, some light crap that Jared drinks, an IPA for Elijah, and my Guinness.
Elijah is already halfway done with his beer. He runs a hand through his golden-brown hair and flicks his startlingly blueeyes up my way. He’s in black slacks and a white button-up with the sleeves rolled up, showing off heavily tattooed arms. It’s what he calls his ‘work clothes,’ but I’m not sure how often he actually works.
Jared sets his phone down and sighs, removing black-framed glasses before running a hand over his face.
“Everything okay?” I ask before taking a healthy sip of my beer.
