Page 35 of Teach Me Your Ways

What the fuck was happening right now? I took a step back, putting some distance between us, but she moved closer again.

“Dean, I’m not sure what you’re implying⁠—”

“I’m not implying anything.” Her eyes roamed my body, but it wasn’t admiration. It felt more like a butcher eyeing a slab of meat. “I’m simply observing that you have a very tactile approach to teaching. Very physical. Hands-on demonstration techniques.”

She was definitely trying to insinuate something. And I didn’t like it.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” I said. “My teaching methods are entirely professional.”

“Are they?” She tilted her head again, and I caught something cold and sharp in her expression.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have a class to prepare for.”

“Of course.” She stepped aside, giving me another one of those looks that made my skin crawl. “We should do this more often, Grady. These little chats. I find them so illuminating.”

I walked away feeling like I needed another shower, and it wasn’t even nine in the morning yet. I made it to the hall, still feeling icky after the interaction. Several students were already seated. Ten minutes later, I sat at the front desk, pretending to review some notes while stealing glances at Cece.

The students were taking a test and the room was quiet. Cece moved gracefully between the rows, her focus on the students, oblivious to the effect she had on me. Lina, on the other hand, prowled the aisles with a predatory air, her eyes occasionally flicking toward me, seeking attention I was unwilling to give.

My phone buzzed, jolting me from what was spinning into a less than appropriate fantasy. A calendar notification flashed: Dive Prep!

I stifled a groan. The diving trip I’d planned over the summer had completely slipped my mind. Back then, Lina was my only TA, and I’d arranged a scuba dive to a shipwreck off the coast of South Carolina, partly to impress her mother so the project could get some money.

Now, with Cece as my other TA, I faced a dilemma. I doubted she was certified for such a dive, and the idea of excluding her felt wrong.

I could offer to get her certified. My mind raced through the logistics. The university had a decent training pool, and with intensive sessions, she could probably get the basic certification within a couple weeks. But that would mean private lessons. Hours alone with her in the pool, watching her in a wetsuit that would cling to every curve. Teaching her how to breathe underwater while I struggled to breathe above it.

Shit, was I seriously considering this just to see her in a bikini?

I rubbed my face with both hands, trying to banish the image of Cece in swimwear from my brain. This was exactly the kind of thinking that proved I was losing my grip on reality. A responsible professor would either cancel the dive or find a way to include her that didn’t involve me personally training her. But the thought of disappointing her, of watching her face fall when I told her she couldn’t come, made my chest tight. She, unlike Lina, was actually interested in archeology. She would love the dive. Cece was someone I could share my passion of exploration with.

The truth was becoming harder to ignore; I was obsessed with her. Not just attracted—obsessed. I found myself taking routes across campus that might lead to a glimpse of her. I’d started timing my coffee runs to coincide with her schedule. Last week, I’d spent twenty minutes in the parking lot after class, pretending to check my phone while really just hoping she’d walk by. Praying her car wouldn’t start so I could help her out.

It was pathetic. I was a grown man, a professional, and I was acting like a teenage boy with his first crush. The smart thing would be to get out there and find someone else to occupy my thoughts. Someone age appropriate. Someone who wasn’t a grad student. Someone who wouldn’t cost me my career if things went south.

But every time I tried to picture myself with another woman, the image felt hollow. Empty. Like trying to satisfy hunger with cardboard. I’d had opportunities over the past few weeks. There’d been that colleague at the faculty mixer, a woman at the coffee shop who’d slipped me her number, and a few women that had been at The Library. None of them made my pulse quicken. None of them made me forget how to breathe.

Only Cece did that.

I was doomed, and I knew it. Completely, utterly doomed.

A student raised her hand, breaking me from my spiral of self-recrimination. “Professor Stone? Question about number seven?”

I stood, grateful for the distraction, and walked over to help her. But even as I explained the difference between stratigraphic layers, my eyes kept drifting to where Cece stood near the windows, sunlight catching the red in her hair like fire.

Yeah. Definitely doomed.

After the quiz, as students filed out, I approached Cece.

“Hey, Cece, have you ever gone scuba diving?”

She looked up, a hint of curiosity in her eyes. “I have.”

That surprised me. “Yeah? Certified?”

“Yeah, I’m Advanced Open Water certified. That’s actually one of the reasons I chose this university.”

I raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. “Really? That’s great. I have a dive trip planned to a shipwreck site. Would you be interested in joining?”

Her eyes lit up, a smile playing on her lips. “Absolutely. That sounds amazing.”

I nodded, trying to maintain a professional demeanor.

“What’s the dive?” she asked.

I flashed a grin. “We’re searching for pirate treasure.”