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A student opens the door and he forces himself to look away, smiling a welcome and handing a copy of the syllabus over. He murmurs instructions and watches him take a seat. He shoots a glance at the rest of the class to see if they’ve cottoned on to his panic. He goes back to his podium and rustles through the papers he brought with him in his accordion folder. His hands are actually shaking. He has to feel it, too. I’ll bet it’s all he can do not to drag me off into some dark corner and have his wicked way with me. I’ll allow it. Fuck, now I understand why he didn’t like that teacher/jock fantasy from the first night we were together. I had no idea this was going to be so amazing, but it is.
He scans down the roster list with his index finger and it stops midway through. He looks left and right, and then straight at me once more.
“Mr. Knight?” he calls out, scanning the wrong side of the class as if he doesn’t know full goddamned well where I am. I’ll bet he’s aware of every move I make now.
“That’s me.”
He turns and forces a smile. “Thank you. There’s a note next to your name on my roster. Could you see me after class? I believe there might be an issue with your registration.”
The fuck there is. I didn’t think my smile could get any wider. It’s now hurting my face. “I was going to get a cup o’ joe right after. But you have office hours after…eleven, right?” I glance down at the syllabus. “Why don’t I swing by then?”
He looks taken aback. “Of course. My door is always open during office hours.” I don’t miss the way that he emphasizes the word open. He turns back to the class. “Why don’t we get started?”
Oh, baby boy, I think, we got started a long time ago. And suddenly, my complete lack of caffeine doesn’t bother me. Because Bastien Saint-Jacques is here in front of me, and I am going to make sure he knows how much I love him.
Chapter fifteen
Bastien
Oh fuck. Oh putain de fucking shitting merde. Somehow every single swear word I know, in two languages, is not enough to encapsulate this catastrophe.
Levi is here. He’s in my class.
I glance around the class. I want someone to rescue me. That’s how bad the sense of panic is. I don’t know what to do. How do I even report this to the Head of Department? That’s what I’ll have to do. Oh, hi, I had a torrid summer fling in DC with a guy who’s now my student. What are the odds! Ha ha ha.
Jesus Christ, who’d believe that? They’re more likely to believe that he followed me like a puppy. Fuck. Did he follow me? Is he a stalker now?
I shake my head. He can’t have. Can he? I mean, we’ve only been apart for about a week. That’s not enough time for him to get accepted into college, registered, and paid up, is it? And I never mentioned Fairhaven when we talked. I absolutely made sure of that. There was a cordon sanitaire so complete that when I left I’m pretty sure he thought I taught high school psychology. I didn’t even think that was a thing.
I clear my throat and force myself into the routine I know so well from years of doing this. But the words for the intro lecture just don’t come. Fine. Let’s talk about something else. Code-switching. I can manage code-switching right now. It’s good. It’ll give them an idea of the depth of the field. “So let’s talk about self-presentation as we get started.” I’m physically fighting the urge to glance at him, but it’s habit. I have to look at all of the class, and whenever I turn my head to the right, he’s right there, with that sexy fucking smile.
Oh, my fucking God, Bastien! HE IS NO LONGER SEXY. HE IS YOUR STUDENT.
“How do we communicate things to others? Let’s look at how I’m dressed today. What messages am I sending?”
A young woman with short, straight brown hair raises her hand.
“That you’re a professional?”
“Good. You are?”
“Cecilia.”
“Great. But why a three-piece suit? Does anybody else wear them? I could have just rolled in wearing jeans and a T-shirt. There’s nothing in the faculty handbook that says I can’t.”
“You’re dressing to impress somebody,” Levi says. He doesn’t bother to raise his hand. Of course he doesn’t.
“Thank you, Levi.” Oh, fuck. Should I already know his name? Wait, I did see it on the roster. “It is Levi, correct?”
“Yes, it is, sir.” He smiles at me and leans forward, like he’s relishing my discomfort and personally enjoying the little game he’s decided to start playing.
I clear my throat. “So, when we say that clothes make the man, what are we really saying? Who’s wearing makeup here?”
Almost all the women in class, and one or two of the men, raise their hands.
“Why did you do it?”
“Because girls would say something if I didn’t,” one of the young women in the back says.
