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I creep on my high heels to the edge of the door and push my ear to the wood briefly. Surprisingly, I don’t hear any carousing or yelps or laughter. Maybe I’m not running quite as late as I thought?
Softly and with ease, I push the door open into the classroom and peek around the edge. Ty’s at the front with his back to the room, scribbling on the board, so I move quickly, tiptoeing toward the seats in the front as fast as I can.
The class titters slightly at the intrusion, just enough that Ty turns to see what’s going on. I bolt up straight and wave in apology, but Ty jumps as though I’ve shot an ice missile from my hand, like I’m fucking Elsa of the Northeast. He bumps his back into the board on retreat and jumps forward with a yelp of pain that could cut through glass.
Shoot.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry. I’m late, I know,” I apologize quietly as I walk toward my normal spot in the front row on the far-right side of the lecture hall. Ty stares at me the entire time, so hard I feel like he’s reading the dialogue on my soul, and I become overwhelmingly self-conscious. What is he doing? Why isn’t he teaching?
“Anything I can do for you, Professor Winslow?” I ask softly, hoping to jar him back into action. But it’s not until the words leave my lips and Ty’s pupils dilate to saucers that I realize just how dirty it sounds. His eyes flick from my face to just below my belly and then quickly back to my face again. That’s when it hits me.
Is he…still freaking out about the panty thing I did yesterday?
Holy shit. I think he is. I, Rachel Rose, simple TA, have rendered the biggest player at the university speechless. I wonder when I’m going to get my award.
An angel and a devil sit on my shoulders, willing me to choose my path. Come on, Rachel, he’s in the middle of class, the angel says. But think of how fun it’ll be to watch him stumble, the devil challenges easily. He would definitely mess with you if the roles were reversed. I never imagined he wouldn’t be over my little stunt by now. He’s the point guard of games. He’s not supposed to be this easy to mess with.
“Again, sorry for the intrusion. I’ll just take my seat,” I say, choosing a neutral position until I have a little more time to consider. I mean, I’d love to feel the rush of adrenaline I felt yesterday, but is that really the right thing to do?
I take one of two empty seats in the front row and fold my notebook to my current page. I have a lot of jobs as his TA, but one of the easiest is picking out some test questions while listening to his lectures. The students don’t know that, of course. They think I’m just taking notes. Otherwise, I imagine they’d be swarming me as if I were their queen bee.
But I love listening to the interpretations of a writer’s intent and then funneling that into questions based on where Ty takes the discussion.
Two girls next to me wear low-cut blouses without bras and puff their chests into the cool air of the lecture hall. Normally, I wouldn’t pay it any mind. Ty certainly doesn’t. Evidently, staff and students are a hard no, even for a guy like him. I’m sure Alison at the English Department reception desk isn’t a fan of that fact, but it is the reality of how Ty handles his professional life. A kind of shocking reality for Professor Casanova, if I’m honest.
But today, the overtly flirtatious freshman girls give me an idea. One I can’t pass up. I have only a thin camisole under my sweater, and I, too, have nipples to show through my lace bra. And those nipples can certainly serve as a reminder to the professor in the front of the room. The one who thought he was leading our silent game, but sadly, he underestimated his opponent. This will be the second time in a row that I hold the upper hand. And, I can’t be sure, but it sounds a lot like an outright victory to me.
Looks like the devil won out, sister.
Yes, I know, I’m a shit-stirrer. It’s one of my dad’s least favorite qualities in me and, ironically, something my mother always championed. She’s annoying you now, but she’s going to grow up to be a woman who knows her worth and knows when to stand up for herself, Nathaniel, she always used to say.
Sometimes I miss her so much it hurts. And hell, I don’t know, a psychologist might have some things to say about the reasons I am the way I am. But at the end of the day, it’s the only way I know how to be.
