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I have a hard time sleeping.I keep envisioning Kayla and me engaging in all sixty-four positions enumerated in the Kama Sutra and a handful more that are probably not physically possible but exist in my mind. Before dawn, I haul my weary carcass out of bed and go for a run. After two hours, my legs are near dead, but my cock is very much alive. I stroke an unsatisfactory orgasm out in the shower, imagining Kayla pinned against the glass while I pound into her from behind. Out of the shower, I dress, and since there’s no point in sitting around my house, I go to work. There are still hours to go before I can drive over to the bakery.
The department is empty. I sit down at my computer, but my eyes keep straying to the desk near the door. If I take her computer away, she won’t be able to type out a resignation letter. Of course, if she has a computer at home getting rid of her work one doesn’t solve the problem. I need Dean Campbell to rip up the resignation letter, but what do I tell him? That she threatened to quit after I kissed her? He’d make me sit through a dozen lectures on harassment in the workplace, and I’d get behind on my project. Obviously I shouldn’t have kissed her. The thing is...I can’t even promise that I won’t when I see her again. I slam my hand against my desk.
Everything needs to be taken one step at a time. First, I will drive over to her place, and we will get coffee and pastries and talk this out like rational adults. Second, we will drive back here and conduct our work. Third, if I continue to have inappropriate fantasies about Kayla, I will take care of them with my own hand. If none of that works, then I will kidnap her and keep her in a cabin in the woods until she agrees that the best thing to do is lie around naked in my bed all day.
I grab my Tesla keys and head for the parking garage. Mo Bow is not far away, and while it’s still too early, I feel better sitting outside her apartment than back at the university in our empty office.
Wait.
Ouroffice?
It’s been one day, and I’m already changing my pronouns. I frown. This type of rapid attachment isn’t good. Isn’t it what led me to claim her mouth in the elevator when I could have rubbed her back or had her do jumping jacks or basically anything other than attacking her and making her want to quit?
I decide to get out of the car and see if she’s awake. Some people are early risers. I am. There’s no reason to think she’s still asleep. Hell, she could be impatiently waiting for me or writing that damned resignation letter.
I take the stairs two at a time. At her door, I lift my fist to pound on it when it occurs to me that I should bring a peace offering. Downstairs in the café, I pick out a dozen donuts and four different kinds of coffee. She didn’t say what kind she liked, so I opted for a dark roast, light roast, a mocha latte, and an iced Americano. Armed with breakfast, I return to her apartment. My hands are full so I can’t knock properly. I end up banging my elbow against the steel door.
A woman who is not Kayla opens it as far as the lock chain allows. “Yes?” the older woman says with an arched, unwelcoming eyebrow. Is this Kayla’s mother? All evidence would point to that. They have the same eyebrows, nose, and general face structure, and so it has to be a relative.
“Ma’am.” I give her a chin nod. “I’m here for Kayla.”
“And you are?” The eyebrow remains elevated.
“Dr. Nathan Amherst.” I lift the cartons of coffee and donuts. “I’m bringing her breakfast. Can you tell her I’m here so that we can go?”
The woman looks me over like I’m an insect under a microscope and not one that she’s impressed with. “No. I don’t think I will.” She slams the door shut, leaving me with a shit ton of food and drink and no Kayla.
I debate whether I should knock again, but what’s the point? At some point Kayla will have to leave, and as long as I’m waiting she won’t be able to escape. Or, you know, she will remember we had plans and will act accordingly.
“Dr. Amherst! Dr. Amherst!”
I hear my name called out. I pause on my way to the car and see a young woman tripping toward me.
“Dr. Amherst,” she says breathlessly when she reaches me. “It’s me. Dani Nelson from your Soil & Crop Sciences class last term.”
I don’t remember her. I don’t really remember any of my students. Teaching is a necessary evil.
Her lips quiver and start to fall. “I sat in the front, three seats from the aisle. I wanted to get closer to you, but your class fills up so fast. I waited three hours to ensure I got to the front of the room and even then it was a close call.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you want to get close to me? Are you hard of hearing? I used a microphone while I taught.”
A burst of laughter escapes her. She places a hand on my arm and bends over as she chuckles. “No. No,” she says as she straightens up. “I could hear you fine. Gosh, you haven’t changed at all, have you?”
I have no idea what that means. The girl plucks the donut box out of my hand. “Ohh, I love Mo Bow’s monster donut. It’s so good.”
“Which one is that?” I should give that one to Kayla.
The girl points to the blue donut with the cookie crumble. “It’s supposed to look like Cookie Monster.”
Sometimes my students talk in a language I don’t fully understand. I just let it go.
“Cookie Monster is a puppet on Sesame Street. Didn’t you watch that when you were a kid?”
I’m sure I didn’t. As a kid, I was reading textbooks and preparing for high school. I don’t share that with the student, though. “You may have a different one.” The monster donut will go to Kayla since it is the superior donut in the box, but this girl can have one of the dozen as a gift for clueing me in to which pastry is the best. Kayla will love this donut and the coffee and there will never be another word of resignation again.
