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The students gather their books, rise, and leave the room, murmuring together.
I shuffle through some notes on my desk, and I’ve just pulled up a lesson plan on my iPad when a figure appears in my doorway.
“Could I speak to you for a moment, Dr. Stone?”
I look up from my iPad.
My classes are over for the day, and I don’t recognize the attractive young woman standing at my desk.
“Sure. What can I help you with?”
“I was wondering…if you’d like to have a cup of coffee sometime.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, “but it’s against the rules of the university for a professor to date a student.”
“But I’m no longer your student.”
No, she’s not, and I wish I remembered her name so I could address her. But I don’t.
“But you’re still a student at the university,” I say.
“It’s a ridiculous rule,” she says. “I could understand it if I were in your class, but I’m not.”
“It’s still the rule.”
She smiles. “I know a professor who bends that rule.”
I know several, but it’s never led to anything good. “I don’t,” I say succinctly.
Crestfallen, she—God, I wish I remembered her name—leaves the classroom.
This happens to me a lot, but this is the first time it’s happened since I met Frankie.
Frankie, who I’m falling for.
Frankie, who didn’t call me last night as she said she would.
I’m giving her some space. The last thing I want to do is smother her. I’ve been smothered before, and it’s not pretty.
Then another knock on my open door.
I look up. “Oh, hey, Linda. Come on in.”
Linda Burnett, the chair of the English Lit department, enters. Linda’s about ten years older than I am, and she’s a great person. We’ve had many chats over the years about The Great Gatsby.
“Hey, Hunter. Who was that just leaving your classroom?”
“A former student.” I shake my head. “She wanted to have coffee with me.”
“You turned her down, I hope.”
“Of course I did. You know me better than that.”
Her forehead is wrinkled, and she wasn’t smiling when she entered.
“You look glum.” I frown. “What’s going on?”
She clears her throat and sits down across from my desk. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m going to just blurt it out. Are you publishing an erotic novel under the pen name of Sterling Parker?”
I drop my jaw. No. Just no. “I’m not sure what business that is of yours.”
“Normally, it wouldn’t be, Hunter, but you’re one of our most published professors in academic journals. I would have appreciated a heads-up about this.”
“I haven’t admitted to anything.”
She sighs. “I suppose you haven’t been on social media lately.”
“I’m never on social media, Linda.”
“I’m afraid you’ve been outed,” she says. “Did you ever have a copy of this manuscript in your office?”
“I haven’t admitted to writing anything other than my publications in academic journals and my nonfiction book on F. Scott Fitzgerald’s works.”
“I’m not your enemy here, Hunter. I’m trying to help you.”
“Help me with what?”
“Did you write the novel?”
“For Christ’s sake, Linda. Yes, I wrote the novel. I’m Sterling Parker. I’m not ashamed of my work, but I chose to use a pseudonym for exactly this reason. I didn’t want any blowback here at work.”
“I’m afraid it’s a little late for that.”
“I’m still not ashamed. The book is damned good, and though it’s fictional, it’s based on years of research into alternative sexual lifestyles during the Regency and Victorian eras. My agent says she’s never read anything like it, and—”
Linda holds up her hand. “I’m not questioning the validity of the work, Hunter. You’re an excellent researcher, an original thinker, and a talented writer. We all know that. The issue is the potential scandal that’s brewing on social media.”
I roll my eyes. “It’ll blow over. Things like this always do.”
“I hope so,” Linda says. “The university can’t afford another scandal—not after what happened with Logan Armstrong.”
“That was a witch hunt. Logan never touched that young man.”
“I know that, and so do you. And so does he. And so does that kid. But Title IX requires the school to investigate everything.”
“Logan told me all about it,” I say. “He rejected the guy’s advances, and the guy got pissed, so he started everything. It’s over now.”
“Yes,” Linda agrees. “That’s over, but it was enough for Logan to leave Mellville. I don’t want to lose you, too.”
“Because someone thinks I wrote an erotic novel? So what? I did. I’m a human being, Linda. I’m allowed to have a life and interests outside the university. But this is a private matter. I do not like when my privacy is threatened.”
“Of course. I understand.” She twists her lips. “But I’m not going to lie, Hunter. I have a bad feeling about this.” She rises, leaves, and closes the door.
I gather my stuff, head to the subway, and get on the first train. I’m pissed. I never wanted my pen name to become known because my private life is private. It’s not the end of the world, but who outed me?
