Page 16 of Praise You

"Noah Atwood right? The one you're always sitting next to in class?"

"Yeah, he's one of my roommates. Plus his boyfriend, Asher, and our two other friends."

"Sounds like a full house." He chuckles.

"It really is. Do you have any roommates?"

"Uh, no. I live alone. I did the whole roommate thing once, and it didn't work out."

I point out our house on the street and he pulls into the driveway before putting the car in park. "At least you don't have to deal with the messes of other people." I shudder, thinking of how messy West can be sometimes.

"That's true." He laughs, turning in his seat to look at me.

"Thank you for driving me home," I tell him sincerely, grateful I didn’t have to walk home in the frigid night.

"It's no problem. Really."

My hand rests on the seat belt release, not wanting to take it off. I don't want to get out of this car. I want to stay here with Professor Carson and talk more. I like learning little details about him. All I know is what I've seen in class, so this little glimpse I'm getting tonight is everything.

"Well, thank you again. I guess I'll see you in class on Tuesday?" I really don’t want to leave, but I know I need to.

"Yeah, I'll see you then."

Pushing open the door, I slowly get out, hoping he'll stop me, but knowing he won't. I don't know what it is about him, but he's so easy to talk to. I could easily get lost in conversation with him. I walk up the pathway to the door and insert the key into the lock. I turn around to see him still sitting in the car watching me. Giving him a small wave, I grin widely when he waves back at me. I walk into the house and shut the door, leaning against it, the faint sound of his car finally leaving the driveway.

Chapter Seven

Oliver

I'm sitting in the library with Ronan to the left of me and another student, Mike, to my right. I'm reviewing the expectations that I gave them earlier on the research assignment, answering any questions either of them may have. After helping Mike figure out the direction he wants to go with his paper, he gathers up his materials and tells us goodbye.

Once he's out of sight, I turn toward Ronan, giving him my full attention. "How are you doing with this assignment?"

"Good. Well, better now that you explained it more."

Ronan comes to me after class, stating he needs further help, but from what I can tell, he doesn't need much guidance. However, for some reason, I can't tell him no or bring up the fact I don’t think he needs my support. Each time he comes up to me after class and asks if we're meeting in the library, the word 'yes' blurts from my mouth before I can stop it.

He fascinates me, and I want to know everything about him. Not only does he make me laugh, but we converse so easily. I can talk to him about anything and not realize an hour has flown by. His passion for literature is infectious and I love hearing him ramble about the assignments I give him.

This is sooo wrong, these feelings I’m having toward him, but I can't help it. I love talking to him. I love hearing him talk about what he's researching and how he's going to write his papers. The little pieces he throws in about his life have me hanging on each word, craving to know every little thing.

I want to know more about him. I want to know about where he comes from and what his plans are for the future. Not only him, but his roommates and the best friend who's also in my class. But all I know of him is his name and how he can write the hell out of a research paper.

Ronan drops his pencil on the floor, both of us bending and reaching down to pick it up at the same time. My hand brushes his and goosebumps dot my skin, a shiver running through my body. My eyes meet his, his brown eyes staring right at me. We’re so close, his soft breath fans against my face. Sitting back up, I scoot my chair an inch away, trying to give myself some room to breathe.

Fuck.

I shouldn't be reacting to my student this way. It's wrong.

"So, what made you want to become a professor at a university? I mean, out of all the different jobs, why this one?" he asks, putting our attention onto something else, and I'm grateful.

"I also liked the idea of being a teacher. When I first graduated college, I thought I would want to teach high school, but after interning there for a couple months, I hated it. I ended up at a community college and I loved it there. However, I wanted something a little more challenging so I went back to school to get my doctorate degree. I was able to achieve it in two years, once I completed a dissertation. Then I applied for jobs at different universities. I truly do love it, though. Teaching college students is completely different from high school students. High school students have to be there taking my class, college students want to take my class."

"Wow. You must really love literature," he says, a hint of awe in his voice.

"I do." We both laugh, his snicker causing my heart to skip a beat. "Why are you taking my literature course?"

"I want to be a literature teacher." His answer stuns me. He’s talked about loving literature, but to know he wants to spend his life teaching it the same as me? Another little snippet I tuck away for later.

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