Page 23 of Hot Professor (Tainted Professors)

The buzz of a thousand academic minds hums through the corridors and classrooms like bees in springtime, but I barely notice. Books hugged against my chest, backpack over my shoulder, and a lemongrass tea in my hand; I weave through the sea of students with practiced ease at this point. I slide into a seat in the front row as the second hand ticks its final tock before class starts. The energy in the room shifts. And it's not from my classmates. I don't need to turn around to know Harrison has arrived.

Anticipation crackles in the air like static as he strides between the seats to the front of the room. It's ridiculous that he commands attention without trying. Today, his tailored pants and crisp shirt are too not so casual. He’s definitely not your average professor.

Every girl in the room notices him. Wants him. I'm not immune, and I've had him. Or rather, he's had me. Can the others tell? Can they see the difference in me? Since that night, I feel like everyone knows. I've even skipped calls with Mom, not wanting her to guess based on some inflection in my voice. I’ve promised to call in a few days when the aura of my missing virginity has faded.

“Morning, Ivy.”Harrison greets me, his voice silky smooth as he passes. His hand brushes against my shoulder as it swings with his steps.Or did he do it on purpose?

“Good morning, Profession Ashe.”Pushing my hair behind my ear, I avoid looking anywhere but straight ahead.

He stops and turns, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. Is it my imagination, or did his stare linger in a few spots? Because those areas of my body certainly fluttered.

“Everything okay?”Concern flanks his tone, and I can feel the weight of his gaze, studying me like I'm some kind of intricate poem he needs to dissect and parse on the chalk board.

“Yep, all good,”I reply, a little too quickly, and flip my textbook open. If I can lose myself in the words, maybe I can forget the warmth of his skin, the way my name sounded on his lips, the way his mouth felt on my…

A frown spreads across his sculpted face, as well as a momentary display of confusion before he lets it go, all too aware that now’s not the time or the place. He spins away, giving me a welcome break from his penetrating gaze. As he begins the lecture, his words wash over me like waves, but occasionally, I sense his attention returning to me.

“Let's discuss the...”

His voice fades into the background as I automatically scribble notes, my handwriting a mess of curves and lines, a mirror of my thoughts. I came here for knowledge, power—the power to make something of myself. But this magnetic pull towards Harrison threatens to upend everything.

And I can't tell if I should be excited or terrified.

Later, in Harrison's office, where I'm trying to focus on reviewing and grading last week's assignments, my concentration wanes, and I gaze out the window. It's been raining, leaving the sky sad and grey and the trees naked as the last of their leaves fall to the ground. There's even a scent of snow in the air.

But inside his quiet office, I'm caught in limbo, wondering where things stand with him. We have yet to talk about that night at his apartment. About the night I have him my virginity.

School has kept us both busy, and he's mentioned the upcoming review of his tenure package. I know that means a lot to him. It’s important. But when I sit in class and watch him, while I listen to other girls speculate about what he’s like in bed, I can't help but wonder if I was a one-and-done. Was I a disappointment? Did I do something wrong? Am I too young? Maybe I didn't satisfy him.

My phone rings, and I dig it out of my purse without looking at caller ID. “Hello?”

“Ivy, honey, I can’t believe you finally answered. How are you?”

“Oh, hi, Mom.”

“How’s school? Busy I bet. Have you made any friends yet?”

Did Harrison count? “Yes, Mom. We've been having lunch together and studying together sometimes.”It's not a complete lie. Sandra and Deanna are in my Shakespeare class, and we bonded over Twelfth Night. Plus, they're in the same study group as I am.

“Oh, I'm so glad to hear that. And how are your classes going?”

“Good. I'm doing well so far.”

“Are you coming home for Thanksgiving? We can send you the money for your flights.”

The holiday is still a few weeks away, and I have yet to give it much thought. “I'm not sure yet. It will depend on my assignments.”

I can hear the disappointment in her sigh, but she's trying not to let on.

“I'll try, Mom. I promise.”I'm sure she's smiling while she fights a few tears. “And even if I can't make it for Thanksgiving, I'll be home soon after for Christmas.”

We talk for a few more minutes, and I tell her about the weather, the new plants I purchased for my apartment, and the homeless man I brought a blanket to one day on my way into the city. I ask how Dad is doing and get the gossip from home. I miss my parents, as I know they miss me. As an only child, I'm sure the house feels empty without me there every day. Soon, we say our goodbyes, and I'm back to staring out the window again.

It's been days since Harrison and I crossed that line—days of small talk, sidelong glances, and me pretending that I'm not thinking about his hands on my skin every damn second. I hate that I got spooked and ran out of his home. But I had no idea who his visitor was, and I didn’t want to get him in trouble. When the Uber driver dropped me off, I texted Harrison to let him know I'd arrived safely home and thanked him for the evening. But I thought thanking him for having sex with me seemed wrong, so I deleted that message and instead told him I enjoyed the evening and everything that had happened. I did thank him for making me feel special and taking care of me afterward.

After that, a major dose of embarrassment settled in. I dodged our usual post-class conversations with excuses about studying or doing group projects for other classes for a few days. He seemed to buy it, but there was always a furrow of concern between those striking brows that told me he sensed somethingwas off.And then when I finally relaxed about it, the tables seemed to reverse.

In a few short weeks, I’ve developed some hard-core feelings for Harrison. Because I have no experience with relationships I don’t know if this is normal or not. Anything more than friendship, or professor-student-TA is risky. But I don't want a simple friendship. And I’d give up the TA position in a heartbeat. Because I want more—so much more.

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