Page 28 of Hot Professor (Tainted Professors)

“Yes, sir. I've decided that New York's too big for me,”I lie, forcing a smile that I'm sure doesn't come close to reaching my eyes, so I quickly skip over him to look out the window. “I think I need something closer to home. A school that's smaller, more community focused maybe.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. Are you sure that's all this is about?”He's scrutinizing me like he knows something. Does he know about me and Harrison? Has he seen us? Or has somebody else seen us and said something?

“Of course.”I zip my lip so I don't say anything that will make him more curious.

“Is there anything I can do to change your mind? From what I've seen, your professors are very pleased with the work you've done. I think we’re a good school for you.”

I rub my hands together. “Thank you, sir. But yes, I've made up my mind. I won't be coming back after the holidays. I've already made the necessary arrangements to complete my final assignments remotely, and I'll come back for any exams I need to do.”

“And your teaching assistant position?”

That's the one professor I have yet to talk to. I swallow and stare down at my shoes. “I'm up to date on all of my tasks, so I don't believe it will be a problem for Professor Ashe, sir.”

“Very well. I'm sorry to see you go, Ms. Kendrick. Good luck to you.”

“Thank you,”I mumble, making a beeline for the door before he can pry anything further from me. The moment the heavy oak door slams behind me, I exhale a shaky breath. I feel like I'm about to step off a cliff with no idea if there's water below or jagged rocks waiting to catch me and tear me open.

Outside, the cold November air slaps at my cheeks, and I drag it deep into my lungs as I hurry to the train station. It does nothing to quell the hurricane raging inside me as I make my way home. I still have one more letter to write. I only hope Harrison is nowhere to be found when I drop it off because I don't think I have the courage to face him when he reads it.

At home, sitting at my kitchen table, pen in hand, a piece of blank paper in front of me, I stare at the cracked stucco ceiling, blinking back tears. There's a pile of paper, crumpled into balls at my feet, all the attempts to find the perfect way to say goodbye.

None of them are perfect.

The next day, I've got another letter stuffed into my bag, even heavier than the last because it pours out my heart to a man I can't have.

I wait until the last minute before I step into the classroom where it all began, and my steps falter. I can almost hear Harrison's voice, smooth and persuasive over the last couple of months, teaching us about life's intricate literature complexities. He's so passionate about his work, and it shows. But the biggest lesson, the hardest one—I'm learning now—is how to walkaway from a love that burns too bright, too dangerous, too... everything.

As I slide into an empty seat, of course, in the front, Harrison turns from the board, his gaze zeroing in on me immediately. A flicker of worry passes over his features before he resumes teaching with a slight furrow between his eyebrows. He seems off-kilter today, stumbling a bit over his words. I give him a slight smile, the best I can muster right now. I've been distant the past week as my thoughts churned with what I knew I had to do—coming to class late and leaving as quickly as possible. I completed marking all assignments remotely, emailing them to him without discussion.

Avoidance.My motus operandi when I’m working out a problem.

Grief is more apropos. I've been grieving a relationship I haven't yet officially ended. I'm grieving a man who hates ice cream but loves sorbet. He went to a private school where his mother taught andcanride horses. He is so intelligent that he’s gifted, but he doesn't act like it. I force myself to concentrate on the words flowing from his firm, kissable lips and instantly recall how they felt on my skin.

My pen scratches across the page as I jot down notes, determined to absorb every bit of knowledge being shared while I can. The sound of his deep voice resonates in the room, and I can't help but laugh when the others do, caught up in the energy of the lecture. As he moves about the classroom, I watch with fascination as his muscles flex beneath his navy Henley, perfectly outlining his toned arms. When he turns around, I can’t miss the way the fabric of his pants clings to his backside—it’s almost too much to handle. With great difficulty, I wrench my gaze away from him and focus on the lesson when I desperately want to catalog everything about him so I can whip his memory up at whim when I'm far away and alone.

When the class ends, I stay in my seat, waiting until finally, only the two of us remain in the room. My heart hammers. My mouth is dry.My knees are trembling.

“Ivy.”

“Professor Ashe.”

He cocks his head. “You seem distracted today.”And he takes a few steps toward me.

It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to jump into his arms, to feel them wrap around me one more time. “Can we talk? Just for a minute?”I spit the words out before I lose my nerve.

“Of course.”But his gaze flicks to the clock and then back to me, and I know we're on borrowed time. “Perhaps later, after the last class?”he suggests.

I shake my head. “It has to be now.”My voice comes out higher than usual, cutting through the air sharper than I intend.

“Sure.”He closes the distance and sits beside me, and our knees touch.

He's too close. The warmth of his body bleeds over to mine, and his scent fills my nose. I jump up and start pacing in front of him. I can hear voices in the hall as students make their way to their next class, and I know that any minute now, some of them are going to wander into this very room.

“I'm leaving,”I blurt, skipping the build-up I had meticulously planned and practiced in front of my bathroom mirror last night for hours until I could say the words with fewer tears than the previous attempts. “The school—I'm leaving school.”

His doesn't crumple like I half expect; instead, he takes the news with a stoic nod, his face a blank slate, other than a second of rapid blinking. “Why?”

“Because...”The words lodge in my throat, thick and uncooperative. “It's for the best. For both of us.”

---