Page 32 of Bad Professor

He looks up. “Dexter,” I say in a softer voice, unable to stop my smile.

“Tilly.” His expression is guarded and the way he says my name is nothing like how he whispers it the other night. “What are you doing here?”

“I… I go to school here.” I have a backpack full of books and my laptop. That should be obvious what I’m doing here. I reach the bottom, my final steps faltering at how he looks at me.

There’s nothing resembling how he looked at me the other. No gentle softness. No hunger.

“I didn’t know you were a professor,” I say hesitantly.

“You didn’t?” His voice is an accusation and it confuses me.

“How could I? You never said a word about what you did. I don’t even know your last name.” Maclean, I say to myself. Professor Maclean. I know it now.

“So you’re really in this class?” Dexter’s shoulders slump and I catch my breath at his obvious disappointment. Everything I wanted to say to him curls back into my throat. “I thought you just came to see me.”

That doesn’t sound like it’s something he wanted. He doesn’t want me to be here, didn’t want to see me.

Is it because I didn’t text him? Is he angry about that?

Or was it the sex? Was it bad? Was I bad? Is this all one-sided?

Was I not enough for him?

I frown helplessly. “I’m in this class?”

“You don’t sound too sure about that. I had no idea you were a student here. You said you were—”

“Old?”

I’m too old for him. Everything he said was a lie. I don’t need to hear anymore. I wrap my arm around my waist.

“It’s not that.” Oh, but it is. It’s what everyone is not saying when they look at me. I’ve had a year to get used to it but it still stings. “I’m surprised to see you again. I didn’t think I’d hear from you.”

“I didn’t text,” I say, hating the note of apology in my voice. “I was—”

“Good.”

The sudden coolness in his tone is like a slap to the face. I take a step back. “I thought…”

I have no idea what I think. That he liked me? That he wanted to hear from me, like he said in the note? That it might be something more than one night?

No to all.

Don’t be so stupid, Carlos’s voice says in my head.

“I’m your professor. You’re my student.” Bitterness laces his words, like I’ve done something wrong. “Do not tell anyone about this.”

“I wouldn’t…”

“Pretend it never happened,” he says in a low voice. “Forget about it.”

“Dexter…”

“I’m your professor. That’s it.” I can’t read his expression and I don’t want to. “I hope you enjoy the class. If you’re still interested in taking it.”

“You want me to drop the class?”

“I didn’t say that.”

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