Page 33 of Bad Professor

“You’re not saying much of anything?”

“What do you want me to say?” He looks around and lowers his voice. “It was a mistake, okay? It was one night and I’m not letting it end my career.”

I suck in my breath. “You think—”

“I don’t think. I’m not saying anything. It was a mistake, Tilly. Please respect that.”

I stare at Dexter for a long moment, composing myself so he doesn’t see how his words gut me. Carves out my insides and leaves me hollow.

I was a mistake. That night meant nothing. All my thoughts, memories and fantasies are just that—fantasies. It was a mistake.

I turn and walk away.

17

Dexter

What did I do?

When I told Tilly it was a mistake, to forget it, the look on her face… she was about to crumple. Tears maybe. Hurt, shock, anger… I caused her pain. I hurt Tilly and I hate myself for it.

And then she squared her shoulders, blanked all the emotion from her face and walked away, like she’s heard it all before, done it all before and survived.

The sight of her transformation bothers me more than I could ever imagine.

I let her walk away when all I want to do is throw myself at her and apologize.

But it has to be done.

Because if anyone finds out I’ve slept with a student again, my career is over. I told Tilly the truth about that. That’s a fact.

But if anyone finds out Tilly is the student—at forty-five, Tilly may be one of the oldest students here. She’ll face challenges because of her age, but if people find out she is the student who got me fired, her reputation will be ruined.

I can’t do that to her.

I think Tilly cares deeply about what people think about her.

After I see her sitting there among the other students, listening to me talk about J.R.R. Tolkien, the only way I can finish is to blank her out. I have to forget, but I can’t, so I have to pretend. I pretend she means nothing.

I’m not yet sure what Tilly means to me, but I know that night meant something. It was too good not to. It could mean the start of something amazing, but because Tilly is sitting in one of my classes, I have to pretend it’s nothing. She’s nothing.

I have to keep things completely professional. It’s the best for both of us.

It’s also the last thing I want to do.

Max calls me that night. “Hey, bro, how was the first day of school?” It’s been a tradition since my first year of teaching - Max always calls the first day to see how things went and he takes me out for a beer when classes are over.

We do lots of things throughout the year, but first-day-of-school call is his habit. And I’ve always looked forward to sharing the good, bad, and the ugly with him.

“It was shit,” I tell him.

“Oh no! But you had your Frodo class.”

“Didn’t go as well as I hoped.” Which is a lie—the class was great, up to the moment I saw Tilly.

When I completely destroyed her.

“That’s too bad,” Max says. “Hey, let’s have a beer. Cady’s here; I’ll see if she’s got any friends for you to—”

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