Page 39 of Bad Professor

It wasn’t all on me. Carlos didn’t make an effort either.

I understood why after I found out about the affair, but there were too many years in our marriage where I didn’t feel wanted. Desired.

Dexter might think the whole night was a mistake, but he can’t deny that he didn’t want me.

Knowing that makes it so hard to have him standing before me, and not be able to touch him.

The first week of classes goes by, and the second. I become more comfortable with the other students. Add to the fact I’m in a constant state of arousal while Dexter paces and tells funny stories and generally makes all the females and a good percent of the males fall in love with him, and I have to deal with the fact that I am old enough to be the mother of most of those in the class.

It took me almost to Thanksgiving to get used to that last year, but it only takes a few weeks before I start talking to others and participating in class discussions, so I’m doing much better.

Especially in the fantasy class.

It’s a genre of magic and dragons and wizards, more make-believe than other genres, and it attracts those who like make-believe.

People who like make-believe don’t always like their own lives for whatever reason. They are the outcasts, the introverts, the brilliant who don’t have the social skills to make their path easier.

Being forty-five in a class of twenty-somethings means I fit right in because I’m an outsider too.

And it’s the final reason I’m going to stick it out, even though Dexter has started to lecture me in my dreams. Giving me instructions and details about what he wants me to do.

In a good way. And I’m a quick learner.

It also means I’ve become very good at touching myself.

21

Dexter

I’ve never enjoyed it when a person doesn’t like me.

I’m a friendly guy. Good-natured. It drives me crazy to think that I might be on some list of most hated professors. I’m over-friendly to my classes—which obviously has gotten me into trouble in the past—but I like to be liked.

This year is off to a good start. I can tell my classes are engaged and enjoy the material I’m teaching them. I’m pretty sure they like me.

All except for one.

Tilly Estes hates me. It’s obvious how she looks at me with cool eyes and without a hint of a smile. She refuses to laugh when I make a joke. She speaks to those around her, and seems to have gained some popularity in class, but she doesn’t give me the time of day.

I don’t like it. It’s my fault, but I still don’t like it.

She never asks questions, or even meets my eyes in class. And after, she’s one of the first to leave, or caught up in a laughing group, and there’s no way I can approach her then.

I never texted her to apologize. The way she looked through me during the first class on Taylor Swift told me there was no point.

At least if she hates me, I know there won’t be any hope.

And I hate hoping.

Because every time I see Tilly, I find myself thinking maybe… rather than not going to happen. Shouldn’t happen.

I know the distance between us is the best thing, but all I want is for her to smile at me.

Just once.

In the third week of classes, I come up with a way to get Tilly to talk to me. I know it’s a horrible, very bad, idea, but I came up with it after waking up from a Tilly-dream—the fourth in three nights—and decide I need to do something.

I’m not exactly sure what I need to do, but getting close to her seems like a good start. Talking to her. Touching her… that might be too much. I’ll stick to talking, and try to get her to stop hating me.

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