Page 3 of Tangled with the Professor

I had blurted out that I was happy to do things however he liked, and he looked at me in a way that made me both freeze up and get a warm, prickly feeling all over. For a split second I was his prey, and all too eager to get caught up.

Of course that had to be my imagination though, because he was nothing but professional as he taught me the ins and outs of his popular and very difficult classes. Once I was trained, he kept me at arm’s length. So, why do I keep getting that rush of heat whenever he’s near me? It’s getting more and more difficult to ignore this blooming attraction I have for him. I think I see him staring at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention. When I give him my regular reports, it feels like he’s giving me these burning looks I can’t decipher.

In short, I have a massive crush on my thirty-nine-year-old tenured professor who probably views me as an irritation on good days. So far I’ve managed to not have any bad days.

I just hope today is not the first one as I nervously lock up my office and head to his. My feet drag along the short corridor, trying to make my face seem normal and not squeak when I talk. I already feel so flushed and strange when I speak to him. I’venever been this way before and it makes me want to run and hide even as I secretly sneak peeks at him whenever I get the chance.

It’s been getting so hard to concentrate that I sometimes consider giving up this huge opportunity.

Stop it, I tell myself, my hand poised to knock as I give myself a much needed pep talk.You’re not quitting and you’re not going to shy away from whatever Dr. Tennyson says. If you screwed up, you’ll fix it and move on. If it’s something good you will not turn to jelly, either.

There. Much better. Doing this work is too important to me and I won’t let my students down. Or myself, for that matter.

Most important of all, I have to keep this attraction to him under wraps. It’s not unheard of for students to get wild crushes on their teachers and now that I’m not an undergrad anymore, I’ve seen with my own eyes the little secret dalliances that occur sometimes. There should be loads of gossip surrounding Dr. Tennyson since he’s easily the most handsome man on campus, and has that insane charisma that draws everyone in. He makes you want to do your best, just to please him.

Of course nothing has ever been on the campus buzz about him and if he’s ever done anything with a student, it’s been kept under wraps. As I finally gather the gumption to knock on his door, I feel a ridiculous ripple of jealousy about anyone who might have been lucky enough to catch his eye. Notmyprofessor. He’d never. Unless…

I almost burst out laughing at where my mind is going due to my nerves over this impromptu meeting and I get it together as he calls for me to come in.

His smile nearly knocks me out and I can feel that strange flush rise up my whole body under his gaze. He studies me for a split second before laughing.

“Sit down, you’re not in trouble.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” I breathe, sliding into the leather chair across from his desk.

I’ve always thought his office was so warm and cozy with two entire walls covered in books and a battered red sofa in the corner behind his desk. I can imagine him spending late nights in here, bathed in moonlight from the big window looking out over the campus, falling asleep on that couch after spending hours poring over an equation. His passion for science just adds to how attractive he is.

I have to drag my thoughts from my daydream as I realize he’s asking me something.

“Midterm prep is going well,” I say, racing over his words and formulating the proper answer. “The systems you have set up keep everything running really smoothly.”

He raises an eyebrow, one side of his mouth quirking up. “Almost like I don’t need an assistant at all.” Those dark eyes twinkle, letting me know he’s teasing.

“You can’t say I don’t make a mean cup of coffee, though,” I say, and he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his muscular chest.

I’m like a mouse, completely focused on his every little move, once again feeling like prey when I’m so close to him I could reach across his desk and run my hand through his thick, wavy hair. The way his eyes are drawing me even closer has me wondering if he knows his effect on me.

If he does, then I’m not hiding my feelings very well, am I? I clear my throat just as he assures me he loves the morning coffee.

“And I don’t hate the extra time you allow me for my research,” he says magnanimously. “Now tell me, how are the students doing? I don’t get as many requests for meetings now that I have you.”

I shiver at the last part. He has me all right. But I answer professionally, my silly crush fading to the background as I fill him in. The undergrads are the best part of this job. Helping them through the rough patches and keeping them on track makes me feel like I’m making a difference in someone’s life, just like my tutoring does. I’ve always been single minded about going into research, but the more I see how much of an impact an amazing teacher like Dr. Tennyson has on people, the more I’ve been wondering if I should think about changing career tracks.

“Some of them are struggling a bit,” I say. “The ones who come in to see me for help are doing better than the ones who aren’t, but I’ve made efforts to reach out to everyone. I think there’s a couple that just don’t get it and may have to rethink why they’re taking the class in the first place, and of course there are some that just don’t care.”

“We can’t help everyone,” he says seriously. “I think I can name the ones you’re talking about. Not everyone’s cut out for our field, and that’s okay. I only want everyone to push themselves that little bit to make sure before they give up, though.”

“I get it,” I say. “I nearly washed out in freshman year, but thankfully I had a good tutor.”

His eyes hone in on me even more than they were before and I slide my hands down to my sides to try to hide my sudden outbreak of goosebumps. “Is that why you’re so hellbent on never giving up tutoring?”

I shrug, blushing under what is obviously praise once you know Dr. Tennyson. He admires tenacity and that’s something I’ve always prided myself on, so it’s nice to be recognized.

“And how are your own studies going?” he asks.

“Fine,” I say with a sigh he catches, raising that brow again. “Organic chem is a nightmare,” I admit.

“When isn’t orgo a nightmare,” he says, making me laugh.

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