Page 2 of Taming His Teacher

She’d been flustered and blushed like crazy when the Headmaster introduced her. I’d cringed, thinking some of the guys were going to have a field day with her. They could have her in tears by the end of the first class. I’d gotten this weird tightening in my stomach at the idea of her flushed with tears rolling down her face, but the idea of anyone hurting her feelings snapped it with rage.

But she surprised me. She took control early on and didn’t demand respect, but let us know she wasn’t going to be a pushover. She didn’t seem in a hurry to befriend us like some of the fellows do. Maybe because she’s not technically a fellow? Even though she just graduated college, they hired her outright. It gets awkward with the fellows sometimes because they’re so much closer in age to us than most of the faculty. Some of them try to make up for it by being super-strict overlords, but she wasn’t standoffish either.

I don’t know why, but I’d felt somehow, I dunno, proud of her? She’s little and soft and to stand up in front of a bunch of dudes who are trying to picture you naked… That takes some grit. The guys won’t fuck with her too much in class. We all know who her grandfather was and there’ll be hell to pay from Headmaster Wilson if anyone messes with her. But that’s only when grown-ups are around. It’s open season when it’s just the guys, but I’ll try to keep a lid on the smack talk about her. And just in time…

“Did you see the ass on Miss Brewster? She’s a little on the chubby side for me, but I wouldn’t say no to—”

I almost clothesline the guy with an arm extended across his chest. He bounces off and struggles to keep his balance so he doesn’t fall on his ass.

“Off-limits, man. Don’t be a dick.”

“Sure, Shep. Whatever.” Lucky eyes me, but shakes his head of any suspicions he might have. It’s not the first time I’ve called an end to that shit, and I hope he can’t tell it’s personal. Maybe.

“Miss Davis is more my type anyway—”

I roll my eyes but let him go on making crude groping gestures in the air. If he could ever talk a girl into getting into her pants, I doubt it would last long. I punch him on the arm to shut him up a dozen yards away from the history building. I’ve got Jeffries for Contemporary Issues in the Middle East and I’ve got to get my head in the game. Guy’s an asshole and it wouldn’t surprise me if he sprung a pop quiz on our summer reading. I studied last night, but when I’d shut off my desk lamp and fallen asleep to the sounds ofDie Hardcoming through the wall from the triple next door, my thoughts hadn’t been about Palestinians and Israelis but about Erin Brewster.

* * *

Erin

I survived.

It’s Friday evening after the first week of classes and I’m on my feet. It’s a small victory maybe, but a victory nonetheless. At this point, I’ll take anything I can get. I’m standing awkwardly by a wingback chair in Uncle Rett and Aunt Tilly—or should I say Headmaster and Mrs. Wilson’s—living room, a glass of red in one hand and a plate full of mini-quiches and shrimp cocktail in the other. I’m dying to devour it all, but I can’t because I don’t have enough hands and I don’t want to spill on this dress. It’s one of the few I have that makes me feel pretty: knee-length and navy with a cream lace overlay. It manages to make me look at least a little sophisticated. Usually when I dress up I look like I snuck into my mother’s closet and no one noticed before I left the house.

I’m about to give in to my natural urges and sit with the plate balanced on my knees while I hork my food down, but I’m surprised to see Will Chase coming toward me. I met Will during my orientation a few weeks ago. He’d been friendly and charming and I’d excused myself before I had a chance to look silly. He’s been here a few years and seems like a lifer. He looks the part: handsome in a bookish way, sandy hair thinning on the crown of his head. Though he’s a bit young for that, it doesn’t detract from his charms. Possibly adds to his paternalistic, professorial appeal. That and the tweed jacket with the elbow patches. I know I’m a dork, but,swoon.

Looking around, there’s no one else he could be coming to see and my cheeks preemptively pink.

“Good evening, Miss Brewster.”

“Mr. Chase.”

“Please, call me Will when the kids aren’t around. I’ve had enough ‘Mr. Chases’ to last a lifetime.”

I flush further, hoping he doesn’t notice. Knowing I redden like a tomato, it’s unlikely. “Will.”

My voice comes out breathy and weird. I’d pinch myself if I had an extra hand. I’ve always been shy with men because though I’m inclined to think they’re flirting with me, it’s not true. They have a passing interest, a brief consideration, before deciding I’m too…something. But the brilliant, toothy smile I get back when I say his name is encouraging.

“That’s better. How was your first week of class? Hope the boys aren’t being too rough with you. Sometimes they get it into their heads that it’s a good idea to haze new faculty members.”

“No, they’ve been fine. I’ve been trying my best to seem…formidable.” He laughs and I flinch, mumbling the rest of my thought. “But it doesn’t come naturally. I’m exhausted.”

Not just from teaching, although that’s the lion share of it. The sheer number of people I’ve met over the past couple of weeks and the pressure for chatter is overwhelming. I’m glad I know half the faculty from when my grandfather taught here. I’d never survive otherwise.

“I’m sure you’re doing great. You’re brave for standing up in front of a room full of teenage boys. They’re a tough audience. Although rumor has it they’re easier on pretty girls.”

He winks and I almost drop my wineglass. Will thinks I’m pretty?

“How would you know?” I don’t mean my question to sound petulant, but it comes out that way. His eyes widen before they slide over to where Lana Davis, his colleague in the English department who could be a supermodel, is talking to a small cadre of male faculty members. She’s been here maybe a year less than Will. I wonder if there’s history there, or maybe a rejection on her part. Will’s handsome, but Lana is flat-out hot with her jet-black hair flowing halfway down her back. I’m not as pretty as she is, but I don’t relish being someone’s consolation prize. “Excuse me.”

I turn to leave, and Will stops me with hands on my biceps. My bare biceps.

“Come on, Erin. Don’t be like that. I was trying to flirt with you. You must be familiar with that, right?” The stomach-clenching smile is back, and I soften at the insinuation that of course men flirt with me all the time. It’s possible I’m overreacting. I wish people would walk around with tickers hanging on their chests that telegraphed their real thoughts. Maybe then social interaction wouldn’t leave me so baffled. “Hey, what do you say we get out of here, just the two of us, go for a walk? I’ve heard all the war stories half a dozen times and I’m sure you’re sick of everyone talking about your grandfather.”

I’m not, actually. I could listen to them all night. They make me feel like he’s not really gone. Like if I stay here, he’ll be with me forever because the memory of him is woven into the tapestry of this place. Even people who never worked with him refer to him as a legend, and his photo is on a plaque by the classroom some grateful students endowed in his name. Another reason I came here. To be under his wing again.

On the other hand, the promise of getting some one-on-one time with Will is appealing. He’s cute, and above all, age-appropriate. I can hear the war stories whenever. Tomorrow night, in fact. I’m supposed to have dinner with Uncle Rett and Aunt Tilly. I’ve been proud not to slip, referring to them as Everett and Tilly like anyone else, but I’ll be glad when it’s the three of us sitting in their wood-paneled dining room and I can let my guard down and be myself. At least as much as I’m myself around anyone.

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