Page 331 of The Winslow Brothers

“Even rejection isn’t finite. Perhaps, in fact, rejection is just an indication that you’re ahead of your time.”

Craving a change of pace, Rachel’s burning eyes and open legs calling me to look upon them once again, I jump up on the corner of my desk and crack openWuthering Heights.After this many years of teaching this class, I know the novel backward and forward, though. I know what pages to look for, where the climax of the story happens, how many characters there are in each chapter. I know the rhythm and cadence of Emily Brontë’s writing, and I know the parts that resonate most with an undergrad class of freshmen.

They like sex. They like scandal. They like the occasional use of “bad words” by their teacher. And I’m okay with that. If my putting a “cool” twist on classic literature makes this generationcare about it, I’ll give my lecture on a fucking hoverboard on TikTok while singing a song of swearwords.

Because hell, I like sex and scandal too. I’ve built a whole personal life based on sex. But the mixture of active sexual arousal and class time? Safe to say, I’ve never done it before.

I look back at the front row momentarily to see Rachel removing her sweater. She’s wearing a silk shirt underneath, and I can see her pert nipples through the fabric as though there’s no fabric at all. All I can think about is tracing them with my tongue.

Damn, Rachel, what are you trying to do to me?

I’m used to class. What I’m altogether not used to is one of the sexiest women alive, sitting in my front row of seats, taking notes and spreading her legs open so I can see up her skirt.

And those panties—I know those panties. They’rethepanties.Sweet God Almighty.

“So, if you’ll turn to page…to page…” I clear my throat and will myself to look away from the space between Rachel’s legs and back to the fucking book.Come on, Ty, get it together.

“If you’ll turn to Chapter Nine, you’ll see Catherine’s first moral dilemma. To love or to do what’s expected by society.”

I look to Rachel and the sex rolling off her, despite her relation to a man I’ve respected and admired for years, and then bow my head back to the book.

Sometimes it’s scary how much literature applies to life—especially classic literature to modern life.

“We can all relate to facing a moral dilemma at least once in our lives. Should you sleep with your best friend’s girlfriend, even if she’s willing and you think she’s one of the hottest chicks on the planet?”

The class goes up in a roar, and I bite my lip and smile. That one always seems to get them stirred up. Eighteen-year-olds, by and large, are still trying to calibrate their moral compass. They’re the perfect case study in would versus should.

“Or should you use a part of your body that isn’t an appendage and maintain loyalty to your friend?”

I scoot off my desk and pace the floor at the bottom of the classroom’s stadium seating, keeping my eyes pointedly away from the front row in an effort to concentrate.

“The decision seems easy now, here, in the light of this classroom with the weight of your peers’ thoughts next to you. But does it feel the same in a dark room, with the smell of sex and the ache of arousal in every part of your being? Brontë captures this distinction poetically, and even still, maintains Catherine’s moral compass.”

I spin around to glance at the clock and catch a glimpse of Rachel’s open legs once more on the journey. I’ve never wanted a class to end and continue on into infinity simultaneously before, but the clock picks for me. The protection of Great Barrier Students is about to end, and I’ll be faced with the open waters of self-control.

“Time’s up for today. But I want you to consider everything I’ve said, and I want you to reread Emily’s prose with that in mind. If you were writing Catherine in modern times, would she havefollowed the same path? If you were writing her in the Victorian era, what then?”

The class murmurs and fidgets, their hurry to pack up their things and be on their way to someone else who’s trying to shape their minds self-evident.

“All right. Don’t get into too much trouble. Class dismissed.”

Students practically jump from their seats, grabbing their backpacks and shoving notebooks inside. I turn back to the desk at the front of the room and start organizing too, readying myself to pack up because this was my last class of the day.

I don’t look back at Rachel, and I don’t take a full breath either. I swear I’ve somehow converted to something that doesn’t need air—something amphibious or some shit—since the moment Rachel started messing with me an hour ago.

A fire burns inside me, both of desire and anger, and I’m faced with a dilemma. Let it go or confront her.

The rational part of me knows that letting it go is the better of the two options, but the flaming emotions inside me mean that’s never going to happen.

I keep one eye to the door and wait for my moment.

The last student floods into the hallway, and Rachel is quick on her heels. She knows what she’s been doing; she intends not to face it, and because of that, I intend to make her.

I follow immediately, leaving all my stuff behind on the desk without a thought.

I move swiftly, my legs working double time to both keep up but hang back enough that I can time my approach to just inside the door of my office—away from prying eyes. I know she has assignments to collect for grading and has run out of time to put it off. She has no choice but to stop by my office, and she has to do it now.

I keep step with her all the way down the hall, her legs churning and her head down and determined. If she has anything to say about it, she’s going to get the hell out of Dodge, but this time, I’m going to be the one with the last word.

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