Page 2 of The Professor
How much do you care about the rules?A rebellious part of my brain I hadn’t known existed until now says.
I take another too-hot gulp of coffee to distract myself, and realize I’ve been walking in the completely wrong direction to class.
“Shit,” I murmur to myself, trying and failing to get a grip. Seeing Oliver has thrown my world into chaos, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to pay attention to anything else the rest of the day.
I spin on my heel, turning to head the correct way this time. I glance up at a clock as I pass, and speed up a little, wondering where all the time I thought I had has gone.You spent it daydreaming about the love of your life, that part of my brain says.
I don’t get the chance to argue with myself, because seconds later I walk right into the back of someone else. Coffee splashes off my shoes, and I squeal, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow me whole.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I’m running late for class and I wasn’t paying attention and—” I start babbling. All my words dry up as I look up and realize just who I’ve bumped into.
Gray eyes meet mine and I suck in a sharp breath. “It’s okay,” Oliver says smoothly, blessedly not covered in coffee. “What class are you going to?”
It takes me a minute to switch my brain on and figure out how to work my tongue. “Oh, uh, the Advanced Film and Media introduction,” I manage to say, trying to get myself together.
Oliver’s lips quirk up in a half smile. “Well, lucky for you, I know just where that is,” he says, nodding in the direction I was rushing in. “Come on.”
I follow him immediately, praying that he doesn’t think I’m a total idiot now. Did I imagine the way his eyes widened when they met mine? Am I just being delusional, or was there heat in his gaze?
Oliver pauses outside the door to a small lecture hall and holds it open for me.
“Thank you,” I gush, blushing. “And I’m so sorry again.”
“Don’t think anything of it, Emma,” he says, his voice a little lower than before.
He remembers my name, I think, forcing my legs to work as I head inside and find a seat at the end of the second row. I grab my notebook and pen out of my bag, settling in and ready to take notes.
The screen turns on, and the professor takes his place at the podium and it suddenly becomes abundantly clear why Oliver knew exactly where I needed to go.
“Welcome to Advanced Film and Media, I’m Professor Page and this semester we’ll be covering…” Oliver—Professor Page—begins, but I can’t focus on a word he’s saying because I’m toobusy crashing out over the fact I somehow have to survive a whole semester being taught by the only man I’ve ever wanted.
I’m so screwed.
2
OLIVER
This is the first semester I’m teaching this class. Last academic year, I taught mostly undergrad electives, but with an esteemed Film professor retiring and me apparently having proved myself well with my students getting excellent grades and having lots of praise for my teaching, I get the privilege of teaching the main film Master’s class this year.
A Master’s class that includes Emma McMann.
It takes an extreme amount of effort to get through my introduction because I find my gaze constantly drawn to the end of the second row whereshe’ssitting. I can only hope none of the other students notice.
She’s always been beautiful, but in the few years since we graduated, she’s blossomed from a girl into a woman. And God, does womanhood look good on her. Her honey blonde hair is longer than I remember it being, and today she’s got it pulled back from her face in a loose ponytail, wispy strands framing her face in a way that has my fingers itching to sweep it behind her ears so I can take in her features better. In the coffeeshop, I wanted to devour her whole when her big blue eyes nearly swallowed me. Then her pink glossy lips popped open in surprise sending a shot of heat rushing through me.
Her outfit is simple but on her, it looks like something off a damn runway show. A tight, dark brown long sleeve t-shirt and dark wash jeans that perfectly cup her ass, not that I’d been looking. Okay, who the hell was I kidding, I’d definitely been looking.
I clear my throat, adjusting my stance as I suddenly become very grateful for the podium hiding the way my trousers become too tight around my cock.
As undergrads, we’d been in similar classes, and had run in some of the same circles. I’d have had to be blind not to notice her, but I was never sure if she’d thought of me the same way. So I’d admired her from afar, and then we’d graduated and my career had taken up all of my time and energy, any idea of romance falling to the sidelines.
And now she’s here. Back. Right in front of me, a temptation that I can’t have.
She’s mystudent.
I’m her professor.
And that means I can’t have her, no matter how much I might want her.
