Page 3 of The Professor
Forcing my gaze away from Emma, I continue explaining the assignment schedule for the class.
“Your last assignment will be a short film focusing on an emotion of your choice,” I explain, detailing how I want to see them use multiple techniques we’ll learn throughout thesemester in their final piece. I smile as I see multiple students nod in understanding, the majority of them taking notes as I speak.
I truly enjoy my work, and I’m well aware that as a newer, younger professor, I have to maintain a high level of professionalism. I can’t afford distractions or temptations, not when I’ve worked my ass off to get to where I am now and not when I have aspirations to keep climbing the career ladder. I need to keep my head down, focus on teaching and my personal projects, and remove all thoughts of how Emma’s lips would taste on mine out of my head.
But, shit, I can’t help the way my thoughts run off in directions they definitely shouldn’t. I remember Emma as a kind, shy, intelligent girl who was impossible not to like, and from the way I catch her handing over a spare pen to the student next to her with a big smile on her face, I doubt much has changed there. Her awkwardness at the cafe was adorable, and her embarrassment when she’d run into me in the corridor only endeared me more to her. The way her cheeks had turned pink, her eyes wide and her words stuttering out an apology…
Shit, someone’s got their hand up. I call on them, answering their question about deadlines, and finish up my lecture as fast as I can. I need to get out of Emma’s presence as soon as possible if I stand a damn shot at not derailing this entire year getting distracted by her.
I thank the students for their attention, tell them I’m excited to see what this semester brings, and dismiss them five minutes early. As they funnel out of the lecture hall, I pack up my things in a rush, shaking my head as though I can force the image of Emma out of my mind.
But then she appears in front of me, making my attempts absolutely useless. Dammit, does she have to be so damn beautiful, so damn tempting?
“Emma,” I say, trying valiantly not to think about how good her name feels in my mouth.
“Oliver,” she answers, and goddammit the way her plush lips form the syllables is sinful. “I mean, Professor Page.”
She blushes, and all I can picture is her calling me that,Professor, as I bend her over a desk.
Shit, I’m already failing at my vow of professionalism.
I run my hand through my hair, tugging a little at the strands. “Oliver is fine,” I assure her, mainly because I’m not sure I can handle her calling meProfessoragain unless she’s screaming it.
“Right, yes, okay,” she babbles, that pink blush staining her skin distracting me even more. “I just wanted to say sorry, again, for earlier.”
I smile. “It’s really no problem,” I assure her. “Though you don’t have to run into me,literally, to get my attention, you know.”
Her blush darkens, and my heartbeat picks up. “It won’t happen again,” she says, smiling back at me. “I didn’t know you were a professor now.”
I nod. “Yeah, started the career path as soon as I graduated,” I say, shrugging like it’s no big deal despite the fact that I worked my ass off for it. “It’s what I’ve always wanted to do, though I’m still working on personal projects on the side.”
“Personal projects, huh?” she asks, raising a brow. “Will you be showing your work in class?”
“Ah,” I say, clearing my throat. “No. My current project isn’t…appropriate for the classroom.” I shouldn’t even be talking about it. I’m working with an artist I met at an exhibition years ago, doing photography and film in collaboration for their newest show. The theme issensualto say the least. Though, I’ve not started my work yet, only planned what I’d like to do.
Instead of putting her off, Emma looks even more intrigued. She leans in, so close I can smell the vanilla scent of her perfume. My mouth waters.
There’s a gleam in her eyes as she says, “Oh, really? And why is that?”
I glance towards the door, checking we’re definitely alone. “It’s a collaboration with an artist for their next show. And their work is excellent but…” I trail off, wondering how to word it, “focused on the more…carnal…aspects of human nature.”
I can’t help the way my eyes flick down, lingering on her lips before trailing down her body, as I speak. God, she’s stunning.
She’s your student!I try to remind myself.My student!But it’s hard to care when she’s standing so close, looking at me like that.
“Oh,” she breathes. “That sounds like a fun project to be involved in. Can I see your pieces?”
“I haven’t actually started them yet,” I admit. “I’ve got a plan just…”
“No spark?” she says, finishing my sentence.
I nod. “Something like that. Need to wait for the inspiration to strike, I guess.”
“I get that,” she nods, smiling sweetly.
We both jump as the lecture hall door opens, the next class beginning to trail in. Emma adjusts her bag on her shoulder, glancing back to me.
“Well, I hope you find a muse for it soon,” she says, lingering for a moment longer before she turns and leaves.
