Page 58 of Switch
There’s a clang as the heavy auditorium doors open.Once I can see, I’m convinced my eyes must be playing tricks.This is one of the older auditoriums on campus; the lighting isn’t the best, but I could swear the person coming toward me looks an awful lot like PJ.
The same fiery hair, the same confident gait.Though I’m used to seeing PJ in suits and tight slacks, this guy is wearing jeans and a T-shirt.When he turns his attention from jogging down the shallow-stepped aisle to me, I see the recognition on his face.He freezes and nearly stumbles, but keeps going.
This can’t be right.Itcan’t.
Choking on my heart, I look again at my attendance list.At the two names not checked off.Phillip Jeffries.It’s at that moment I realize that in all of my time with PJ, I never asked him what PJ stood for.I never asked his last name.How is it I’ve had him inside me, I’ve let him fuck me bare, let him grab me by the hair and shove his cock down my throat, but I never asked his last fucking name?
I clear my throat and check my position behind the lectern, because for some fucked-up reason the crotch of my slacks is feeling tight.“Phillip Jeffries?”
My hands shake, panic mixing with the arousal that kicks up whenever I’m near PJ.This man who has dominated me, shoved me face down into a couch, and given me jerk-off instructions over video chat, is my student.
In a freshman literature class.
“Um.Yeah.”He gives a halfhearted wave.“Sorry, I’m late.I got…held up at work.”
So many questions, not that I can ask a single one now.A young man in the front, the one I gave the syllabi to, turns in his seat and waves to PJ, motioning for him to sit next to him.
PJ gives me a questioning look, as if to ask whether I’d mind him sitting that close, but I can’t answer, and it doesn’t matter anyway.Anywhere he sits in this room, I’ll be acutely aware of his presence.
A dizzy wave comes over me.PJ being here changes everything.Belle Argo University is a fairly liberal school, and their policies about teacher/student interactions are looser than some I’ve heard of.Teachers have dated students, and in fact, I met a management professor last year who married a student while she was still in attendance at the university.She was pre-med, though, and he had no ability to influence her grades or standing at the school.
Sleeping with a student whose grades I control is an absolute violation.
“You’re forgiven, Mr.Jeffries, but please do see me after class so I can give you a rundown of what you’ve missed.”Somehow I manage to keep my voice steady.
PJ nods, looking more sheepish than he ever has with me, and slides into a seat next to his star pupil friend.I manage a couple of deep breaths to get myself under control before I remember I still have an entire class waiting for me to continue.For once, I’m grateful for the idiots who are on their phones.At least they aren’t unknowingly witnessing what is about to be the end of my relationship.
“Moving on.We’ll be starting withThe Scarlet Letter?—”
A noise off to the side snags my attention, and I find myself once again looking at PJ, even though I know I shouldn’t.He’s staring straight at me, blue eyes wide, with his pen poised, but he hasn’t written anything down.I can see his notebook from here.
This is an absolute nightmare.I’m simultaneously turned on and horrified, and I can’t decide which one to pay attention to first.
Neither, because you’ve got a class to teach.
I tear my gaze away from PJ—Keeper—PJand force myself to get through the remainder of the syllabus.I take questions, which I answer as quickly as possible, and put several off with a suggestion to see me during office hours.
Then I do something I’ve never done.I dismiss the class ten minutes early.
Usually, I start with a brief overview ofThe Scarlet Letter, but I absolutely can’t today.Not when I can feel the heat of PJ’s stare on me and I’m having an impossible time controlling my response.
Typically, I’m a restless instructor, wandering the room as I speak, sometimes using the opportunity to nudge students who appear not to be paying attention.Today I’ve been able to do nothing but stand tense behind the lectern, gripping the wood with a force so hard I’m surprised I didn’t hear something crack.
It’s not until the classroom is emptying that I manage to relax.Until PJ says goodbye to his friend and makes his way over to me.There are still a few students at the top of the auditorium who haven’t cleared the exit doors.
PJ notices them too, asking casually, “You wanted to talk to me?”
“Yes, Mr.Jeffries, you missed the attendance policy.”The auditorium doors close with a loud bang, signaling the departure of the last few students.
All I can do is stare.
PJ glances behind him before saying, “My schedule says the instructor for this class is F.Monroe.I thought your last name was Leslie.”
“Leslie was Marina’s last name.Fallon Leslie is the pen name I used to write my books.It seems that out of all the things we discussed, we never covered some of the most basic things you can know about someone.Like, for example, the fact that you are somehow a twenty-four-year-old college freshman?”
PJs shakes his head.“I’m a senior.Literature isn’t my strong suit, so I put the class off.”
“I see.”We both fall silent.I have so many more questions, but the bottom line is that the answers don’t matter.
