Page 74 of When love and Hate Collide

The anger and hurt I’ve been feeling over our break up all comes back and I want to scream at him for coming after me like he didn’t wreak me with his lies only two months ago. I want to tell him to go fuck himself and let me be. But I can’t, I can’t muster up the bravado to say anything in front of all these people. Whatever happened between Paxton and me is a private matter, one I’d rather keep between us. Besides, how am I going to tell my mother and the people closest to me that I had an affair not only with my professor, but a married man to boot?

In my defence, I didn’t know Pax was married. I’m not a homewrecker.

Seeing him now, brings it all flooding back to me.

When I met Paxton two years ago, it was at my first year at uni. The first professor I had assigned for my English literature course was originally Professor. Keller— a sweet fifty-year-old man with greying hair and a beer belly. Three weeks into the year he suffered a stroke and medically retired, unable to teach any longer.

The following week, when I strolled into class with Ashlyn in tow, standing in front of the class writing on the blackboard was Paxton or Professor Welling, as he introduced himself to us that day. What baffled me was that he was only twenty-seven years old. All the females that zone out during the lectures with Professor Mitchell were all fully alert and listening intently to every word that flowed past those soft full lips of his.

Pax is tall, and strong standing at six-foot-three and even though he wore a suit to class, it’s easy to tell he packs quite the muscle mass under all those layers. Whenever he removes his jacket at the start of each class, his biceps bulge, and the muscles in his back flex under the shirts he wears. His eyes a breath-taking ocean blue, lined with long dark blond lashes matching his golden hair that he keeps longer in length at the top and swept back.

The man looks like he just waltzed out of one those romance novels I’m obsessed with reading, with his roguish good looks and cocky grin.

The first three months, unlike the other girls in his class I wasn’t fazed in the slightest. Yes, he’s very attractive, but I never understood why Ashlyn and all the other girl’s tripped over themselves to get his attention. I was too swamped with research and ten-page essays and such to focus on the colour of his suits or how his eyes crinkle at the corners whenever he smiles.

Until that night when everything suddenly changed between us.

A late Friday afternoon in the middle of November. I remember it was pouring out, standard British weather. The occasional rolling thunder grumbled outside while Paxton spoke about our essay. I was taking notes when the bell sounds signalling the end of class.

“All right guys, that’s it for today. Remember to do your research and please keep in mind you have less than two weeks to complete this essay, so go easy on the partying. Have a good weekend.” I briefly heard him say while staring at the blackboard my pen flying over my notebook.

“Jey, I’m brewing for a pooing. I’ll see you back at home.” Ashlyn whispers to me in a flurry. I nod distractedly my pen flying over my notebook before he wipes it off the board. The room falls silent, so quiet I could hear my pen scratching against the paper as I wrote.

“Miss Jenkins,” I jump and peer up to see Paxton smiling at me. “Everything okay?”

I nod, “Yes, Professor. I’m sorry. I’ll be out of here in just a second.” I apologised, writing the last few words down and dropping my pen with a sigh. “Okay, I’m done,” I started gathering up my books and pens when I clumsily knocked my file over. “Shoot.” Inwardly cursing myself for being so darn clumsy, I perched down to pick up the pieces of paper that were haphazardly scattered across the floor. Paxton perched down to help me and as cliché and cringe-worthy as it sounds, we both reached for the last piece of paper at the same time, his large hand covering my own.

My initial reaction was to jerk my hand away, but something inside stopped me and he didn’t move his hand either. I stared at our hands for a moment before I slowly drew my eyes up and looked him directly in the eyes.

And for the first time in the three months that he’d been teaching us, I finallysawhim. It was like a curtain was lifted and as cringe-worthy as it all seems now, I was spellbound. My palms started to get all clammy, and my throat dried up like I just swallowed a fist full of sand.

Paxton watched me, and I found myself mesmerised by the green flecks in his eyes before I snapped out of my trance and slowly pulled my hand out from under his. Smiling coyly, I pushed myself up to my feet, uttered a bye and got the hell out of there as fast as I could, leaving him staring at my retreating back.

Of course, I told Ashlyn about the entire exchange, and Ash being Ash started filling my head with all nonsense. According to her, his eyes always lingered on me longer than they did on other students while he talks to the class. I’d never noticed, and I choose to ignore her for the most part, but then the next couple of classes with him I started to understand what she meant.

I found myself to be a bag of nerves each time I had a class with him. I sat right at the back in an attempt to hide myself, but every time I looked up, I caught him looking in my direction.

Sometimes I would avert my eyes quickly, whereas other times I deliberately kept eye contact to see how long he would take to break it. All the signs of attraction were there, the secret looks, sly smiles, and he even called me out more and more during class as an excuse to talk to me.

Eventually, I accepted the fact I had an innocent crush on my teacher. We flirted in the empty hallways or whenever I stayed behind to take notes at the end of class, deliberately writing slow to linger so I could talk to him.

A month after the initial exchange, we both crossed the boundaries of student and teacher relations. One afternoon after class, Paxton asked me to his office after I’m through with my classes for the day to talk about a writers programme I enlisted to.

I was so nervous, I’d never been alone with him in a place no one could see or walk in. I exhaled slowly before knocking on the door and glance at the time on my watch. It was gone six in the evening, and the hallways were empty, near enough all students had retired to their homes or accommodation blocks.

The door to his office opened, and he smiled upon seeing me.

“Miss Jenkins, come on in,” he gestured with his head for me to enter. I nodded and walked into his office, looking around warily while he closed the door.

I observed his space, a classic office with a dark mahogany desk in the centre of the room with pupil’s papers piled up on the side waiting to be graded. Hanging on the wall behind his desk were his diplomas.

“Take a seat.”

I sat in the chair opposite his desk, and he walked around and took a seat in his leather chair. Nervously I rest my hands in my lap while I waited for him to begin speaking. Paxton looked down at the piece of paper in front of him and looked back up at me again.

“Miss Jenkins, I—” he began, but I interjected before I could stop myself.

“Jeyla. Please, you can call me Jeyla.” I insisted with a smile, and he chuckled, a deep throaty rumble that sent a mass of tingles cascading through me.

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