Page 30 of Damaged Professor

“You canceled class today. And you didn’t show up for our date. I—I thought something happened to you.” Abby says, clearly concerned and upset.

I’m quick to explain to her what actually happened: that I had to rush off for a family emergency, and that I didn’t call sooner because I was focused on Ashton and Jenna at the hospital. In hindsight, I realize that I should have shot her a quick text to let her know what was going on.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” she says, relieved.

“I am.”

“Do you need help? Should I come?” I smile at her words. I know I’d feel so much better having her here.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll come to you.”

An hour later, Jeremy drops me right at her front door. I knock once but the door opens immediately. She’s been waiting for me. Her hand reaches out and pulls me inside, directly into her embrace. I return it just as tightly.

“Sit,” she motions at her Murphy bed.

I look around the small studio. It’s neat enough and simple, with books scattered around.

“It’s not much,” she says. I can see she’s very conscious of her space. I grab her hand and draw her nearer.

“It’s perfect, like you.”

She juts out her lip. “I’ve cooked.” She points at the kitchen behind her. “Are you hungry? You must be.”

“I am.” I lay back on her bed and she climbs on top of me. She gives me a long, sweet kiss but stops.

“You look very tired,” she says softly.

“I am. But at least I’m here.” I let out a heavy breath of relief and give her a kiss back.

We eat the spaghetti she made, it's simple yet perfect.

After dinner we find our way back to her bed. And just like that, I close my eyes and fall asleep with Abby in my arms.

Chapter seventeen

Abby

I’mnotdoodlingheartson my notes, but I’m definitely having a hard time not staring at Dylan the whole time that he runs the class. We’re discussing the Atlantic basin from the late fifteenth through the early nineteenth centuries. It’s one of those things that only people who really love history are actually paying attention to.

“Alright,” says Dylan, clapping his hands together. The sharp smack echoes through the room and wakes up anyone that might have accidentally fallen asleep. It’s an early morning lesson, and that’s a problem for some of the guys that had a late night class the day before. The way that the courses are staggered doesn’t always make for the best learning experience.

“I want you all to pick something that takes place between this time frame and use that as the basis for our studies for the remainder of this month. I’m sure that you’ll be able to find something of interest. It’s a lot of years to work through.”

The class starts to get up. I want to go up and talk to him about—anything, really, but I know better. Instead, I start getting my stuff together. It seems like I’m not the only one lingering, though. A few rows up, another young woman is dragging her feet. Sara Brown.

Today, her sweater is blue with a big yellow sun emblazoned on it, and her mini skirt is black. As usual it's so short that it barely covers the curve of her ass. She throws her bag up over one shoulder, and then turns. Even though we have never actually spoken with each other, she has been increasingly staring at me with—hate, I guess?

Unnerved by that, I grab my stuff, sling my bag over my shoulder, and then hurry towards the front of the room. I’m tempted, for a moment, to stop and talk to Dylan about last night…but I don’t want anything to give us away. And he looks like he’s actually busy right now, trying to sort through the papers that have been piled up on his desk.

I flash him a smile that he barely sees, and then I step out into the hallway. It’s a busy place, and Dylan’s class isn’t the only one that’s letting out right now. There are people all over the place, hurrying to their first class of the day, or their second, or the lucky ones trying to just get out of the building and get home early.

I’ve got another class that I have to get to today, one that covers a different branch of history. I like to consider Dylan’s class my main focus and everything else to be a bonus thing, but really, everything has its own importance.

I’m partway to the next class when I realize that someone is following me. It’s Sara. I stop, looking over my shoulder at her. I ask, “Can I help you with something?”

“Yeah, actually. You can,” says Sara. There’s a sharp edge to her words that I don’t like. Even though we’ve just started talking, I can’t help but feel like she’s accusing me of something.

“Alright.” I stop and turn towards her more fully, my mouth tugging into a thin, uncertain frown. The hallway is now empty. “If you need help with something in the class, I’d love to assist you, but I—”

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