Page 35 of Damaged Professor

He frowns, just as worked up as I am. I can see the outline of his hard-on through the front of his dark slacks. But I’m firm in my decision, urging him backwards. He asks, “What’s wrong?”

“This is a bad place for this. If someone from one of your classes lives over here… I don’t want to be dealing with more than one voyeur,” I explain. “Trust me, it’s not that I want you to leave. Having you here in my space—”

I cut myself off before I can say anything that gets me in too much trouble, and instead opt for giving him one more kiss, a quick peck on the lips. He sighs, looking a little ashamed of himself for not having come to the same realization, and then he pulls away.

Dylan takes a moment to put himself back in order, stepping into the bathroom so that he can use the mirror to straighten his hair and fix his shirt and tie, and then comes back out to join me. I’m still on the loveseat but I’m perched on the edge of the cushion now, my legs pressed together, and my forearms braced against the top of my thighs.

I give him a smile, but it’s weaker and thinner than before. Watery and wane. “I don’t know what we’re supposed to do about this. I really thought that it would be a lot longer before someone caught on to things. But our jig is already up.”

“Right now, we don’t need to do anything with it,” says Dylan. “Not unless she makes a fuss over it. She might have just been trying to get a reaction out of you. Hopefully she didn’t get the reaction she was looking for—”

“And she might just drop it,” I say, nodding. I hold out one hand and he helps me to my feet. It’s easy to fall into his arms, holding him in as tight of a hug as I can manage. What’s hard is pulling away, taking his hand, and leading him to the door. “You’re right. Hopefully I just let myself get freaked out over it for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” he says. “I understand how it must have made you feel. I’m sorry that we weren’t more careful.”

“I’m just worried about how it’s going to affect your job, your reputation,” I tell him, thinking about what he told me that very first day when we met back up in the classroom. Those words have stuck with me this whole time. “I don’t want anything to get messed up for you.”

“It won’t mess up anything. We are going to figure this out together. And guess what Abby, you are worth it.” Dylan gives me one more reassuring kiss, and then we say our goodbyes. He hurries down the front walk, and I hurry to my window, parting the curtains just enough that I can watch him get into his car and leave.

I give him a little wave, even though I know that there’s no chance he’s going to see it. Talking with Dylan made me feel a little bit better. I’m not convinced that this mess with Sara is going to blow over as easily as Dylan seems to think, but I feel a lot less alone in it.

Seeing him always manages to put me in a better mood, no matter the circumstances. I’m thrilled that he stopped by, despite the risk.

And sometime soon, I’m going to have to make the hassle worth his while. I’m sure that I can come up with something he’ll love.

Chapter twenty

Dylan

Overtheremainingcourseof the week, I find myself replaying the conversation with Abby over and over. I think that there must be something to it. Sara is one of the students that I’ve noticed is struggling a little bit in her classwork. She gets good marks, but she has a hard time turning it in when it’s supposed to be turned in. And she has tried to start ill-timed conversations with me a couple of times recently.

My best guess is that she signed up for too many classes in her first year, and she’s having a hard time figuring out how to balance them. I think that this is probably one of those situations that’s going to take a fine touch to handle.

Today is the first class that I’ve had since Abby skipped out on her lesson. I’ve been assured that she’s going to show up for this one. I’m in the middle of sorting out my lesson plans when the office door swings open.

I look up, frowning. “Class doesn’t start—oh, Miss Brown. I’m sorry, you must have the time wrong. You’ve still got fifteen minutes until class starts. Normally I would say that you could just sit in here and wait, but I’ve got a bit of prep work to finish today.”

Sara looks me over like I’m a fresh cut steak at the butcher shop, her mouth twisting up coyly at the edges as if she thinks she’s just won something. “I’m not here to sit, and I know when class starts.”

There’s a teasing lilt to her voice, the sort that makes it clear that she’s trying to be mean. Unfortunately for her, I haven’t been bothered by dealing with bullies since my days in middle school. I’m not the kind of person who’s going to turn belly up, just because she’s shown up in here with something that she wants to flaunt.

It says a lot about her character that she would bring the situation into my classroom, too, and not just keep it as a spat between fellow students, or even as something to joke about.

“Great. Then I have to ask that you let me finish getting ready for class.”

I gesture at the door, making the dismissal as blatantly obvious as I can manage.

Sara looks at the door over her shoulder and then huffs out a laugh, as if this is all a big joke. She makes her way over to the desk that I’m sitting at, reaching over and putting her hand on the top of the desk. She leans against it, and then reaches out and makes a coy, little gesture with one hand. “You had company last night.”

“I didn’t,” I tell her, dryly. It’s not a lie. Until this passes, Abby said that she wants to take things a little slower, just to make sure that we’re careful enough. It’s sweet that she’s trying to keep my reputation in mind, but I have found myself missing her. “Not that what I do is of any concern to you.”

“You had a student over,” says Sara, as though this one line is meant to be a trump card. “You know, when I started this class, I heard all kinds of things about how great of a teacher you were, and how much everyone liked being in your class. I didn’t realize it was because you gave out freebies.”

“I suggest that you go wait outside until class starts,” I tell her, firmly. “Before you make an accusation that you will be unable to recover from.”

“It’s not an accusation,” says Sara. “I know what I saw. And I know that little miss princess is getting some of the best grades in the class. I was wondering how she was pulling that off, but then I realized—wow, it’s because she’s just really close friends with you! I mean, really, really close.”

“Little miss princess,” I echo. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a student in my class who goes by that name. And as I said before, unless you want to be dropped from my class, I suggest that you go wait outside. Class isn’t in session, and at this point, your distractions may cause it to start late.”

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