Page 39 of Damaged Professor

Ashton continues, “I haven’t known you to care about what other people think before. Is this just about that book you’ve been working on? Are you worried about bad press?”

Surprised, I ask, “You remember my book?”

“Fuck, Dylan, it’s all that you talked about at Christmas dinner last year.” Ashton answers. He uses the crostini to sop up the broth, and then switches to ripping off pieces of the bread bowl itself. Thick cut onions hook against the edge of the bread. “Is that it?”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with that,” I insist.

“Then what’s the holdup?” Ashton demands.

And I just—that’s when I realize that I don’t really know.

Ashton’s right. Technically, there’s nothing illegal about starting a relationship with a college student. It might be frowned upon a little bit, but that’s it. This is a review year for my tenure, but is it really going to be enough to affect that?

“Look, if this is actually about Chelsea—” Ashton pauses. His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth. “I think that it’s good. You are moving on from her. The way that she broke things off—”

“I don’t want to talk about my ex,” I tell him firmly.

“Right, right, sure. Just—think about what I said. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with seeing this girl. Abby, you said?” When I nod, Ashton continues, “You like her. You’re both adults. And let’s be real, Dylan. The other people at your university… They all have their own shit going on. I don’t think that anyone’s going to actually care about what you’re doing.”

We don’t really finish the conversation. It just comes to an end, and then we both attack our soups in earnest. It’s not what I would normally pick for a meal. It’s not what Ashton would normally go with, either. He’s a half pound burger kind of guy.

But I figure that he’s only at this bistro for Bethany, and this must be something that she recommended—so I don’t make a fuss. And it’s pretty damn good.

Ashton finishes first, grabbing up his white cloth napkin and wiping breadcrumbs from his fingers. Then he stands up, moving quickly and talking even more quickly. He says, “Alright, so lunch is paid for already and you’re going to stop being backwards about your girl. Two problems solved.” A wave of his hand. “Third problem, you’re going to go deal with the caterer. Good? Good.”

He makes to walk away from the table with me still sitting there. I snap a hand out and catch him by the wrist. “Not so fast! I already said that I had plans for today!”

Ashton tells me, “Take her with you,” and then he turns and vanishes into the building. He swings up to the counter, says something to Bethany that’s accompanied with a lot of hand gestures, and then takes off out the front doors, leaving me sitting there with my mouth hanging open.

I breathe out hard, resolutely turning back to the rest of my meal. I’m no longer hungry, but I finish sipping my glass of wine before I stand up, wiping my hands off on the cloth napkin and then straightening out the front of my shirt.

Alright.

Maybe—maybe Ashton’s right.

God, even thinking that makes me want to pull out my own hair. It doesn’t matter what it is about, it will never be easy to admit that my brother is making the right call over anything. But now that someone else has said it out loud, I’ve got to be honest.

Ashton might have a point. My brother might like to act as if his head is out in the clouds, but he’s not a stupid guy. He wouldn’t have become so successful in his business if he was. And I’ve seen him talk circles around people that have tried to cheat our parents out of cash, or investors that wanted to sneak in through a back door.

He’s good at reading people. He’s good at reading how situations might play out.

That’s the thought that rattles around in my head as I make my way through the bistro and out to the parking lot. My fingers drum against the side of my leg as I cross the asphalt, pulling my car door open.

I sit in my car for a moment still working this all out in my head. The other day, we had lunch and she stayed for coffee. We could have had sex, but we didn’t. It’s like everything has shifted. We haven’t said it out loud yet, but I think that both of us know this is the real deal—love.

We are falling in love.

And all this sneaking around, it hasn’t gotten us anywhere.

So… Maybe I should just own it.

Maybe this back room, shadow dancing deal isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. The rewards of coming out with it will outweigh the risks.

And while I don’t have any plans of bringing Abby out to the caterer today, I think that it is time to start considering where we should have our first public date.

Next time I take her out for coffee, I think that I might have to do it for real and not just at my house.

Yeah.

---