Page 51 of Damaged Professor

And then, before I know it, the morning has come around. I slept in.

I crawl out of the bed feeling like a zombie yet hoping that I don’t look like a zombie, too, but that’s probably where I’m at. Knowing that I’ve only got another fifteen minutes before my classes start, I head to the bathroom to try and touch up my face and make myself look more presentable as quickly as possible.

I don’t think that anyone wants to meet their new boyfriend looking like this, even if it’s just for a work meeting type situation, which is essentially what I’m going to do here.

Even though we haven't had the chance to figure out how things are going to be moving forward, I came to the decision on my own that since we were at Princeton, we were going to keep it super professional—like a couple that just happens to work at the same office building.

Knowing that we’ll be able to see each other more often outside of the classroom, is going to make such a huge difference. I can’t wait to have actual dates, to hold hands, to get coffee at real coffee shops, and get dinner in public.

Though I still want him to cook for me, a lot!

I decide that the only thing to do is just go face the music and see how this plays out on day one in class together, after declaring our love. I finish washing my face and put some light makeup on, and then I do my best to fix my hair so that I look a little bit more put together.

After that, I hastily pull on my clothes, grab my bag, and make my way out of my apartment.

“Hello, beautiful.”

I stop in my tracks. Dylan is leaning against his car. He’s wearing jeans and a simple T-shirt. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like that.

“What are you doing here? The class—“ I point at my watch. Then it dawns on me. “They fired you?”

He laughs at the look of horror on my face. “I told you I’d take care of her, and I did.”

“And the dean?”

“He is not thrilled but he has no right to intervene in our personal lives.” He pauses to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “He just wants me to be very professional.”

I let out a deep sigh. “Then why are you here?"

“Because clearly, I’m not being very professional.” He kisses me softly and takes my hand in his, like a proper couple. “I’ve waited for too long for this—a proper date.”

“You canceled the class for a date?” I ask both worried and flattered.

“I just finally have my priorities straight. We lost all this time for this stupid technicality—I didn’t want to waste another day.”

He opens the door and I slide in the passenger seat. Once he’s behind the wheel, he says, “I think I know a place you’ll love. It has the best coffee. Better than mine.”

Our first official date is in a beautiful coffee house right in the center of the city. He really wants the world to know about us.

I haven't been here before. It’s in a small, cobbled style building, with the word GRIND HOUSE in bright red letters above it. Stepping inside, the smell of freshly ground coffee floods my senses and I can’t help but smile.

The inside of Grind House is dimly lit and cozy, red and black, with big armchairs paired up with coffee tables and a fire crackling in a corner fireplace. The far wall is covered in a wall-to-wall bookshelf filled to the brim with books to borrow while you’re here. There are large Edison bulb lights hanging along the backside of the front counter, and a small line that’s moving quickly.

Dylan grabs a book and sits in one of the cozy armchairs at a coffee table with a checkerboard top on the far side of the room.

“This is alright, right?” I ask as I press a kiss to the corner of his temple.

“This is more than alright baby,” says Dylan, reaching up and caressing my cheek. “Go get us a coffee, I have a tab. I’m not going anywhere any time soon.”

“You promise?” I kiss him again, relishing that we can actually act as though we’re a couple now, and taking pleasure in the fact that he seems to be more than okay with it as he draws my hand close and gives it a slow warm kiss.

“I promise. I’ll be right here. Besides, there’s something I want to ask you.”

“Anything for—.” He raises a hand before I can finish. I know what this is about. The party.

“I’ve still got to give you the information on this weekend so you can make an informed decision—” “You’re not going to agree before you actually hear what you’re getting into.”

“Fine, fine,” I say, with an exasperated sigh. I head up to the counter, eyeing up the menu once I’m close enough to read it. The line in front of the coffee bar moves quickly, and yet somehow, it’s not nearly quick enough for me. The longer that I stand there, the more antsy I can’t help but get.

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