Page 11 of Falling for Mindy

The fact that my professor, the same one who looked pissed off that I was even sitting in his class and having the audacity to take up space and breathe near him, had evidently followed the same path was unsettling. I wanted to get far away from Professor Quinn. Someplace where I couldn’t look at his square-jawed handsomeness or scent the faint trace of bay rum that clung to his skin as he walked in the classroom or see the way his mouth tightened in disapproval when he spoke of certain topics: restricted access to reproductive health care, for example. I had watched his mouth narrow to a thin line, a muscle in his jaw tick when he talked about extensive regulations proposed in Texas and Alabama.

It bothered me all during class, the way he’d made a huff of aggravation when his eyes landed on me. What had I done to irritate him? He’d been nothing but professional so far and had never even hinted that he’d recognized me from the dance floor at that club.

All of a sudden, he had entered the classroom and looked at me the way you might be annoyed to find that your older brother’s obnoxious friend was staying for dinner. It made me uncomfortable.

I knew I hadn’t imagined his disdain, hadn’t mistaken that look for anything other than pure displeasure at seeing me. I sighed and got out a stick of gum to chew. Then I took notes dutifully, even though I knew I wasn’t really concentrating on anything he said. I was trying to keep my head down studiously and not draw attention to myself.

No hand raising or offering answers to his questions. Not anymore. I’d be inconspicuous and just try to get through the semester. Including final exams, I’d have twelve more Mondays in his class. I could do twelve mornings sitting in this seat. I could pretend like it didn’t affect me at all, either his incredible attractiveness or his annoyance.

As he finished up the lecture, I closed my laptop and started to gather my things. I did this quietly, almost surreptitiously.

“Before I let you go, make note that there will be a quiz on chapter eight in the text next week. Also, Melinda Sayers and Jeffrey Chambers, please see me after class.”

My eyes flicked up in disbelief. Was I in trouble for putting my laptop up before I’d recorded every hallowed syllable he deigned to offer us? Did he want to reprimand us both for some imagined offense? Jeff and I have had classes together for the last three years. I knew he was the other winner of the internship, and I knew his girlfriend Zayla who played in a band at the coffeehouse a couple of blocks away. I didn’t sit anywhere near him so we couldn’t have been caught whispering or anything. Dread rode in the pit of my stomach. I really didn’t want to go toe to toe with Professor Quinn over anything. I just wanted to slink out in a hurry.

As the other students made their way out of the room, I found myself almost squirming under the heat of his disapproving gaze. I pulled the strap of my bag onto my shoulder and picked up my water bottle. Jeff was already standing by the door, looking at his phone.

“To my office, please,” Professor Quinn said, pocketing his thumb drive and leading the way down the hall.

We filed into his small, plush office and took seats in the leather wing chairs facing his desk. It felt old fashioned, a gentleman’s study. There should be a fireplace, a pipe on the mantelpiece waiting for him. He should have suede patches on the elbows of his tweed blazer, perhaps a neatly trimmed beard.

I was in danger of developing some kind of very specific professor kink if I wasn’t careful. As it was, I was imagining him, stern and forbidding, glowering at me from across his desk in some midcentury Oxford academician’s office while I clasped my hands nervously waiting for him to reprimand me for being too forward with my essay about sexual themes in Ibsen or something.

I looked out the window to ground myself and remember that I was in twenty-first century California probably about to get my ass handed to me by my professor and in front of Jeff. Jeff shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and I figured he was just in a hurry to get to his next class or to the library. Maybe he needed to charge his phone or something. Anyway, I was the one with the stupid crush and the pissed off teacher. Jeff was just a hostage, probably, a witness to the scolding I was about to get for whatever Quinn was aggravated about.

“I’m sure you both know why I’ve brought you here by now. If you’ve checked your university email accounts this morning, that is. Dr. Arboy is taking a leave of absence due to a family situation. She has asked me to take over the job of internship coordinator for the pair of you who were awarded the Collingsworth Internship and assigned to the job placement center at the women’s shelter for the semester.”

“Oh,” I said, not anticipating this.

My stomach flipped.

On one hand, I was glad that I wasn’t in trouble, or in any danger of losing my position with the women’s studies program. The vice chancellor had been good enough to admit me to graduate level coursework this semester, and I didn’t want her to feel that her faith in me was misplaced due to any misunderstanding with faculty. So it was a relief that this was just about the internship.

On the other hand, it was a meeting with Professor Quinn about my very intensive internship this semester. About how Dr. Arboy would not be my mentor on this internship. Instead, it would be the hulking sexy beast of a man standing with his arms crossed behind his desk, his expression hawklike, missing nothing in our expressions.

“Dr. Arboy has forwarded me her materials for orientation. We can begin that via Google Classroom if you prefer, with the slide deck and questionnaire to be completed by seven this evening. With my full course load, and taking this advisory position on short notice, I haven’t scheduled a regular time for each of you to have your twice-weekly appointments yet. Since Tuesday is Ms. Sayers’ first day at the center, she and I will meet Tuesday evening. My last class ends at six-thirty. Is that time convenient for you?”

“Sure, I’ll be here,” I said quickly, tapping the appointment into my phone calendar and setting an alert.

“And Mr. Chambers, you start on Wednesday. I have a break between classes at 3:15. Can you make it?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Jeff said. “So, we have to watch the slides and fill out stuff today?”

“It should rightly have been done last week, but with Dr. Arboy’s family situation, the paperwork was overlooked until now. I need you to sign and submit the privacy documentation and turn in a copy at the registration desk at the job center as well as emailing me a copy for the file. Make sure you review the security protocols before you go to the job center. It’s in the women’s shelter complex and has a careful vetting system for volunteers and interns.”

“We did background checks already,” I pointed out.

“Yes, and if you hadn’t passed those, you wouldn’t be sitting here, Ms. Sayers,” he said coolly. “You’ll present your ID, sign in and be assigned a counselor to shadow for the week. Your internship requires a written reflection of one-thousand words after each shift at the center. No identifying details or names, and don’t give me a minute-by-minute report. I want a couple of observations and a reflection on what you’re learning, how you’d approach a situation differently or what you think your biases are that could impede a successful interaction with a client. Email me the reports within two hours of the end of your shift so we have the events fresh in your mind. I don’t think I need to say this, but Dr. Arboy put it in italics. No embellishing what happens at the job center or the shelter. Apparently past interns have taken it upon themselves to, let’s say, embroider the truth and breach confidentiality by sharing part or all of someone’s story online or with friends. We take privacy law very seriously, and any violation of the code of conduct you signed will be grounds for dismissal from both the internship and the women’s studies program. Any questions?”

I stared at him. I hadn’t even taken any notes, I was so overwhelmed by what all I needed to do. I felt like an entire notepad wouldn’t be enough to write down everything I needed to remember. I was having a perfectionist panic moment. My heart sped up, for once not because of his attractiveness or nearness. I rolled my lips under and gave a brief nod.

“If that’s all, you’re dismissed. I’ll see the two of you at your initial meetings tomorrow and Wednesday,” his voice was curt and final.

“Um,” I said, my voice sounding rusty. “I won’t take up much of your time, I just want to make sure I have all the information I need to do this successfully,” I paused to give him time to respond if he intended to throw me out of his office because he was running late or something.

“Go ahead, Ms. Sayers,” he said with the air of a man whose patience was being abused. I forged ahead.

“Tonight, do the slide deck, the questionnaire, and fill out all the forms. Then I go on schedule tomorrow and then I meet with you for a postmortem.”

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