Page 20 of One Night With My Grumpy Professor Daddy

As soon as I get to campus, I head for the dean’s office. The dean, Professor Walter, is an acquaintance of mine. He’s known my father for years but is a good man. I tell his secretary I’m here, and after a short wait, she says, “Dean Walter will see you now.”

“Morning, Professor Walter,” I say while we shake hands.

“Armstrong, my boy, good to see you. How is it going?” I take the seat opposite him. “How’ve you been? They haven’t kicked you out, yet I see...” He laughs, his mouth covered by his full white beard. “Well, these old bones haven’t failed me yet, and until they do, they’d have to kick me out. He chuckles. Anyway, what can I do for you, Drake?”

“I wanted to talk about the students assigned to me as supervisees…”

“Ah, yes. I selected a few top students from the dean’s list to be assigned to you because, as an honorary professor, you have real-world expertise. And it’s my belief you can help harness their passion to produce the next best class of graduates this university has seen.” There goes any hope of keeping my distance from Ava. I pinch the bridge of my nose to tamper down on my headache and smile,

“Oh, great, thank you. I appreciate it—I do my best.” So, what was it you were going to say about one of your supervisees? Are you having a hard time getting along with them? If so, per our usual course, we’d have both professor and student fill out a small report just to know the specifics and or what exactly went down; once that’s complete, we can get that student reassigned, that’s all.” I think about Ava filling out a report or explaining to the dean why I think we can’t work together, and I shake my head. This is not going as planned.

“No, it’s all good. I just wanted to thank you for the assignment. I enjoy working with them.” I say, adjusting the collar of my shirt.

“Well, that’s good to know,” he says, smiling. “If there’s anything at all, just let me know.”

“Oh, I mean no, there’s nothing else.” I rise from my seat, “Thank you for your time, Professor Walter.”

He grabs my hand and winks. “You should be expecting an email from me soon. It’s the annual symposium, and I’d like you to join this year. I think you’d be interested in the theme.”

On a typical day, I might have been able to summon an enthusiastic response. But right now, I just say, “Right. I’ll wait on that email. Thanks, Walter.”

“Anytime, son.”

Back in my office, I try not to think of what a waste of time my visit this morning was. Instead, I focus on the paperwork in front of me.

There’s a knock at the door; I’m not expecting anyone in my office today. They knock again, louder.

“Come in.”

“Good morning, Professor Armstrong,” Ava says as she enters my office.

“Miss Ava, how may I help you?”

“Ava, Sir… just Ava, is fine ... I never got your email about the project I’ll be working on. You were so bent on referring me to another Professor, yet you haven’t done that either.” I massage my temple as I feel a headache rising again.

“Please, just send me an email about the topic you’ve chosen and what you’ve written so far.” Her eyebrows shoot up. I’m guessing she was expecting me to refuse, and that’s why she showed up at my office instead of just sending an email.

“Professor, you were pretty adamant about what happened between us, making it so we can’t work together?

I sigh. “I went to the dean about it, but he insisted before re-assigning you to another supervisor that he had to hear both parties’ recounts first.” Her eyes narrow, and her brows shoot up.

“So you tried to get rid of me… I thought you weren’t hung up on what happened between us?” A small smile appears on her face.

“Ava-”

She shakes her head,

Gliding to my side of the desk while trailing her hand along the mahogany surface, she leaned in at eye level. “I thought you were concerned that I’d be the one who’s hung up.”

I clear my throat. “I don’t think that matters right now.”

Her sly smile grows wider. “Oh, it doesn’t?” She licks her lips and leans further. My heartbeat increases, and my eyes zero in on the action. Images from the dream I had this morning run through my mind, and I feel the little ounce of control I have left slipping.

What is it about this woman?

I clear my throat. “And why does it matter?”

“It matters, Professor, because …” With every word, she bends lower till I can see a hint of her full, plump breasts.

---