My Professor(15)

She was always going to be too much of a distraction, an itch I couldn’t scratch, a girl I couldn’t get out of my head.

I’ve had filthy fantasies about her in that wooden chair.

My student.

So no, Tricia, I don’t have a girlfriend.

I only have Emelia.

“What about you? Are you seeing someone?”

She huffs out a laugh. “Nope. Like I said, I spend most of my time holed up in the mathematics building, and if you can believe it, the old math geezers aren’t really my type.”

“I’ll be your wingman then.”

The sting of rejection is written across her face for only the briefest moment, and then she masks it with a wink and a smile.

“You’re on.” The bartender returns with a tray of beers for us to take back to the table. “C’mon, let’s go scope out the crowd. There has to be a few good guys in here tonight, right?”

Just as we retake our seats, my phone buzzes in my pocket with an incoming email. I check it, though I shouldn’t. It’s work. It’s always work. I pen a quick reply but save it to drafts, knowing I’ll want to review it in the morning, after I’ve slept off these drinks. Catcalls near the front door of the bar draw my gaze. I look up from my phone, and my stomach plummets when I see Emelia walk in with a small group of friends.

I still can’t get over the idea that she exists outside of that bench in the courtyard. She isn’t a dream. She’s a student in a bar who I’m meant to stay away from. She shouldn’t be here. Fate’s cruel rubbing salt in my wound.

I’m not even a little relieved to see her. I know how horribly we left things on Tuesday. I know she likely wants nothing to do with me.

Good.

That’s for the best.

Her group strolls further inside, eating up the cheers and shouts from the people they pass. They’re in costume, which is why everyone is so excited. I recognize Sonya among them. She’s leading the way, working the crowd, spinning in a circle to show off her red outfit. Emelia brings up the rear with an arm wrapped protectively around her stomach as if trying to conceal some of the bare skin her getup is putting on display.

She’s wearing practically nothing, a ridiculous schoolgirl outfit, and the people she passes take full notice. A guy leans out to touch her arm, to pay her a compliment it looks like, and she offers a tight, timid smile before sidestepping out of his reach.

A primal, angry, jealous thing grows inside me, the need to shout at them to keep their lecherous gazes off her. Touch her again and I’ll break your fucking hand gets swallowed down with a heavy swig of beer.

“Oh my god! That’s hilarious.” Tricia laughs. “I think those kids are all dressed up as different versions of Britney Spears. I recognize the green snake costume and the schoolgirl getup, but not the others. Maybe I’m wrong.”

I’m stuck on her word choice: kids.

Fucking hell.

I down another sip of beer.

Emelia is a kid. My student. Why can’t I seem to remind myself of that enough times to make it actually stick?

Or maybe that’s not the real issue. Maybe repeating that to myself over and over again isn’t going to convince me to stay away from her…maybe it’s the exact opposite.

She takes a seat across the room, and I’m relieved she’s far away.

The conversation around me goes ignored as I watch her and her friends order drinks, take pictures, smile and laugh. Emelia is a part of it all, but while the others all genuinely seem to be having fun, Emelia is only pretending. It’s so obvious to me. The moment the selfie is accomplished, her smile drops.

She looks up and catches me watching her. I love that I’ve caught her off guard the way she caught me off guard the first day of the semester when I looked up into the crowded lecture hall and saw her.

Her eyes widen in shock, and then her gaze immediately flits away, back to her group as a rosy blush overtakes her cheeks. I can almost imagine her thoughts.

If it isn’t the asshole himself.

I’m sure she wishes I would leave. Maybe she’s cursing me to hell in that pretty little head of hers after how angry I made her on Tuesday.

But then she picks up her cocktail and ever so carefully looks back in my direction, not with hatred, but with intrigue.

I do a decent job of carrying on with my conversation with Tricia and Jose, participating enough that they can’t call me out while mostly just drinking my beer and looking over at Emelia.

She knows I’m watching her—our eyes have locked twice—but she’s not putting on a show for me. If anything, it’s the exact opposite. For someone in a costume, she sure acts like she wants to blend in. She sits back in the booth she shares with her friends and takes little sips of her drink. Sonya and the guy they’re with are holding up a camera and recording a video of themselves. The fourth person in their group left a little bit ago to take a phone call. Emelia sits quietly, alone in the crowd as she swirls her straw in her glass.

People from my group eventually start to leave. I close my tab and offer to cover everyone else’s as well, a gift to Garrett. They all lift their glasses and cheers in my honor. I can’t be certain, but I swear I feel Emelia watching me again.

I get up to use the bathroom before I leave. It’s going to be a long train ride back to Boston. After I’m done, I wash my hands and open the door, only to find Emelia waiting on the other side.