My Professor(81)

He looked up when I walked in and leaned back in his chair, looking me over with kind eyes. He beckoned me over and I slipped around his desk until I stood before him. I set his coffee by his keyboard as he reached out to take my hand.

“How do you feel?”

“Much better.”

“Good.”

“Thank you again for what you did.”

He nodded and stood. I held my ground as he let go of my hand so he could wrap his up around my neck and hold me steady as he dropped a kiss to my lips. It was chaste and over too quickly.

His gaze held me captive as he pulled back. “Tell me you missed me yesterday.”

“I missed you.” The words slipped out with a smile.

He exhaled out a heavy breath, shaking his head. “God, you’re all I think about. I keep telling myself to give you space, to let you come to me, and here I am…I can’t keep my hands off you.”

I reached up to press my hands over his where they held my neck, to ensure he wouldn’t pull away, to try to show him what I wanted.

“Have we both gone insane?” I asked.

“Possibly.”

I smiled.

“I want to ask you out again, but I won’t.”

I understood what he was trying to tell me, and I responded, “I’ll have you know that if you did ask me to go on a date this weekend, this time I would say yes. I swear I would. But I’m going out of town.”

He didn’t look pleased. “To where?”

“New York. Sonya…you know, my friend who was in your class at Dartmouth? The one who got in trouble with me?” The memory almost made me laugh. “She’s getting married. I’m her maid of honor.”

“When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow. Early morning.”

“What color is your dress?”

“A pale red. She wanted us all to wear sunset shades.”

I should have asked him then if he would be my plus-one. I could have introduced the idea so seamlessly, but I chickened out. He’s so busy, I thought. There’s no way he could take the time off with everything going on at the firm. I didn’t want to make him feel bad for having to work, so I pressed up onto my toes and kissed him for as long as I could before noise from down the hall reminded me where I was.

“When I get back, you’ll ask me out again, won’t you?”

He smiled and nodded. “When you get back.”

Now, I grab my purse and turn back to Alexander. “He won’t mind. He’s not here today.”

Alexander nods. “Good. Then let’s go—I’m starved.”

I take the flowers he holds out and set them on my desk. Even though I’m still feeling slightly bitter about the events of the weekend, I say a small thank you, but that’s it. I’m not sure I feel up to pleasantries just yet.

I don’t know how to feel about what happened with Alexander. I can’t blame him for everything. He didn’t force me to drink as heavily as I did, but he and his friends did supply the drinks and ensure the night turned out as chaotic as it did. To say I was out of my league going out with a group like them is an understatement. I’m not sure what would have happened had I not thought to drunk-dial Professor Barclay. Honestly, the night could have taken a horrible turn, which is why it seems Alexander has his tail between his legs today. He must realize he messed up.

We stop off for salads and eat outside on a park bench. We go through forced pleasantries while we pick at our food, and then he turns to me and flat-out apologizes.

“I’m sorry, Emelia. I should have taken better care of you on Saturday.”

I don’t tell him it’s okay, because it’s not.

“I wasn’t aware you guys were doing drugs.”

He clears his throat.

“Were you?” I press.

“Yes.”

I’ve lived such a sheltered life. Even at Dartmouth, short of a few edibles, I never dabbled in much of anything. I never felt the need to.

“Are you okay?”

My question catches him by surprise.

“Of course. Are you?”

I nod. Thanks to Professor Barclay.

“I’m not perfect,” he admits, like he’s shattering some false image I had of him. Did I?

“We all cope in different ways. Do you think—”

He cuts me off. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“How long have you had a problem?”

“I don’t have a problem.” He sighs, then continues on in a short, clipped tone. “Listen, Saturday night shouldn’t have happened. I apologize for it, but beyond that, I’m not getting into it.”

I stay silent, shifting lettuce around in my to-go container like I might actually take another bite of my salad.

“I know what the world thinks,” he says, sounding wistful. “There’s no pity for the rich drug abuser, the depressed millionaire.”

“Are you depressed?”

He laughs like I’m being naive. “Emelia, we’re all depressed. Haven’t you heard? This is the age of anxiety.”

I frown, not appreciating his sarcastic tone. “I think some people are happy. My friend Sonya is.” I think I could be…

“Yeah, well, I’m not like her.”