by Claire Adams
In a strange way, I had a suspicion that my father was jealous of all the time I spent with my mother instead of visiting him. It made him even more of a dick.
This year, we hadn’t even bothered trying to catch up for Christmas. He sent my Christmas gift to the house, and I left it for my mother to use. I doubted she would, though. She didn’t even know how to work a computer, besides turn it on and read emails.
“Cool,” I said, distantly when Bailey finished talking. “What else did you do for Christmas break?”
“Not much.” She wheeled one of her bags into her room. “We just did our usual thing. Went up to our farmhouse in Upstate New York and went to a football game. Oh.” She turned to grin at me mischievously. “I met some guy in New York through my parents. He’s a musician at Julliard. Not my type, really, but he’s cute.”
I barely suppressed an eye roll.
“Really? Did you go out on a date with him?”
“One time,” she said, sighing dramatically. “I didn’t know how to break it to him that I didn’t think we had a lot of things in common. He insisted on taking me out to lunch the entire time I was in New York.”
“Because he thinks you’re beautiful,” I replied, grabbing my bag from the couch.
Bailey was a very beautiful woman. I didn’t blame the dude for wanting to get underneath her sweater. At 5’4” with tanned long legs and a trim body that screamed sex underneath all her nice clothes, men were rendered stupid in her presence. I never blamed them for falling for it. She knew how to work her charms when she wanted.
“Right. I know that,” she said, shrugging casually. “So, how does your last semester look class wise?”
I pulled out my class schedule to glance down at it with a sigh. “To be honest,” I said, shaking my head, “I’m not thrilled about this semester, at all.”
“Why?”
“I have to retake a class.”
“Which one?”
“Freshman English,” I said, reluctantly and glared when Bailey burst out laughing. “It’s not funny! That professor hated me the second I walked into his classroom. It didn’t help that I had to drive to my mom’s house all the time to help her.”
“That sucks for you,” she said, still laughing. “I can’t even imagine being in a classroom full of freshman students right out of high school. Maybe you can do something else instead of it? Will the department let you do something like that?”
“I have no other choice. If I want to graduate this May, I have to take it,” I said. “I can’t afford to pay another semester’s worth of tuition.”
“Well, you’ll get through it,” Bailey said, grabbing a hold of her own class list. “You’re smart when it comes to English.”
I detected a trace of jealousy in her voice, but I turned my attention downwards to my class list, as well.
“I’m not that smart if I failed it the first time,” I replied. “What is your schedule like?”
She seized the topic change with a grin. “Easy,” she said, excitedly. “I only have three classes and advising. That’s it. This semester will be a breeze all the way up until graduation. Are you excited to be getting out of Utah?”
“You have no idea.”
The thought of leaving behind Utah and all my mother’s drinking problems filled me with mixed emotions. I longed to get away from it, to have a fresh start, to live my own life without others complicating it at every turn. I just had to get through this English class with a professor had never heard of before.
“Hello? Anyone there?” Bailey waved a hand in front of my face with a frown. “Did you hear what I said?”
“No,” I admitted, and forced an apologetic smile on my face. “Sorry. What were you saying?”
“I asked who the professor was for your English class.”
I glanced down at the name. “Noah Webber.”
“New professor?” she asked, frowning. “I’ve never heard of him before.”
“He must be,” I said, chewing on the pad of my thumb. “I can’t find any information on him being a teacher. The only thing I can find is that he used to be a famous rugby player in New Zealand.”
“That sounds like he’s hot to me,” she said, a grin tugging at her lips. “A rugby player as a professor is a little strange, though. I’ll admit that. Maybe he’ll be cute to look at, and it’ll get you through class.”
I tucked my class list back into the front folder of my binder. The last thing I wanted to think about was an attractive professor. It wasn’t a secret what would happen if professors and students intermingled romantically. A few professors had been fired. Students were expelled for it. It happened more than the dean liked to admit.
“Doesn’t matter if he is or isn’t,” I said, shortly. “I have to pass this class to get out of Utah.”
“If he’s cute, you should go for it. I’m serious,” she said, twirling a finger through her hair with that same mischievous smile that meant trouble. “I think it might do you some good to have a flirty relationship with someone. In the four years that we’ve been fri-roommates, I mean, you’ve never once gone out on a date. Let alone, express any sort of interest in a guy.”
I stared at Bailey in mild irritation. Despite her rather ditzy manner at times, the woman was far too observant about things in my life. I never spoke of personal things. She just figured them out from putting pieces together.
“I’m not interested in being with someone right now,” I said. That was one hundred percent the truth. I had no interest in having my heart broken by some guy during college before going out into the real world. I refused to be like a few other girls in school who cried their eyes out over their boyfriend breaking up with them or cheating on them.
“You can’t protect yourself forever,” Bailey said then, looking at me closely. “I suspect you don’t want to get involved because you don’t want your heart broken, but it has to be much deeper than that.”
Done with the conversation, I grabbed my binder and rose from where we had been seated on the couch.
“I don’t know why you’re taking such an interest in my love life,” I said, heading directly toward my bedroom. “Everything’s fine with me. I just want to get through this last semester of college without any distractions.”
“Life is full of distractions,” Bailey called out. “You can’t run from them.”
I closed the door behind me. Sinking down to the carpeted floor, I stared distantly at my unmade bed.
“I’ve been running for a long time, and it’s been fine,” I whispered to myself. “I can keep running as long as I need to.”
Chapter Five
Noah
There was no way in hell I would last very long here without getting distracted.
The air was frigid as expected during the late winter months, but I warmed myself in a patch of sunlight peeking through the clouds. A few early-bird students were emerging from their dorms to head in the direction of the dining hall for breakfast and coffee. The campus had been asleep still when I arrived earlier, but now that I got a good view of some of the female students walking about, I knew I was in for it. I was in deep trouble.
A group of female students passed by in a huff of giggles. I caught the gaze of one them – a blonde-haired student with impressive legs and taut ass in her early twenties – and then forced myself to look away. Their giggles resumed.
“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath. “Why do they have to be so damn attractive?”
I sipped at my hot coffee while I waited for the time to wind down to when I needed to get over to my first class. That’s the new professor. That much I overheard several times as students passed by me. My phone buzzed in my blazer pocket a moment later. I grinned when I looked down at the number.
“What up?”
“I’m impressed,” Hunter said. “I thought I’d for sure be waking you up right now to make sure you got to your job on time.”
“Times have changed, my friend,” I replied, ta
king another sip of coffee. “Maybe I should call to get you up in time for work. Why aren’t you at work yet?”
“I own my own business. That’s one of the perks.”
“Right. Well, you better get to your business then before the boss finds out you’re late,” I said. “And by that, I mean, before your wife figures out you’re late.”
Hunter snorted into the phone. “Very funny, jackass. Call me later and let me know how your job goes today. I’m interested in hearing how you take to being a teacher.”
Freshman English was on the bottom floor in the very last room. I cringed at the smell of old, wet carpet and how crowded the desks were together. I loathed the idea of talking to Miles about moving to a different classroom, but if I were going to teach here, I wanted a nice place to teach. Maybe flipping the rugby card would help with that case, I thought.
I took the chair in front of the dry erase board. Students filed in quietly as I scrawled my name neatly on the board. Hushed whispers filled the classroom when I turned to face the nervous faces seated in front of me. Some of them had their assigned books already in front of them.
I had to resist the temptation to roll my eyes at the nervous silence. These kids were still fresh out of high school, unaware of what to expect out of their first college class experience. They had one semester under their belts, but it was still a brand-new experience. I wanted to tell them loosen up and enjoy it. Everything would pass by way too damn fast if they were so uptight and afraid of everything.
I gave the clock five more minutes before I closed the classroom door to face them.
“Good morning,” I said, grinning at them all. A few bold ones returned the smile. “I’m Noah Webber, your English professor, but just call me Noah. Don’t call me Mr. Webber because that will make me feel way older than I already feel.”
A few laughs filled the classroom. I grabbed the class list I had printed out of my office earlier this morning. “Okay, so let’s get started with names here. I want every one of you to lighten up. I promise not to bite your head off, and if you have any questions, ask away.”
A hand shot up a second later. I blinked in surprise before nodding to the brunette sitting in the first row.
“I heard you used to be a professional rugby player,” she said. “Is that true?”
I sighed inwardly. I was well aware of who had spread that information around to students. As big as this PHU campus was, I had a feeling that rumors tended to spread around very fast.
“Yes,” I said. “I was for a while, but I am now a professor here.”
“Why did you become a professor?” the same brunette asked, curiously. “I mean, I thought you had to have a degree to teach.”
“You do, and I do have one. I’m thirty, ladies and gentlemen. That’s some time to get a degree to teach.”
“You don’t look thirty,” a pimple-faced boy added, skeptically. “You look our age.”
Irritation swept through me, but this was what I’d wanted. I didn’t want students to be afraid to look me in the eye. I hated the feeling that I couldn’t talk to my professors when I was in college. The only reason I got good grades was because I half-assed everything, but everyone enjoyed having a rising athletic star in their classroom.
“I’m thirty, I assure you,” I said and looked down at the class list. “Let’s get through this class list so I can put names to faces here.”
I check marked every person who called out. I stopped short when no one answered for the name Iris Paige.
“No Iris Paige?” I asked.
No one answered. I left the box next to Iris Paige blank before quickly reading that she was a member of the senior class graduating this May. Why a senior English major had ended up in Freshman English was beyond me, but she didn’t start her semester right by being absent from my class.
The rest of the morning whizzed by in a surreal blur of nervous freshman entering and leaving my classroom with smiles. By the time I reached my planning period four hours later, I was exhausted and ready for a refill on coffee to get through the rest of the day. Teaching was exhausting in an entirely different way than I was used to, but it was rewarding at the same time to see faces looking up at me as they absorbed in my lessons.
I stepped out of my office, locking the door behind me, and started toward the stairs when a voice called out to me.
“Noah Webber?”
I turned around to find a dark-haired man stepping out of what appeared to be his office, as well. He held out a hand for me to shake with a smile.
“I’m Kale Bateman,” he said. “I’m one of the other English professors here at PHU.”
“Cool.” I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” he said. “What brings you out to Utah all the way from New Zealand?”
“Love for books and words,” I replied, tapping my messenger bag pointedly full of various textbooks.
His grin widened. “That’s a good answer. I assume you’ve met your number one fan here on campus?”
“Just twice,” I said, grimacing inwardly in response to Miles. “Is he always so…”
“Fan boy over things?” Kale suggested, and when I nodded, he laughed. “He is. He’s a collector of famous people. He takes pride in having iconic people teaching here.”
“And that confirms my suspicion that he only hired me because I used to play rugby,” I said
“I thought it was because of your bo-”
“No offense, Kale,” I cut in smoothly, “but I really need to get some coffee to get through the rest of the afternoon.” I jiggled my empty coffee mug.
“Right,” he said, nodding. “If you need anything, stop by my office. Even if it’s to hide from the dean.”
“I appreciate that,” I said. “Thanks, man.”
The coffee shop was crowded with students and other professors when I reached it fifteen minutes later. I ordered a large coffee before sitting down in a rather uncomfortable chair in the corner to let some time pass before my next class.
I liked Kale. He seemed chill compared to some of the uptight professors I had seen walking around campus earlier, but he apparently knew what I did on the side to keep my income coming. The owner of my rugby team at the time had only promised one year’s worth of salary after my second ACL injury. I had to keep going somehow.
Things were not that bad teaching here. A group of female students passed by me in a cloud of hushed whispers and giggles. That part would take some to getting used to, but I certainly didn’t mind the views in the meantime.
I gulped down some coffee and stood up to shoulder my messenger bag. Someone bumped into my arm when I took step forward. Hot coffee spilled on my fingers, and the smell of cinnamon filled my nose when I turned to apologize to whoever it was that I bumped into.
“Sorry,” I apologized.
A pair of startling, green eyes met my own curiously. My throat tightened slightly when I took in sandy-colored hair that framed a delicate and freckled face with minimal make up. Her hair was tied back in a loose braid to reveal a slender neck and petite shoulders. I couldn’t help it; I let my eyes run down her tiny frame clothed in a simple pair of charcoal-colored leggings, fur-lined boots, and a simple gray sweatshirt.
Her eyes flicked away suddenly, a dusty-pink color filling the center of her cheeks. She continued her way past me after tossing out a mumbled, “Sorry.”
I forced myself to swallow the coffee still swirling about my mouth. I had no idea who she was, but I had to admit that students like her were a definite perk to this job. She was by far the most beautiful one on campus that I had seen.
Chapter Six
Iris
Class was going to suck. That much I knew when I packed my backpack for freshman English before venturing out to the kitchen.
Bailey looked up from pouring herself a bowl of cereal. She was still dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt with her pretty brunette locks pulled up into a messy bun. Mascara was smudged ben
eath her eyes from sleeping in her make up.
A teasing grin tugged at her lips. “Morning,” she said. “Have to get to your freshman class this morning?”
The innocent query only worsened my mood. Naturally, Bailey took great amusement in my predicament. She found anything like this hilarious if it happened to me.
I dropped my backpack to the floor to grab an apple. The first crunchy and sweet bite dulled the slight headache pounding at my temples.
“Yes,” I said, sourly. “I missed syllabus day on Wednesday. I have no other choice but to go today.”
“You missed syllabus day?” Bailey poured the milk into her cereal before dropping a spoon in with a faint plop. She arched an eyebrow at me. “I hope you don’t get your shit called out in front of all those baby-faced freshman. You’re a senior. You know better than to miss syllabus day.”
The thought immediately washed away any hunger I had. I could fake an illness or something to give a valid excuse for not showing up. I couldn’t tell him, “I just didn’t want to show up to your pointless class because I failed it three years ago due to personal reasons.”
“I couldn’t tell him the truth of why I didn’t want to show up in the first place,” I said. “Plus, I’ve already looked over his syllabus anyway. I know what he’s going to teach, and I’ve already read all of the books he has assigned.”
She looked at me skeptically. “Do you honestly think that’s a valid excuse?”
“No. I know it’s not.”
“So, expect to get ripped and lectured,” she said. “He’ll make an example out of you for missing class.”
“Great,” I mumbled, grabbing a hold of my backpack. “I better go before I’m late.”
“Have a glorious Friday!” she called out cheerfully. “You’re already almost five minutes late.” She ducked gracefully with amused laughter when I chucked my half-eaten apple at her.
The campus was nearly empty by the time I arrived there in a rush. I dashed down to the coffee shop to fill my travel mug up before darting back across the campus to the English Department. I glanced down at my phone with an inward sigh of dread. First, I missed syllabus day, and now I would be late.