by Lexi Hunter
"Sorry," he said. "I just came from the gym. Thought I had a minute before anyone would be in here." His eyes stopped short at my face. "Abbi?"
Oh hell no. This can't be him. I'd definitely have remembered this guy.
"Yes?" I said, searching his face.
"You probably don't remember me," he said, walking towards me as he swung a sports coat over the dark cotton that clung to his chest. The jacket had those little patches on the elbows that I so frequently fantasized about, and my heart fluttered like a butterfly as he stopped in front of me. He laughed and extended a hand, "Maxwell Danvers. Professor Danvers to you. I can't remember the last time I saw you."
I knew my jaw was hanging open, but I couldn't remember how to close it. His hand hung in the air, waiting for me to shake it. I reached out with tentative fingers. This was not in any way, shape or form the man that I remembered with the prune face. This man was young. Okay, not twenty or even thirty, but who cared when he looked this good?
"How old are you?" I blurted. My cheeks burned and I wished I could back out of the room and erase the last five minutes. "I'm sorry," I spat, clapping a hand over my mouth.
"No, it's okay. I get that a lot actually." He put his hand down. "Let's just say I'm the perfect model of what a good workout routine and the right diet can do for you. Of course, the Green Berets don't exactly let you eat junk food and sit on your ass all day."
I nodded, still feeling the fever on my face. A Green Beret? Shit, Maxwell was a badass.
"Would you like to try intros again?" he asked. The awkward tension eased off my shoulders ever so slightly and I smiled.
"Professor Maxwell Danvers," he said, holding out his hand. "I ride motorcycles and teach English."
"Abigail Wilson. I love motorcycles and the men who ride them." His cheeks colored slightly and his eyes burned deep in his skull. This time, I extended my hand with confidence, but when our fingers touched I lost all feeling in my arm. The electricity that shot between us ran the length of my body, unsettling me for a moment. I jerked my hand away and looked at him.
What the hell was that? Did he feel it too?
His face was hard to read, but his mouth dropped open ever so slightly and he licked his lips. "Well," he said, clearing his throat. "I, uh..." Just then Jared strolled in. He walked straight to his seat in the back of the room and sat down, looking mad and staring at the floor.
Professor Danvers smiled and said, "It's nice to see you again, Abbi. Go ahead and take your seat."
CHAPTER 5
Desire
I SPENT MAXWELL'S entire introduction watching the way his body moved under his clothes. Looking around the room, I wasn't the only one. All the girls—and one of the boys—stared at Maxwell like he was the Hope Diamond.
He was too good looking to be real. His dark hair was shaggy but not long. It had that tousled look that screamed, I've been riding my Harley all day. Turned out the bike in the parking lot that had gotten me all hot and moist was his. I kept picturing him on it, cruising down the highway.
I blinked, unable to believe what I was feeling. Passion... lust... desire. After what had happened with Connor and Tara, I'd decided to die a virgin. I didn't need sex in my life, not when it could make me feel so miserable. But watching Maxwell—Professor Danvers—I couldn't help but imagine what it would feel like to have his body pressed against mine.
"Abbi? Did you hear what I said?"
Shit! I blinked again, this time focusing on the fact that Max, er, Professor Danvers, had just called on me for something, and I had no idea what that something was.
"No," I admitted, feeling the heat creep into my cheeks. I was trying my best not to picture him naked, but I was failing miserably.
"I said," Maxwell began, and then he was off talking about the teacher he was replacing. I found that if I focused on his voice, rather than his face, it made things a bit easier. His voice was mesmerizing. Sultry and seductive like a twenty-year-old scotch. I ignored any part of me that tried to make sense of the feelings that coursed through my blood.
Something he said caught my attention, and I saw shock flicker onto the faces around me. What did I miss?
"I'm sorry," one junior said, raising her hand. "What did you just say?"
Turns out "Professor" Ray hadn't actually been a professor. Oh, he had a standard middle school teaching certificate, but it had just expired and he hadn't bothered to renew it. The license wasn't even good for community college, though technically this was still a high school course. No one was really sure how he'd gotten the job teaching our class in the first place.
Jared raised his hand but didn't wait to be called on. "We're still following his syllabus, though, right?"
Maxwell smiled at him as if he'd been expecting this. "You will all be receiving a new syllabus, tailored to your specific needs, before you leave class today." There were groans.
Maxwell's teaching style was different from Professor Ray's in that he actually tried to teach us. Throughout the day, he went from student to student, helping us with whatever we needed, encouraging us to ask questions.
The end of the day came fast, and true to his word, Professor Danvers gave everyone a new and improved course outline. Being the only senior in class —graduate senior, I told myself, trying to boost my morale, as if there was any such thing as a graduate senior—I was last to get my syllabus. When I looked at it, I thought there must have been a typo or two... or six.
"Um, Max—Professor?" I said, going up to his desk.
He looked up and smiled. "Yes, Abbi?"
"I think there's some kind of misprint here. These essays," I leaned over the desk and pointed to the syllabus I'd placed in front of him, "are all like ten pages long." I laughed, but when I looked at Maxwell he wasn't laughing.
"And?" he asked.
"And..." I continued, "that can't possibly be right. Mr. Montoya didn't make us write anything more than a five page essay."
"Are you sure?" he asked. "From what I understand, you missed most of the semester. For all you know, Mr. Montoya could've been assigning twelve page essays and you'd have no idea."
I felt my temper flare, especially when he stared at me with those steely, seductive eyes. "Have you considered that I'm actually taking it easy on you?" he asked.
I knew my face was turning crimson and tried to control it. I didn't want everyone in class hearing me scream at our newest professor, so I leaned close to him to give him a piece of my mind.
His eyes opened with lustrous curiosity and it felt like I was about to kiss him instead of yell at him. He moved his head a half inch closer to mine. His scent filled my nose with sweet green grass and a summer ocean breeze, and when I inhaled it felt like I'd been injected with some kind of drug.
His own hands shook and his brown eyes turned to fire. I pulled away from him, looking around to see if anyone else had noticed the explosion between us. No one was even paying attention.
"Er," I said, and retreated to my seat.
I could have sworn I felt Maxwell's eyes on me the rest of the day. I sensed when he turned them to me, like a blind person senses someone standing in front of them. But every time I looked up, he was looking at his desk. I wondered if it was just my imagination or if there was an innate connection we shared that was only just beginning to manifest. When it was finally time to leave I ran from the room, afraid of what might happen if I lingered too long.
CHAPTER 6
Tough Guy
I GOT HOME that night and found my grandfather seated at our dining table with my father.
"Hey Grandpa," I said, putting my arms around him. "Hey, Dad," I kissed his cheek. It was the sagging skin of a middle-aged man—the way men in their forties were supposed to look.
"Abbi," Dad said, taking me in a gentle hug. "How was class today? Max didn't show up drunk like the last guy, did he?" But he roared with laughter and I knew the idea of Maxwell showing up drunk was a joke. I wasn't even sure Maxwell drank, not with the type of workout routine he
must follow.
Whatever he did to keep in shape, it was paying off. Even now, I couldn't stop thinking about him. I clung to his image like a drowning man clings to a life raft. With his form burned into my retinas, it was almost like the pain from the last two months ceased to exist, replaced with a raging fire burning deep in my core.
I hesitated before saying anything, but I was dying of curiosity. I needed to learn more about Maxwell. "He seems kind of intense. And he doesn't look anything like what I remember."
"You were just a kid last time you saw him. And Max can be very intense at times, you're right. He was a Green Beret you know. One of the best. He's some kind of sharp-shooter."
"Why did he leave the Green Berets?"
A shadow fell across my father's face. "It's not my place to tell the story, you understand, but suffice it to say ole' Max found his wife..." My dad's voice trailed off.
Grandpa looked at me with one gray eyeball, which he squinted into the folds of his skin so that it almost disappeared. "Oh hell, she's old enough. Just tell her."
My dad relented. "He found his wife in bed with another Beret. His captain. Broke the guy's jaw, but broke his hand too. Never healed right."
My jaw dropped. Maxwell broke someone's jaw? I thought of the number of times I'd wished I'd done the same to Connor and part of me rallied at the image of Maxwell slamming his fist into the face of his wife's lover. Too bad he broke his hand doing it.
"That's who's teaching Abbi's class?" My Mom's voice rang loud and shrill from behind me. I hadn't even realized she was standing there. "I'm not sure that's any better than the drunk. Hitting your captain. I bet he was court-martialed for that."
Dad waved a hand at her, casting her off. "Nothing like that. The whole thing was just as embarrassing for the captain as it was for him. Max got an honorable discharge. Anyway," he said, sounding a tad smug. "how would you feel if you found me in bed with another woman? Would you just let the two of us walk out of here arm in arm?"
Mom tilted her head, contemplating the idea of my father in bed with another woman, then mumbled, "Mmmm, I guess he'll do," before going back into the kitchen to check on dinner.
***
The next day started off better, in terms of self-control. Maxwell was there, of course, but I was able to maintain a sort of reserved perspective about him. Yes, he was attractive. Yes, he smelled like the beach. But he was my father's best friend and twice my age.
I wondered what my friends would think if I told them I was into Maxwell. Then I looked around the classroom and saw the same girls and boy from yesterday, heads tilted towards Maxwell, with swooning eyes and heavy breath. They'd probably be okay with it.
I watched Maxwell pull some papers from a vintage briefcase and begin handing them out to us. One was the paper I'd printed just before class yesterday. At the top of the paper, in red pen, was a giant "F." I stared at it in silence, fuming.
I refused to look at Maxwell the rest of the morning, which was no easy thing to do. It was like his scent called to me, trying to make me turn and look at him. I could hear the rustle of his sports coat as he moved across the room in jeans just tight enough to enhance one's imagination.
When we broke for the day, I waited until the last person in class filed out before approaching him.
"Professor Danvers," I said, tightening my voice and holding my chin up, hoping that my use of formality would somehow aid in my quest to annoy him.
"Yes, Abigail?" he asked. His face was blank, but I thought he probably knew what I wanted.
"Could you please tell me the meaning of this?" I shoved my paper under his nose as he tried to keep a straight face.
"You mean you don't know what an F is?" he asked. Dimples crinkled at the corners of his mouth, infuriating me at the same time I felt myself becoming deeply aroused.
I lost every ounce of control I'd been holding onto. "Of course I know what an F is," I shouted. "How stupid do you think I am? It's not my fault I flunked Mr. Montoya's class. What would you do if you caught your boyfriend in bed with your best friend? How was I supposed to keep going to class when they were there?"
I didn't expect to start crying. I tried to cover my eyes with my hands, using them like a veil, but I could still see Maxwell sitting there, watching me with a somber expression.
"Don't pity me!" I screamed.
Maxwell clearly hadn't expected me to cry either. He looked bewildered. Maxwell's smile faded as he got out of his chair. He was a good foot taller than me.
"Abbi," he said. He was so close I could feel his breath warming the air I inhaled, joining us together if only for a second as a piece of him became a part of me. "I didn't grade your paper like that to hurt you." His voice was layered with concern. "I don't pity you. I understand your situation better than you think. And you're not stupid, but I know you can do better."
He pried my hands away from my face so that I had to look at him. A faint buzz twisted up my arm as his skin touched mine. "Honestly, how much effort did you put into writing that paper?"
"Honestly?" I squeaked, preparing to tell him I'd toiled over it for hours in the dead of night, losing sleep and not even stopping eating. His eyes told me they would have seen right through that. "Not much," I said simply, casting my eyes downward.
"Exactly," he said, "and it showed. That's all."
His hand moved under my chin and tilted my head back so that my eyes met his. "Would you like to try it again?" he asked.
"What?" I whispered. The air left my lungs and my heart ran a sprint inside my chest. I lost all focus on whatever we'd been talking about. All I saw now was Maxwell's eyes as hints of butterscotch swirled inside them, drawing out pieces of my soul.
"Your paper," he smiled.
"Oh," I said, snapping out of my trance. "Yeah. I would. Thanks." I looked at Maxwell and suddenly remembered that I had vowed never to trust men again. They weren't worth it. They could rip your heart out.
"I'll get it to you soon," I said, grabbing my book bag and racing for the door.
"Oh, and Abbi," he stopped me just as I set one foot in the hallway. "For the record, if my boyfriend had cheated on me with my best friend," he paused a second, his grin flickered as a shadow crossed his face. He cupped his right hand with his left like it was wounded. I wondered if he was even aware he was doing that. "I'd have punched him in the face."
I walked away unable to think clearly. For the first time in months, I let myself fantasize about what it might be like to be with a man.
CHAPTER 7
Dreams
IT WAS A long week, but only because I couldn't stop thinking about Maxwell. I found myself way past teetering on the edge of a schoolgirl crush. This was something more, something I hadn't encountered before in my eighteen years.
Maxwell's face consumed me. His eyes followed me into my dreams, where we took turns introducing our lips to each other. In Monday's dream, I threw myself at him while the class watched, ripping his shirt to shreds so I could touch his body with my tongue.
In Wednesday's dream, it was Maxwell's turn. He asked me to stay after class and go over my latest essay. When we were alone, he swiped everything off his desk and onto the floor in one fluid movement, like something from a movie. Then he undressed me with his teeth before pulling my panties down. Of course, I'd woken up before it had gotten to the really good parts.
By Friday's dream, Maxwell was naked, giving me a test, while I sat naked at a desk. When he offered to give me extra credit if I'd come sit on his lap, I happily obliged. And then I woke up.
That was the one constant about my dreams—they all ended before anything could happen. I wondered if this was my virginity trying to tell me something, like maybe that I should lose it. And maybe that Maxwell should be the one I lost it to.
Sometimes being a loser is a good thing.
Over the last week, I'd had increasingly frequent daydreams as well. I tried to push them away, but wasn't always successful.
It was o
n a Friday, during one of these daydreams, that I suddenly called out, "Yes Maxwell!" in the middle of class. Everyone looked at me, including Maxwell. My cheeks turned red and I quickly stood up, announcing that I had to use the bathroom. Maxwell nodded and the class went back to work, but their eyes peeked at me as I made my way to the door.
Once outside the confines of the classroom, I ran into the bathroom and made the spontaneous decision to stay there the rest of the day. It was only another hour... or four. No one would even notice I was gone.
After twenty minutes I got tired of staring at the toilets and decided to take a walk. It was sunny and warm today. It should be, it was June. I walked around the campus, thinking maybe I should just leave. I could just tell my mom we had a half day. She wouldn't know. Then I realized that in my state of panic, after blurting out Maxwell's name, I'd left my purse, keys, phone... basically everything I owned, inside the damned classroom.
I don't care, my brain said. We're not going back in there.
I told my brain it was very wise and found a nice shady spot under a tree. I fell asleep and dreamed that Maxwell came to me intent on making love at last. He was just beginning to caress me between my legs when my eyes opened.
It was still very light out, but campus had thinned considerably. Shit. Some student walked past me and I stopped him to ask the time. He looked at his phone.
"Four-thirty," he said and kept walking.
Four-thirty? Crap! Classes got out a half hour ago. What if the door was locked? I didn't want to see Maxwell, but I couldn't leave campus till I had my things. What am I going to say if he's there? I'd have to see him eventually anyways. I decided I'd worry about it all on Monday. Maybe I could tell him I got sick. Yeah... sick was good.
I cracked the door open, certain Maxwell must have left by now, but not wanting to take any chances. The room was empty. My phone, purse, and school bag were gone. I stepped into the room and began searching.
I turned to face the giant dry erase board and saw a note in Maxwell's handwriting: