by Alyse Miller
To be fair, they had littered her classroom with hundreds of inflatable balloons, yards of crepe paper, and what had to have been a dump truck full of confetti. Technically, it was completely against university policy—suspension-worthy, in fact—to sneak into a professor’s room, not to mention create the mess they’d left for the unsuspecting cleaning staff. For as much as she’d tried, it had been just about impossible for Andie to reach the ends of those balloon strands—even standing on top of her desk. A crinkled, barely afloat My Little Pony balloon that had refused to be caught still hovered in her tiny office space. It was worth it to make them sweat a little.
“We will begin this morning’s lecture in short order,” Andie’s voice bit into the quiet. It wasn’t the normal warm, friendly tone she used with her students, and intentionally so. She wanted to push them all to the edge of their seats. With her back to the classroom, she could hear the faint sounds of nervous shuffling. Good, she thought, so good so far. “But first, I want to take a moment to address something of a more serious nature with you.”
She swiveled sharply on her heels to face the risers. Dozens of pairs of anxious eyes blinked back at her. A few (probably the ones who had scrawled “Don’t worry, Dr. Fox, 30 is still hot” on her whiteboard) shifted noticeably in their chairs. Nick Murphy turned a pleasant shade of pink; she knew he’d been the mastermind behind that particularly flattering piece of literature. When Nick glanced worriedly at Cody, whose eyes were as big as dinner plates, Andie had to bite the inside of her cheeks to keep from laughing out loud. Of course—the two of them were such a pair.
Andie paused, rocking backward on her heels and giving the room a slow, disapproving shake of her head before pushing herself up to sit on the wooden desk. With her legs dangling over the side, palms clamped on her knees, and what she hoped was a stern look on her face, she silently slid her eyes from one side of the stands to the other. She made sure to let her eyes land on and connect with each and every pair looking back. “It has come to my attention that some of the students in my classes—”
Andie paused there for effect, letting the low murmur of snickering that had begun to twitter among the students fizzle back out. She must not be pulling off quite the degree of sternness she’d hoped. It was a losing battle really—what she really wanted to do was hose them all down with fire hose-sized can of silly string. But for that, the janitorial staff might never forgive her.
She swallowed a grin and continued, taking care to emphasize all the right words in her rehearsed, Shatner-like delivery. “That some of my students are…hoodlums…with a flagrant…disregard…of school property.” Andie brandished her clicker before them, signaling silence. She clicked on the screen behind her, continuing to shake her head disapprovingly. Keeping her eyes locked on her students, she moved silently through a series of photos she’d strung together of her birthday crime scene. She had memorized the succession of photos showing behind her: a shot of a ceiling covered in cartoon character balloons, her desk a barely recognizable lump under a huge pile of streamers, the floor that looked for all the world like Times Square after the New Year’s ball had dropped.
“And not even very good ones!” She raised her voice. “For you see,” she continued, raising her voice over the eruption of cheers and whistles that had begun to rise up from the students’ chairs. “They failed to remember the core element of successfully pulling off the perfect crime: not leaving behind any evidence!”
She clicked again and ended, just as she’d planned, on an up-close photo of a sign painted with the words “Happy Birthday” surrounded by dozens of signatures like splatter paint on the huge, whiteboard-sized homemade poster that was rolled up in her office at this very moment. That poster was money; she’d probably keep it forever. At this, the crowd seemed to agree collectively that it had all been a ruse and lit up from nervous excitement to wild enthusiasm—students clapping, hooting, and shouting belated birthday wishes down to her. Nicky Murphy, Cody Matthews, and that sneaky Hilary Nguyen—Andie never would have guessed it—promptly stood up and took their bows.
Andie raised her eyebrow and cleared her throat, regaining the students’ attention. “Now that I have you all in the safe zone of our classroom, I want to address the very serious nature of the bedazzlement of my office with completely unnecessary birthday merrymaking—” She slid to her feet as she talked, and walked to the edge of the platform with hands on her hips. When her toes hit the line of the stage, she stopped and finally allowed herself to replace the pitifully stern look with the huge grin she’d been holding back. Andie threw her arms open wide to a break of applause from the classroom. “Thank you, thank you.”
She had to suck back a batch of tears. Everyone laughed and clapped. Even in his high up perch, Andie saw what she thought looked like an amused look on Guy’s face. All the fun and joking aside, she was more humbled and grateful by their showing of affection than she could really ever show. She’d wanted to teach so she could do something bigger than herself. That she had made such an impact on their lives that they would go through such lengths just to give her a birthday surprise was more than she could hope for.
“You guys are amazing, really amazing. Thank you all so much!”
***
The next hour went by in a blur. By the time the bell rang again, signaling the end of the course, Andie could barely believe that she had managed to get so wrapped up in her discussions on the evolution of Frankenstein’s monster that she hadn’t thought to give Guy a second glance. Apparently, she could successfully ignore the tantalizing carrot of a man in the back of the room. Still, careful not to divide her attention, she kept her eyes diverted from the faraway corner until each of her students had filed past her out of the classroom door. When they’d all gone, she looked back up and was startled to find Guy’s seat empty. Just as she’d feared before, he was gone.
The painful drop of disappointment in the pit of Andie’s stomach didn’t have time to land before Guy was suddenly in front of her. The man looming over her now had changed from the one she’d last seen before. His playful behavior was gone. He seemed, judging by the way his breath shuddered against his body like a caged beast, to be fuming.
“You didn’t tell me you were the professor,” he growled down at her. Andie could see sparks behind his dark sunglasses. She was taken aback—whatever she’d expected him to say, that wasn’t it. If anything, she thought the course material might have unnerved him. It had to be weird being a professional monster and hearing a gaggle of students criticize the sensational way Hollywood portrayed these characters—right? Besides, he was the one who’d made the assumption she was a student. It wasn’t like she had intentionally deceived him—or had she? She’d just not bothered to correct him. Clearly he was upset with her, but the way he glowered seemed a tad bit overkill. Come on dude.
“You…didn’t ask.” It took a lot to ruffle her feathers, but such drastic mood swings were one way to do it.
“You could have introduced yourself properly, Dr. Foxglove, so I didn’t look like a giant asshole.”
Andie flipped from taken aback to astounded. Oh, he thought her not giving him her pedigree was what made him look like an asshole, and not the way he was staring her down like one of his on-screen victims because he’d been the presumptuous one? So the playful flirting act must have been just that—a cocky so-and-so trying to charm a college girl. The fever that had crawled up Andie’s skin earlier had a new sting to it and she glared back at him. You knew it, Foxglove—remember that thing about jerks and cheekbones? If the air between them had been flammable, sparks would be flying—and not the good kind.
“Well,” she quipped, mustering up enough diplomacy not to fuel the fire, and turning on her heel to stalk out of the open classroom door. “I only play one on TV.”
She could feel him glowering at her, but she didn’t look back. Handsome devil was certainly an apt way to describe Guy Wilder.
CHAPTER THREE
Tandy
Cobb, freckle-nosed, fully-caffeinated, and fanatically fond of all things girly, was by far the most chipper of all the ladies in Andie’s weekly Tuesday night meet-up. Every week, Andie, her best friend Tandy, and two other girls met up to discuss A Book of Her Own, a regional literacy charity that Andie had helped form when she first moved to Colorado. Besides her role in the classroom, the literacy group was Andie’s most important task. Tandy was the Mama Hen of the group, but as motherly as she could be, the woman knew how to get stuff done. It was a brave soul who could meet all those demanding pink freckles and still find the wherewithal to deny her. Andy pitied the fool! However, though she was usually a semi-harmless tuft of pink energy and optimism, Andie could see that Tandy was in rare form tonight. She was primed and ready to pounce the moment Andie inched open the door to the small room at the back of the coffee shop.
Actually, at second glance, judging by the way Tandy’s eyes bugged out of her head when she saw Andie, pounce-ready may have been an understatement. She looked like she was a pinprick away from bursting directly out of her skin, and more than likely ready and willing to shove herself on the first pointy surface she saw to make it happen, too. Andie took a deep breath and braced herself. Tandy was one of the girls in the group who worked in the administration building at the university, and the rumors of Guy Wilder slinking around campus were no doubt the crème de la crème on today’s gossip circuit. Andie had expected as much. And, if there were any hint that Andie had seen him wandering around in her part of the campus, Tandy would sniff it out in an instant. Worse, Tandy was a diehard My Bleeding Heart fan and it wasn’t hard to imagine her as one of those girls who would have been prone to writing their name and that of their celebrity crush in big, fluffy hearts on the covers of her notebooks back in junior high. Andie knew those girls. They could go from innocently inquisitive to mercilessly nosey faster than she could rattle off her simple latte order, and that quality did not lessen with age. The freckle-nosed little imp in the next room wouldn't hesitate for a second to squeeze out the last delicious drop of juicy details, and she’d take great pleasure in doing it, too. Groan.
If Andie had had even a smidgen more of good sense, she might have chickened out, avoided her after-hours obligations of doing her part for increasing global literacy for women (Surely the cause could continue without her for one night, right?), and stayed tucked away in the Tandy-free safe zone at home. But, if she were being honest with herself, staying at home with her manners was nothing more than a lame excuse to ease the inner-guilt gnawing away inside her. Ever since she’d huffed out of her classroom, Andie had felt horrible about the way she’d left things with Guy. Of course, she should have clarified who she was when he walked in the door. Of course, he probably felt like she’d played him when she sprung up on the platform while he was expecting to see some old stodgy professor come in and pontificate absently for an hour or so about literature. What had she been thinking?
On the other hand, he didn’t have to be such a jerk about it, either. He could have shown just an ounce more diplomacy—it wasn’t like he was being Mr. Proper with all that babble about witchery and love spells and personal space invasion, even if she had liked it—which was completely beside the point. But still, it was Andie’s fault…or, at least she thought it was. It was her classroom after all, and therefore her obligation to be a responsible adult and manage it—and herself. And, even if this whole thing wasn’t her fault, she still couldn’t trick herself into believing she didn’t feel just the tiniest bit—okay, a huge bit—weak in the knees when his mouth had been just a breath away.
Ugh, forget it—Guy Wilder was the last thing she wanted to think about. Unfortunately, Tandy hadn’t gotten that memo.
“Andieeeeee, oh my gosh. Doctor Alessandra Foxglove!” Tandy rushed toward her, each one of her beautiful pearly whites glowing like little moons from between the fireworks of freckles on her cheeks. “Did you see him? Guy Wilder was on our campus—the Guy Wilder! Guy Wilder! Did you see him?”
Andie could lie. She could say no—just one teensy little white lie never hurt anybody, right? Or, she could offer say she did see him, but just leave out all the rest…all the parts about those lightning bolt blue eyes or the way his leather jacket hung and clung to the ripple of his arms as he moved like liquid sex, walking up and down the risers of her lecture hall. Nope, nope, get that image out of your head, Foxglove. Facts—stick to the facts. Besides, she’d already taken her punches with her aversion to the whole truth earlier.
Andie nodded, smiled, listened to Tandy gasp excitedly beside her. She set her bags down on the beaten café tabletop, gulped in a lungful of voice-stabilizing bravery, and met Tandy’s eager eyes straight on. Lights, camera… “I did.” Andie felt the weight come off her shoulders as she confessed, though Tandy seemed to suck up her relief and convert it into excitement. Tandy covered her open mouth with bubblegum painted fingernails and squealed into her hand.
“And, not only did I see him…” just say it already “…he sat in on my three p.m. TV and American Identity course.” Andie slumped into her place at the head of the table and scooped up an orange scone. She meticulously examined each fleck of the pastry and pretended Tandy—or any of the other three ladies in their meet-up group who had walked in just in time for Andie’s a-bomb—weren’t silently gaping at her from what looked in her peripheral vision to be a blend of shock, envy, and complete and utter disbelief. It was as if she’d sat down directly under a spotlight. Who knew dehydrated fruit could be so interesting?
“Ohmygoshyouarekiddingme,” Tandy nearly screamed. The words rushed out from between her lips so fast that it sounded like she’d forgotten how to breathe. She flung herself backward in her chair and fanned herself dramatically with a paper napkin. “Oh my god…Oh. My. God.”
“Did you talk to him?” piped up Elizabeth Montgomery from Tandy’s left. The poor thing was so shy that even her words were blushing. “I mean, of course you talked to him. Why wouldn’t you talk to him?” Tandy, still fanning, rolled her eyes meaningfully at Elizabeth. “I mean, what was he like?”
Tandy rewarded Elizabeth with an approving nod, and Elizabeth gave a small smile. Tandy’s approval, rare and always mildly self-appreciating, was like water to half the women in the meet-up, but especially life-giving to Elizabeth, a student counselor who stayed shielded under Tandy’s feathers in the monarchical hen nest that was the administration department. Andie’s eyes darted from Tandy and Elizabeth on her left to the two other women on her right, Melody Ling and Denise West, an attorney and a neuroscientist, respectively. Usually the two more grounded of the group, Andie could see there was little sympathy in the two women. Both were waiting intently for her response.
Crap. Andie considered the pile of papers before her—flyers, brochures, and other such glossy paper materials the group needed for planning their biggest fundraiser of the year, which was coming up in a few short weeks and monumentally more important than stupid Guy Wilder. She could fling them onto the floor and try to create a diversion to avoid this line of questioning, which was only going to get progressively more detailed. Sooner or later, Andie might have to admit all the steamy nonsense that had gone on, and how she had bailed from the whole damned thing due to a case of mistaken identity. Unfortunately, imagining the papers scattered all over the floor brought the image of pens rolling about on her classroom floor and Guy’s musky leather smell beside her, his flawless chiseled cheekbones, glistening ocean eyes… A familiar heat crawled up her cheeks, and Andie dropped her head, letting her hair fall over as much of her face as she could get away with. If any of those women saw her blush, she would never hear the end of it. Andie Foxglove did not blush.
“He was nice enough, I guess. Frazzled, maybe, from dodging fangirls on campus. It was no big deal. He just kind of ducked in before class and sat up in the back row, then left afterward. But…yeah. Nice.” Andie could practically feel Tandy’s eye roll.
“Wait.” Tandy slapped her palm agai
nst the table abruptly. “You were alone with Guy Wilder?”
Elizabeth gave a little meep. Melody and Denise looked like a pair of Vulcan twins, both staring silently back at her with a very Spock-like uplifted eyebrow apiece. Star Trek had been Andie’s favorite television program growing up, but the analogy didn’t bring her any comfort now. If anything, she suddenly felt like Captain Picard, surrounded by a crowd of Q and on trial as the scapegoat for humanity. She couldn’t speak for everyone, but if lusting after Guy Wilder was a crime then, yeah, she was just about as guilty as a person could get. Might as well march her off down the Green Mile. The extremes of pop culture references made her head hurt.
“Yeah….” Andie hoped blinking would squeegee off the last bits of visual debris left from Guy’s messy, chocolate bed hair and glistening lips waiting a deep breath away from hers.
“You’re not trying to put a spell on me, are you?” Guy had asked. He’d been daring her to say yes. That chewing guilt she’d been holding onto was starting to feel remarkably like regret. She should have just gone for it and let herself swoon in those leather-clad arms of his like some climatic RomCom moment. She could almost see it: the two of them on the cover of some bodice-ripper romance rag. Total jerk or not, that kiss would have definitely been worth it. And, at least she would have had a juicier—and less embarrassing—story to tell Tandy and the girls.
“Oh, let’s forget ‘nice.’” Melody’s courtroom-honed voice whipped across the table and snapped everyone to attention. “Hot, Andie. How hot was he, Andie?”