by M. C. Cerny
Jack Hamilton is teaching this course? Jack-fucking-god-like-Hamilton is teaching my last block of statistics?! There is no way in hell I am going to get through this unscathed. He had been a student teacher back in my hometown, and now he is doing big things for some business he started. “Math wizard” was what everyone called him back then, but I only saw him as a freak of nature, so good-looking and godly. I spent my entire junior year with my brain only processing every tenth word he said. My grades suffered because I couldn’t keep my teenage mind focused. I had been mortified when my underwear was damp and messy after he lectured in my Principles of Math course. I was wet for him every damn day for an entire year, until he left for bigger and better things, leaving me behind in shithole Camden, New Jersey. If he is teaching this course, I am definitely in big trouble. I glance around the room swearing others can hear my heart beating.
“Good morning, class.”
Fifty-five voices responded in unison, including mine, although I’m sure no actual words came out of my mouth. His voice coated me in nostalgia like warm tea with lemon and honey, both tart and sweet, reminding me why I worked my ass off to get out of my shithole town. Nobody would want a dumb girl like me and, as my parents often reminded me, I was going nowhere fast. I stare at Jack Hamilton, admiring his smart-fitting suit, which probably cost as much as my first semester tuition. Navy pinstripe jacket and pants… He definitely is not a tweed man and, for that, I am thankful. His shocking blond hair is cut close to his head, and his bright blue eyes suck me in. Shelby would probably say they were “azure pools of ecstasy”, but all I really want right now is to slink down in my seat and slip away. I have become an embarrassing puddle of teen crush and disappointment. I can feel the damning clench of my stomach as he goes on to tell us why he is taking over for Dr. Roth and that he is glad to be back teaching this semester. I sure as hell wasn’t. I didn’t even know he was an adjunct here. He is screwing with my average grade mojo and my ability to blend in and get through this necessary evil known as college. How am I supposed to concentrate on passing this class when all I can think about is going back to my apartment after class, sliding my fingers down my pants to part my damp lips, imagining him kissing and licking me. Ugh, this isn’t going to end well for me. It never did. Here he was, going on and on about internal and external validity measures, while I just want to push past students to get to him, knocking over that stupid podium to rip his jacket off and have my way with him. I must be absolutely crazy. Mental illness must run in my family and now I can confirm I had it, too, because I am panting and hot for the teacher. Cursing my luck, I might as well have the fucking flu.
“Alright, class. Here’s today’s quiz assignment. You’ll have until the end of class to complete it,” the annoying TA says in his nasally voice, passing blue books and test sheets to those of us sitting at the end of the rows. Great. Freaking great. I wasted the entire class daydreaming about climbing on top of Professor Jack Hamilton, and Daniel Munson, the freak TA, is pushing a book in my face. There is no way I’ll be able to concentrate, let alone answer these questions. As the minutes tick by, nothing substantial is scratched onto the pages. I close the book, grab my bag, and stand to leave.
“Times up.” Daniel smiles and snatches the book from my hand, adding it to his pile, walking away.
Students file past me down the risers of the classroom lecture hall, one clipping me in the shoulder and mumbling an insincere apology. Yeah, I’m not sorry, either. At least I’m not knocking them down for real, just in my stupid fantasy. I try to get out of there as quickly as I can, squeezing my eyes shut and praying he’d just forget who I am and what had happened between us all those years ago.
“Edith Willows, I need to speak with you for a moment, please.” His deep voice penetrates my head. Shit. Like a zombie, I turn around and shuffle back. Karma really has it out for me in this life, doesn’t she? What a little bitch.
Jack
I stop in the cafeteria prior to my class to pick up a cup of coffee and grab my student roster from Dean Andrews. I pay for the chalky brew, and I now remember why I always got coffee near my place and never on campus. I walk down the hall, passing students eager to start their day, and read over the list of fifty-five names I will be instructing for the last few weeks of the semester. None of the names ring a bell…until I get to the end of the list. Edith Willows. I reread the list twice, figuring it had to be a coincidence. Rutgers is an enormous campus with several thousand students. It is impossible for it to be her. I want it so badly to not be her, the one who stopped me from pursuing teaching.
I go to my classroom and meet Daniel Munson, the TA and senior Calculus major, by the door. After a brief greeting, I walk past him into the classroom. He is checking names off the attendance list. Of course, he is near the end and I catch his call for Edith Willows. I set my bag and coffee down, looking into the risers of the lecture hall. A head peeks up, all dark glossy hair and big brown eyes set in a pale face that looks almost as horrified as I feel when she meets my gaze. Immediately, I look away and reach into my bag, grabbing my notes for today’s lecture. There is no way it can be her, but it is, I know it is. Taking a deep breath, I make sure I stand behind the podium and instruct Daniel when I want him to write something on the board for me.
I am more than capable of doing it myself, but the problem is that I am sporting the kind of wood only freshman boys do when they catch their first glance at a naked co-ed. Edith Willows had tormented me when I was student teaching at her high school almost five years ago. I had fast-tracked through college, thinking I wanted to teach math full-time. Then I saw Edith and all hell broke loose with my anatomy. It was possibly the worst year of my life. So much so, I minored in business and started my own company so I would never be tempted in the classroom, the way Edith tempted me. I was ashamed by my own attraction to her and, admittedly, I wasn’t very nice or kind to her back then because of my fears. All I had to do was stay away from her, get my teaching credits, and get the hell out of there, but I fucked that all up.
Edith Willows had a way about her, the tough girl who always looked ready to shatter into a million pieces. I knew the kids in her school teased her and bullied her quite a bit as she was a loner with a less-than-friendly attitude. Her family lived in a trailer park on the edge of town. Her daddy was a well-known drunk and beat the shit out of her mother, who was always equally drunk. I never knew how Edith made it to school every day. She was always late to my class, sneaking in the back unnoticed and finding reasons to cut out early. I felt bad for her and, as long as she was quiet and turned in her homework, I didn’t have it in me to send her to the principal’s office. I never saw her as college material, so the joke’s on me for assuming she wouldn’t amount to much. I figured she would follow in her parents’ drunken footsteps. But here she is now, sitting in a senior math class. Good girl, I thought, until I realize I need to not have any thoughts about her, good or bad, if I am going to get through this. I can’t exactly call Dean Andrews and back out of teaching this class without a legitimate reason.
I really need to forget about Edith. It was the same dynamic nearly five years ago and I am not going to lose everything simply because my dick wants something it can’t have. I finish the rest of the class by giving the students the assigned quiz Dr. Roth had left before his medical leave. Daniel, my puppy dog TA, shoved a paper at me, while students scribble out answers to the questions.
“Professor Hamilton, this is a list of the students who are averaging a C grade or less. Dr. Roth asked me to prepare it before he went on medical leave.” Daniel’s voice pitches at the end and it grates on my nerves for some reason.
“Any of them on scholarship that might be in jeopardy? The Registrar’s office usually includes that information so we can let them know if they haven’t looked up their grades already.”
“Just one, sir. Edith Willows.” Damn. Of course. How else would Edith be able to get out of her current situation?
“Alright, Daniel. I will address it. Just collect the quizzes for me.” The last thing I want to do is have a conversation with a student who I want naked and panting with her legs around me. I watch Daniel take Edith’s quiz first, gleefully moving onto the next student. TA’s were always an oddity to me, even now as a professor. I can see Edith is tense as Daniel takes the blue booklet from her fingers. She hesitates letting go before he snaps his wrist, wrestling it from her grasp. I need to see if Dean Andrews will let me pick a new TA. Daniel irritates me and I don’t want him touching Edith, even if I have no say in the matter.
Staying behind the podium as some of my students file out, I call, “Edith Willows, I need to speak with you for a moment, please.” Brat keeps walking like she doesn’t hear me. “Miss Willows.” I use my most authoritative voice and watch her stop, standing in the doorway as students brush past her. She takes a step back and I can see her thin, skin-tight jeans lovingly molding to her ass. Guess I’m staying behind the podium, I thought, taking a deep breath.
“Y-yes?” She turns toward me, slowly walking over to where I am. Time had generously filled Edith out in all the right places, and circumstances seemed to have molded her, as well. I notice her hair is a lot longer, and she is wearing it in a thick braid that makes me think of wrapping it around my hand and holding her down as I take her from behind. If I am going to get through the next few weeks, I need to stop thinking about her ass. This podium is going to be my new best friend. In fact, I really need to get a handle on that image because I can see my dominant bedroom behaviors coming out and getting me fired.
“Miss Willows, it’s nice to see you again.” Very nice indeed, I thought. I sway my hips behind the podium a little, trying not to make it obvious I need to adjust things below.
“Sure. Yeah, I guess. I didn’t know you taught here.” Edith pushes her braid back, the tail of it catches over her shoulder, letting the length touch the top of her breast. Edith is average in height, but there is a vulnerability I sense in her. I both like it and hate it, which confuses me.
“Only when the dean asks to me to step in. I’d hoped to teach full-time someday.” But you, you little beauty, ruined me for it, my brain echoes.
“Maybe you will. Uh, what’s this about?” Edith says, cutting to the point. I want to draw this out, but a few of the other students are lingering and want my attention. Probably to see how they can improve their grades, but not Edith. I sense she can’t wait to dart out of here like a deer.
“It’s come to my attention your grade is close to being under the threshold for scholarship students. This class is primary to your major. You’ll have to improve your grade to above…,” I glance back down at the paper with her name on it, “well, above a seventy-five percent average.”
“I know. I’ll study harder for the quizzes. I’m on the waitlist for a tutor. Thanks for letting me know.” Edith backs up before I can say more and leaves the classroom as I anticipated. Other students then crowd my podium and ask me several questions as I watch her slip out the door, her shoulders a bit more hunched, her ratty-looking patchwork bag slung over her shoulder.
Chapter Three
Edith
“Damn it.” I slam my books down on the table of the booth in the diner I’m meeting Aiden and Shelby at before I go to work.
“Wow. Who pissed in your Cheerios, sunshine?” Aiden looks up from the menu, trying not to crack a smile, his arm around Shelby.
“Jack Hamilton,” I say, leaning back and looking out the window into the blinding sun. I’m hoping the rays will scorch my eyeballs and I will never have to take another Statistics quiz again.
“Ooh… I know who that is!” Shelby leans over and pokes me in the boob, getting my attention.
“Hey!” I hiss. Only Shelby can get away with that. We never did the whole freshmen “experimentation” because I’m not into girls and definitely not as liberal as her. It is just Shelby being Shelby.
Aiden just looks mortified and grabs her hand in his so she can’t assault me again. “Is this, like, girl stuff? I can leave and come back later if you want,” Aiden says, looking desperate.
“Don’t be stuffy, Aiden. Mr. H. is the stuff of Edie’s wet dreams!” Shelby declares, loud enough for another table of students to look over at us.
Cue mortification. “Shhhh!” I glare at Shelby, who just smiles and shrugs before giving Aiden a peck on his cheek to let him know he can stay. “I don’t get you two, at all,” I say, taking a long drink from my glass of water.
“So…who is Mr. H.?” Aiden probes, taking a sip of his coffee, holding his pinkie out. Earlier last year, Shelby tried to instruct him on the proper way to drink coffee, but damn if he doesn’t do it just to annoy her. Some might think Aiden is batting for the other team, but Shelby and I know it was his super strict, rule-making parents that drilled these things into him. I fake the etiquette garbage because I don’t know a dessert spoon from a tea spoon.
“Mr. H. is Edith’s wet dream,” Shelby says out loud…again. My god, I want to kill this girl, best friend or not.
“Yeah, Shelby, you said that already. To everyone in here.” Aiden looks up and I can see his face has changed expression. My body tenses and I swear my hair is standing up on the back of my neck.
“Hello again, Miss Willows,” that familiar deep voice says to me. Jack Hamilton couldn’t possibly be eating at the Grease Lounge, but I should have known better. The fates had wanted to screw me over since the day I was conceived by my useless parents.
I groan, putting my head on the linoleum tabletop, hands over my face. I peek from behind my hands, seeing him standing there, a curious smile on his face. He is with Dean Andrews, the one who asked him to teach Dr. Roth’s class. He nods to my friends and continues to follow a perky waitress to a table on the far side of the dining room.
“I guess that’s Edie’s Mr. H., huh?” Aiden tactfully whispers.
“Classic. This explains why you’re the brilliant pre-med major,” I say sarcastically, motioning my hands dramatically in the air.
“Uh huh,” Shelby replies, grinning like the witch she is.
“I hate you, Shelby,” I mumble as I pick up my menu again, slinking down in my seat to see if I can peer around it and see Mr. Hamilton across the room. He’s facing me and talking animatedly with Dean Andrews. I see him smile at me and I quickly move the menu in front of me again. “I really hate you, Shells. I mean, like, end of the world kind of hate.” My face is heated and I feel a twisting flush spread from my middle to my face.
“I know. That’s why Aiden and I are buying you dinner,” she tells me, practically bouncing in her seat. She is the worst…friend…ever.
Jack
When Dean Andrews asked me to meet him for a late lunch after class, I didn’t think he would have chosen the Grease Lounge. It is a hole-in-the-wall, filled with and practically run by college students. I recalled my days as an undergrad eating here and the indigestion that would surely follow. We walk from the campus a short distance away, then wait for someone to seat us when we walk in. I notice mostly kids sitting at tables, enjoying shakes and burgers. The place hasn’t changed one bit.
“So how was class today?” Dean Andrews asks, addressing me while we waited to be seated.
“It was good. Usually I teach Calculus or Fundamentals of Math, so Statistics is a nice change. I always enjoyed that class as a student.” I lean back slightly, stretching out the kink in my neck, and look around again.
“Excellent.” He checks his phone for messages. We slowly make our way to a table, following a young waitress who is rocking out the nineteen fifties-style uniform, the top button on her dress undone, likely to earn extra tips.
As we pass by a table of three, I hear someone say, “Who is Mr. H.?”
Another voice replies, “Mr. H. is Edith’s wet dream.”
Incredible odds were being batted today, I thought and smiled because I only know of one Edith. I stand next to her table, willing her to look up. R
ed-faced, her eyes meet mine and, as much as I want to soothe her, if I really am her wet dream then, damn, I’m in trouble. Instead, I say, “Hello again, Miss Willows,” and move onto the table with Dean Andrews before she can respond. Poor Edith. It looks like she wants to crawl under the table, or kick her girlfriend hard. I’d probably be embarrassed, too, but I need to keep my shit together and not get embroiled in any scandals here. Teaching is a job I love doing, even if my schedule only allows it to happen part-time.
“So, Jack, tell me about the business you’re running.” Dean Andrews picks up a menu, looking it over. “Ah, they have an excellent Rueben special you should try.”
“Well, business is good, but that’s because I make it so. I get lots of referrals, too many, for risk analysis and marketing management.” He chuckles at my response as our waitress comes over.
“Hello, I’m Claire, and I’ll be serving you today.” Claire filled out the bubblegum pink outfit nicely. Frankly, it is hard not to notice the way she angles her body closer to mine and practically purrs when she talks. I look around her and see Edith peeking out from behind her menu. I smile and she moves the menu back in place. Cute, but she is definitely not for me, just like this waitress.
“I’ll be having the Reuben. Jack?” Dean Andrews interrupts my thoughts.
“Turkey burger with avocado and chipotle mayo, please.” Perky Claire leaves and I look back over at Edith.
“You know, Jack, the university frowns upon such relationships, tempting though they may be.” Dean Andrews winks at me, and I nod non-committedly. I know he had his own fair share of romances back in the day that stayed rumors. I wonder if his wife ever knew, but don’t want to ask such personal questions that will ruin the image I have of the man I’d looked up to for so many years.