The Summer I Said Yes

by Tess Harper

  The cool autumn breeze made the front of my shirt feel like ice as I stood. That was strange. The wind wasn’t so cold just a few moments before. And my chest hadn’t felt wet…

  I glanced down.

  My drink had splashed over everything. It would take me at least thirty minutes to get back to my apartment at this hour. That would make it an hour round trip. God, I’d miss half of the first day of class! The teacher would probably fire me and I’d lose my scholarship, not to mention my self respect.

  And if I went to class ten minutes late and looking like this, I might lose all those things anyway.

  I shut my eyes, then remembered that running around with my eyes closed was what got me into this mess in the first place, so I opened them and ran forward.

  I had to be confident and strong. I was going to fight for my dreams. I wasn’t going to let anything stand in my way. Certainly not a drink spilling on my shirt. I could be the girl I’d always wanted to be and I could be happy. I just couldn’t let fear get in the way. Sometimes life gives you a Peter, and when it does, you do everything you can to forget guys like Jack.

  Chapter 9

  I dabbed at the coffee stain. Great, right in between my boobs. Why had I thought running up the stairs had been a good idea? Why had I worn a white shirt? For someone so athletic, I sure could be a klutz at times, and usually the worst times. Now I was going to meet my new students all brown and frothy. Whatever was left of the late was cold and my nipples were hard. Thank God no one could see them through my bra. I mean, I hope to god no one could see…

  I looked down. Alright. You couldn’t really see through my shirt. If I slouched a bit, I should be okay.

  I closed my eyes and gripped the doorknob.

  Time to be that brave, confident, smart woman. The one you want to be—no, the one you are.

  I walked through the door. The professor looked up. His eyes narrowed as I walked down the stairs in between the desks, and his gaze was colder than the air breezing through my wet shirt.

  Professor Hepburn was not a forgiving man. He also wasn’t nice. All the TA’s that had been here for more than a term had given me pitying looks once I told them I was working with Hepburn, and after our first meeting I’d realized why.

  “We were just passing out the syllabus,” he noted icily.

  I nodded, wishing I could shrink down into a seat in the back. The walk to the front of the lecture hall felt like it took an eternity. My heels clicked against the cement floor, echoing throughout the room. There was no other sound.

  Oh I am so fucked.

  “You were getting coffee?” The professor asked when he got to the front of the room. Guilty again. I carefully dropped the rest of the cup in a small trashcan by the desk. The professor’s forehead wrinkled like a pug’s as he glanced down at my blouse.

  “Sorry,” I whispered, hoping no one else could hear our conversation but knowing they all could.

  Yeah right.

  “It’s alright. I was just getting to the part where I introduce you.”

  Oh, right. I cleared my throat.

  “But not yet, Miss Vaughn. I was first going to talk about attendance. Class starts at nine o’clock sharp. Attendance is mandatory. Everyone may miss one class without it affecting your grade, but if you miss two classes, I will deduct one letter from your grade. If you miss three, you will be at risk of failing.”

  His eyes dropped down to my chest again, narrowing critically. “If you are fifteen minutes late to class, you will not receive credit for being in class that day.”

  Well, thank God I was only eight minutes late…

  He flashed me another critical look. Never mind. I wasn’t going to get off easy on this one. Suddenly I was very happy that I wasn’t one of these students. And then I realized I had to work with him.

  “Miss Vaughn will be the TA this term. She will be responsible for grading your homework, weekly papers and pop quizzes, and will answer questions about the class and the material. Miss Vaughn will also be teaching the tutoring class every week. I encourage everyone to go to the tutoring sessions regardless of how well you’re doing in the class to explore the material and prep yourselves for papers. Now, Miss Vaughn, why don’t you tell us something of yourself.”

  I nodded. Time to turn around and face the class. I took a deep breath.

  The student’s eyes were glazed over. Class had only been going for, what, ten minutes? Then again, I guess that’s what happened when you were at a nine o’clock class. The attendance sheet was stuck in front of a sleeping guy. Next to him was someone with dark hair and bloodshot eyes who’d probably been smoking pot right before class if the stench of incense was any indication.

  And then I noticed an entire row of sleeping guys. They were jocks from the looks of it, with fashionably mussed, messy hair and way-too-tight shirts stretched across their chests—not that I had any right to comment on something like that considering how my shirt looked.

  I cleared my throat. No one’s head turned up.

  “I am Miss Vaughn,” I said.

  I heard someone snort. Well, obviously I was Miss Vaughn. I mean, Professor Helpern had introduced me as such. I took a deep breath before continuing. “But I’d prefer to be called Emily.”

  Just like that, the kid on the end of the row of jock’s who’d been sleeping’s head whipped up. His pen fell to the floor. It felt like an eternity before it hit the ground, and it seemed like another eternity had passed before it hit again.

  He had sandy blond hair. It looked enticing. Soft. A part of me wanted to run my fingers through it, because I’d run my fingers through it before, and I knew it was as enticing and soft as it looked. And I’d felt those lips on me. I knew they could be much softer than they looked, because I’d felt them touch every part of me.

  His shocked, blue eyes locked onto mine. I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. My heart felt like it was beating out of my chest. I felt my face growing redder but I couldn’t stop it no matter what I did.

  I have to get out of here.

  I glanced at the door. It looked so far away. Past all those heads. But I could run fast. It wouldn’t take more than a few seconds—

  “Miss Vaughn?” A sharp voice to my right prompted.

  I glanced over. Shit. Professor Hepburn. I had to stay here and introduce myself. I couldn’t leave because I was the TA!

  I turned my attention back to the class. I told myself to look everywhere except at him, but for some reason that was the only place I could look.

  “I…” I had to introduce myself. God, what could I say? I felt my wet shirt conforming to my chest. So damn cold against my hot skin. “Sorry I’m late. I, uh, really like coffee.”

  A couple of students looked at each other with huge “what the fuck” faces.

  Jack leaned back, smirking. His eyes flickered to my chest. “Coffee looks good on you.”

  There was a smattering of laughter. The two guys next to him high-fived each other.

  Professor Hepburn frowned. “Jack,” he warned. How did the professor know this kid’s name only fifteen minutes into the first day of class?

  “Miss Vaughn,” Hepburn prompted. “Maybe you could tell us a little bit more about your art background?”

  Oh shit. Right. Jack’s gaze shifted down my shirt again and then over my body. I knew he was thinking something, but thankfully he didn’t say it. Stop looking at Jack. You can’t think when you look at Jack.

  So I looked into the red, bloodshot eyes of the probable pot smoker who also, probably, hadn’t showered in a week, and I passionately, in my most professional tone, told him everything about my history that I deemed pertinent at the moment.

  The kids eyes grew wider. Redder. I talked faster. His hands began to shake. Oh no. I’m making him paranoid, I realized, but I couldn’t stop because I was even more paranoid than he was. If I took my eyes off his, They might turn to Jack, and…

  “Thank you, Miss Vaughn, that’s enough” Hepburn interru
pted. “We don’t need to know about your finger painting escapades in Kindergarten.”

  Oh fuck. Was that what I’d been talking about?

  “Now, I’m going to pass out a test with basic art history terms on it and some dates,” Hepburn continued. “Even though your score will not count toward your grade, I want you all to do your best. Your answers will help me assess the level of the class. Answer the questions you know and, when you’re finished, return your papers to Miss Vaughn to grade. You have three hours.”

  He grabbed a pile of papers from the corner of his desk and handed them to me.

  My hands shook as I took them. Why did these papers feel so freaking heavy? Slowly, I wobbled to the stairs.

  Alright Emily. You only have to hand out ten papers to each person in the first row.

  Unfortunately, the first person in row three was Jack.

  Just pretend it isn’t Jack, I thought as I handed out the papers to a preppy looking girl in the first girl who flashed me a pitying smile.

  Great. Just what I needed—my students to pity me. Well, in all honesty how could I blame them? I was acting like a freak.

  The pothead reluctantly reached across the back guy who was still sleeping on the attendant sheet for his row’s papers. For some reason, his red eyes reminded me of how blue Jack’s were. In fact, I felt like I could feel Jack’s blue eyes staring into me. Making my body hot. I remembered how they’d looked, all dark and possessive, when he’d taken me this summer. When they’d looked at me as if he and I were the only things that existed in the world.

  Alright, I couldn’t ignore that it was Jack. But could I just not give papers to him? No, that would look bad. What if the professor asked me to give papers to him especially? That would be so embarrassing. Maybe if I just shut my eyes…

  I closed them tight and turned, sticking out my arm. I felt his rough finger pads brush against mine. I remembered how they’d felt as they ran down my back, up my legs, as they’d pinned my wrists above my head…

  I can’t do this. He’s too close and I…I…

  I dropped the papers.

  They fell from my hands between us on the floor like petals. Stupidly, I glanced up into Jack’s blue eyes. They were looking at me just like I feared they would—exactly how I wanted them to—like it was only me and him again in a private world filled with passion and…

  “Miss Vaughn!” Hepburn bellowed, breaking the spell.

  Oh damn! This was not going well at all. I fell to the floor and started pushing the papers together.

  The seat above me squeaked as Jack got up. “Do you need help?”

  “No, I’m fine,” I said as he dropped down beside me, helping me pick them up.

  He then counted out ten papers and handed the rest to me. “These will be the papers for my row.”

  “Oh. Alright.” My bun was slipping down my neck. It was supposed to be mess, but not this messy. Still, I couldn’t fix it now. I stumbled past him, then passed out the rest of the papers as fast as I could.

  When I was done, I seriously considered booking it to the nearest closet, closing the door, and wallowing amongst the mops and bleach until nightfall, but I had a feeling Hepburn wouldn’t appreciate it.

  Strong, independent, successful woman, I chanted silently. You can do anything. Alright, maybe not everything, you can certainly face a guy you fucked once.

  With a deep breath, I walked back down to Hepburn’s desk and took my seat, keenly aware that I looked like I’d been cast in some B-horror movie called Attack of the Killer Fans. I could almost hear a voice suspiciously similar to Morgan Freeman’s do the voiceover for the trailer: Emily turned on a fan, seeking relief from the hottest summer in recorded history. But little did she know that fan was possessed by the spirits of 1000 rabid dogs and neither her nor her hair would ever be the same again.

  Hepburn glared at me.

  Shit. Can he read my mind?

  Hepburn raised his eyebrows? “Thinking of something important?”

  Shit. He can read minds!

  The voice like Morgan Freeman’s came back: Better think of something fast, Emily. I can’t help you here.

  “N-no, professor.” I turned my eyes back to the class.

  Time seemed to stretch out forever. My legs felt hot and cramped. Jack didn’t look at me the entire time he took his test. In fact, he didn’t even look up from his paper, his pencil flying as he flipped the pages, answering questions intently. Funny. I hadn’t expected him to take this so seriously.

  Jack was one of the first people to turn in his test. I thought he was going to turn around without incident, but his eyes lingered on me as he turned around after dropping the test on Hepburn’s table. Just slightly, I saw the corner of his lip turn up.

  Once everyone had cleared out, the Hepburn looked at his watch. “We still have an hour and a half left in class. That should give you more than enough time to grade the papers. Record the scores down in the booklet, and bring it back to my office when you’re done.”

  I nodded, glad to get my first assignment as a TA out of the way as soon as possible. Jesus, how was I going to survive this term? I reached for the pile and took out my red pen.

  I’d been grading for about twenty minutes before I got to Jack’s paper.

  The first sheet had been filled out perfectly. So had the second. But after the third stapled sheet, he’d stopped answering questions entirely.

  We need to talk. My eyes blurred. Was that his phone number? Oh god, I think he’d just given me his phone number. Why would he do that? Why would he want anything to do with me after what I’d done? My heart pounded as I read the rest of his note. Or meet me at Kel’s on the corner of Hort and College at 7 tonight?

  My pen stopped midair.

  My heart slammed in my chest.

  I should have thrown the paper away. I should have gone onto the next test without a second thought. But instead, some wicked part of me tore it from the rest of his test. I glanced around the empty room, as if someone were there, watching what I’d done and condemning me for it.

  I wasn’t going to call it. I was just taking it away to throw away, making sure no one would find it. Or at least that’s what I told myself I was doing as I stuffed the crumpled up paper into my pocket right on top of Peter’s number.

  Chapter 10

  The dim lights glowing from the windows of the Irish pub gave it an ethereal glow. The outside was dark wood with an evergreen trim, and the bar’s sign was painted gold letters on a black background punctuated with a shamrock. I scuffed my shoes on the cobblestone entry and removed my pea coat, my eyes scouring the room.

  I’d done my best to forget about Jack’s note throughout the day. I didn’t tell Soph about it when I saw her at lunch. She’d asked how my day went and I’d just gone pink. Luckily I’d been wearing the frothy brown dress shirt, so she thought that had been the only reason why I was so embarrassed. Thank God she didn’t know the truth.

  After Soph left for work, I threw my jacket in the back of my closet. It was an ugly jacket anyway. It didn’t really fit me. I’d never thought it did. Then I remembered I’d worn that jacket when I met Peter and his number was still in it, and if I wanted to get in touch with Peter again I’d have to touch that jacket, and when I rummaged through that pocket I saw that horrible note from Jack.

  We need to talk.

  Talk about what? I’d left as I did precisely because I didn’t want to talk. There was nothing I had left to say. And now that he was my student, anything I would have had to say before was just inappropriate.

  And for some reason, after coming to that conclusion I went to Kel’s.

  I saw him almost immediately. How could I not? The dim light made his hair look gold, and gave his tan skin a sexy warm hue. He squinted out the window, a half drunk pint before him. His shirt stretched over his sexy, hard pecks. His skin was smooth everywhere, and…

  Shit. Bad train of thought. Bad, bad, bad! I frowned and marched forward, trying to
keep my head level and my steps even. I didn’t want to look like I was rushing. I didn’t want to look like I was eager to see him, or afraid to see him, or like I still wanted him.

  He glanced up as I approach and smiled.

  My heartbeat skipped a beat. My step faltered.

  Damn. I was eager and a little bit afraid, but mostly I still wanted him.

  I threw my purse down on the booth and sat.

  “You came,” he said.

  I crinkled his number in my pocket, then grabbed the wad and rolled it across the table to him. “I’m not calling you.”