Change of Course: A MM Professor/Student Novel (Change of Hearts Book 3)

by Sierra Hill

  “Perfect. I’ll invite Brooklyn, too. She should be off the clock and not have Caleb to watch tonight. It’ll be like a slumber party!”

  Peyton whirls around on her heels and bounds off toward her bedroom, while I watch her animated form disappear from view, shaking my head at her departure. While it will be great to spend time with both girls tonight, I still have to get through the rest of the day’s activities and schoolwork. In fact, I need to head to the library later to get some study time in this afternoon. But first things first.

  Coffee and then baking a batch of my famous chocolate chip cookies.

  Walking into the library, I go out in search of a secluded spot where I can sit down and study and try to avoid anything that reminds me about my night with Lucas.

  I head up the stairs from the mezzanine level and back into the psychology section where it’s always quiet. Peering around the tables, I notice Brooklyn sitting alone at a large round study table, staring off aimlessly with a pen in her mouth. She seems so lost in thought, I have to say her name twice to gain her attention.

  “Yoohoo! Brooklyn…Earth to Brooklyn. Can I sit with you?”

  She finally lifts her glassy-eyed gaze to the sound of my voice, her head rearing back and the wheels turning as if she finally realizes I’m real and not a figment of her imagination. I give her a friendly wiggle of my fingers.

  “Oh, hey, Kyler. Of course.” She politely gestures toward the chair across from her, moving her laptop and books out of the way to make room for me. “What are you doing here?”

  Because it’s an obvious question, I glance around the room and give her a sarcastic reply. “Wait, this isn’t the gay bar? Dammit. My GPS screwed up again!”

  Brooklyn laughs, garnering evil glares from the three serious students studying at the table next to us.

  “Oh my God. You’re so funny. I needed that, thanks.”

  Unzipping my bag, I take a seat and remove some study materials out of my book bag, along with the Ziplock bag of homemade cookies.

  I place my finger to my lips conspiratorially and whisper. “Shh. We don’t want to get caught with contraband. Who knows what those evil librarians do to criminals like us? But feel free to help yourself.”

  I push the open bag toward her as she leans in to take a whiff of the deliciousness. “Are these homemade?”

  I screw up my face like it’s a lame question. “It’s either bake or make really bad life choices when I’m stressed out. At least the baking keeps me out of trouble.”

  “Oooh…sounds interesting. Are you going to fill me in on this naughty side of you?”

  I snort out a laugh as I watch her take a bite and waggle her eyebrows before her body collapses in exaggerated delight in what could only be described as orgasmic relief.

  I smile proudly at her response but am not willing to get into any of the details about what’s going on in my love life right now. Especially since the center of that controversy is her lover’s best friend. “Yeah, nope. Not unless you share yours.”

  She scrunches her nose and shakes her head adamantly. “Touché, guess we’re at a stand-off then. But I will find out. I know how to dig up the dirt.”

  I let out a grunt. “Good luck with that…”

  But the rest of my sentence trails off as I stare behind her. She notices my expression and whips around in her chair, obviously intrigued by what’s caught my attention. But in this case, it’s not a what but a who.

  Professor Mathiasson heading toward our table, looking all sexy and bookish with an unbuttoned suit jacket, a dark navy sweater vest over a crisp white button-down shirt, his glasses affixed on his face and his gray slacks perfectly pleated. In one hand he carries a laptop and books, and the other swings casually at his side.

  My eyes land right on his crotch, because hell yes, I know what that bulge looks like up close and personal.

  As if he knows exactly what I’m thinking, Lucas smirks with amusement.

  I nervously fidget with my books, looking away hoping he’ll walk right on by. I can’t imagine he’d say or do anything to out either one of us in front of Brooklyn, who he knows is close to Garrett, so I’d hope I’m safe. But not knowing his state of mind after last night, I’m not all too sure how he’ll respond.

  “Brooklyn, I thought that was you,” he greets, placing a hand on her shoulder before stepping to the corner of the table between us both, glancing between Brooklyn and myself, before his gaze falters for a moment on me. “Good to see you again. Kyler, is it?”

  There’s a fraction of a second when I’m drowning in his gaze, the warm sincerity there hiding the carnal truth behind them. I wonder if it’s obvious from the casual observer that we have intimate knowledge of each other. If the vibe between us is as palpable and real as it feels for me?

  Lucas returns his gaze to Brooklyn and smiles, and I let go of a breath I’ve been holding. “How are you? How’s Garrett and my godson doing?”

  “Um, they’re good. Caleb started kindergarten last week. He’s doing so great.”

  “I had no doubt.” Lucas pinches his lips together and then turns toward me, as I try to tamp down the heated blush that creeps up my neck and cheeks, my stupid nervous tick.

  Jesus, it’s hot in here under his scrutiny.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so rude. And how are you, Kyler?”

  Lucas extends his hand to me looking to shake mine, and I twitch nervously in my seat, reluctantly giving him my hand. The minute our palms touch there’s an explosion of chemistry that zings up my arm and then down my spine. If it affects Lucas in the same way, he doesn’t show it, but he does graze the inside of my palm with a seductive flick of his finger.

  Asshole.

  My words come out punchy, and almost pained. “Uh, good. Busy with school, work, that kind of stuff.”

  I quickly drop my gaze to the table trying to avoid any further questions from my professor. My secret lover. The man who gave me the most powerful orgasm last night that I’ve ever experienced.

  Yeah, it’s a little hard to hide that fact from my face. I’m a goddamn cocky artist, not an actor.

  Brooklyn trying to be the helpful friend jumps in to add, “Kyler, Lucas is an art history professor at the university. You two have a lot in common. In fact, my guess is you’ll have one of his classes at some point since you’re studying art and design.”

  My hooded eyes track over the tall, towering body of Lucas, starting at the floor until they reach his head. Now it’s his turn to feel the discomfort.

  “Perhaps. And yes, I recall Professor Mathiasson mentioning that.”

  “Funny, I don’t recall you mentioning anything about that when we met,” Lucas adds, his comment laced with underlying meaning that only I can decipher. As in, had I told him who I was our first night together and he would have known I was a potential student, we wouldn’t be in this predicament right now.

  I can’t take it any longer. I hate lying to Brooklyn about my association with the professor. I scurry from my chair, sending it tipping back on its back legs before hitting the ground again. I hurriedly stuff all my books into my bag, as if the library were on fire, and haphazardly zip it up to throw over my shoulder in order to make my getaway.

  Giving Brooklyn an apologetic look, knowing full well she is going to bring this up later, I babel my goodbye. “So sorry, Brooklyn. I just remembered I have to be somewhere. I have a…a meeting. I’ll catch ya later.”

  I take two steps in retreat but throw a final glance over his shoulder. “Nice to see you again, Professor. Catch ya on the flip side.”

  I don’t miss the way Lucas’s lips curve up into a knowing and calculated smile. He knows he has me by the balls.

  Asshole.

  20

  Lucas

  After fifteen class hours this week, hours of grading papers, answering emails, one-on-one student meetings, a small group project discussion, plus the third faculty meeting of the week, I’m about to throw my glasses against the wall in f
rustration. My head throbs with tension, as I rub at the spot on the bridge of my nose that is a constant reminder of the pressures this job entails.

  I love the field of academia. It’s cliché, I know, but I do enjoy the job that allows me to shape young minds – well, young adult minds. To provide them educational materials and relevant data to aid in their thought process and decision making for whatever is to come in their future. But it’s not an easy field.

  I, too, have to remain educated, which requires reading, prep, and research.

  What I don’t appreciate, however, is the bureaucratic bullshit that spews from those who sit in their ivory towers (okay, oak-paneled offices), the department heads and school administrators that want to argue and pontificate for hours on end ad nauseum about budgets, budget-cuts, diversity requirements, meeting the alumni and endowments, etc., etc.

  On top of which, I’ve been invited by a friend and former colleague, Arlos Greenfield, to attend an art exhibit he’s curating in Las Vegas the week of Thanksgiving. I read through his email last night and was about to decline when I came up with an idea to offer the art department students.

  I called him up, we talked it through, hashed out the details, and now I’ve just pitched it in the faculty meeting, as the table of twelve Arts professors and associate professors mull over the concept.

  Dr. Lawrence Crawley leans forward, his elbow on the table, and eagerly discusses the merits of this proposal.

  “I like the idea, Professor Mathiasson,” he says thoughtfully, brushing over his bushy, gray mustache with his thumb and index finger. “It gives the students an opportunity to showcase their talents in a non-academic setting. I motion to approve.”

  I tip my head at his approval and smile. “Thank you, Professor Crawley.”

  Professor Amanda Wooley raises a delicate hand in the air. “One question, Professor Mathiasson. Would the student with the winning submission be required to pay their own travel arrangements, or would the university provide their accommodations?”

  I anticipated this question and had already spoken to Arlos about the opportunity.

  “The curator, Arlos, has already blocked out rooms for those attending, and there is a budget for the winner to receive accommodations at the hotel. As for travel costs, since I will be driving myself to the event, I can offer to take the student, if they wish.”

  Heads nod around the table, the only person who appears to have a problem with this idea is Professor Jonathan Webber, one of the senior most tenured professors in the Architectural Design Department, who frowns deeply and shakes his head.

  He taps his pen on the table, his voice a brusque, scratchy sound, like a needle scaling over a vinyl record.

  “That’s quite a liability on not only you but also the university.”

  Again, this was a concern I’d anticipated and had already called up the legal team.

  Extracting a form from my folder, I hold it up as evidence, proving to quell that problem.

  “I had a waiver drafted by Margaret Henderson in legal that the student would sign if they choose to attend the event and use me as their mode of transportation.”

  This earns a smile from his wrinkle-lined mouth. “Very well. You’ve covered all the bases, I think, and I second the motion to approve. All in favor, say ‘I’.”

  My chest bursts with a well of pride inside knowing this is something that hasn’t been done before. An art contest for any and all students who want to submit their work for selection to exhibit, with the grand prize being a trip to Las Vegas where their work will be showcased in a world-renowned and curated exhibition.

  The department admin, Lara, records all the approvals, which is unanimous, and we move onto the next topic of the meeting. While the discussion circles around Professor Peters’s curriculum change request, my thoughts meander to Las Vegas, and the last time I was there with Garrett and my college basketball team.

  We’d just suffered a loss in the semi-final round of the championships, which meant we were out of the tournament and leaving the next day. But it also meant that a bunch of twenty-one-year-old college ballplayers were going to be living it up along the Vegas strip.

  And live it up we did.

  It was during this time that I’d realized I was attracted to both men and women, my main attention was on my best friend, Garrett. Living a lie and trying to disguise your interest and sexual attraction to your best friend and teammate is exhausting work. It took every ounce of my strength and willpower to keep the lust out of my eyes when I looked at him, especially when we’d been drinking.

  That night, we hit up all the casinos and party spots, ending up at a pool party at one of the big nightclubs. We were surrounded by half-naked women and men and Garrett was living a single existence and had been making out with some Swedish model who was in Vegas for a photoshoot.

  I, too, was with a hot woman – one of her model friends – and I tried to play the part. But all I wished was that it was Garrett’s hands wrapped around my backside. My mouth he was tasting. My body he was sliding into that night.

  My memory is hazy on the details or how we ended up back in our room that night, but I do remember being so hard for Garrett as he fucked the girl from behind in the hotel bed next to me. It was while I watched him, as the model I was with sucked me off in my bed, that had me nearly blacking out from the orgasm I experienced.

  Looking back at that moment now, I feel ashamed at how despicable it was of me to use that girl in that way. Or feel like a complete pervert to lust after him that way. But I was young, drunk, in Vegas, and in college. I was also very confused about my sexuality and so far in the closet, I didn’t even know I was in it.

  The confusion has been eliminated, but my commitment to being out in the open has not changed. Especially when I hear Dr. Clemons, the head of the department, interrupt my thoughts with an announcement about a newly revised policy.

  “One last thing before we adjourn our meeting for today. I’d like to call your attention to the new fraternization policy. With the recent lawsuits that many of our university brethren have been hit with in recent years, our HR and legal teams have felt that it’s important to review and update our expectations of staff and faculty as it relates to fraternization with students. Going forward, we will take a very hard stance on any such relations and a no tolerance policy will be put into place effective immediately.”

  The words hit me in the gut so hard I wheeze out a breath.

  “Excuse me, Dr. Clemons,” Amanda interjects politely. The woman is classically beautiful and just a few years older than me. As well as single. “What about relationships that have previously been divulged or perhaps existing relationships?”

  All eyes are on her, some with open curiosity and others with judging disdain. The rumor mill was flying late last semester about Amanda and one of her male students in her graphic design program. And apparently, that same student may be her TA this year.

  I return my gaze to my laptop, closing the lid and shoving it in my bag, my head swirling with curiosity on what teeth this new policy might have on what’s already existed and happened between Kyler and me.

  As Dr. Clemon’s answers her question pertaining to the validity and level of the relationship and nepotism with married faculty, it still leaves my question open about whether I need to bring up my ‘past’ fling with Kyler, now that I know it’s over and done with.

  I’ll have to consider this decision because it would open up a far bigger can of worms about my sexuality that I’m not at all ready to do in my profession or personal life.

  But I’ll need to figure things out quickly because something tells me I’m not going to be able to sustain this no fraternization much longer with Kyler.

  He’s just too irresistible and my willpower weakening with each passing day.

  21

  Kyler

  “You are both sworn to secrecy,” I drunkenly slur out, licking the remaining lemon from the corner of my hand and downin
g the tequila shot I throw back.

  Both Brooklyn and Peyton nod their heads like bobblehead dolls, eagerly waiting for what I’m about to tell them. It’s been gnawing at me for weeks, ever since Lucas and I hooked up originally. Which Peyton already knows but has no clue Lucas and I have continued it on and off several more times.

  A pang of guilt swirls in my stomach, sloshing around with all the tequila I’ve had tonight.

  “Come on, Kyler. Put us out of our misery already.” This coming from Brooklyn, who kept us in the dark for ages before finally telling us she and Garrett, her boss this past summer, were sleeping with each other.

  Maybe it’s these forbidden secrets that we keep buried deep inside our heart which make us feel special and give us meaning in the world? Make us feel alive because the secret is only shared between two people. Two lovers. The intimacy of that knowledge and the pact that’s made together.

  The secret I’m about to share with Brooklyn and Peyton has had me feeling like an unlit Fourth of July sparkler. Ready to ignite and explode as the words form at my lips.

  “I had an illicit fling with an off-limits older guy.” I lean in, eyes wide, my finger touching my lips conspiratorially.

  Peyton and Brooklyn both gasp. Peyton cocks her head inquisitively and Brooklyn waves her hands animatedly in the air before she crosses her legs in the shape of a pretzel and places her elbows on her knees, cupping her chin in her hands and staring at me expectantly.

  “And? Who is he? Where did you meet? Give us all the details.”

  And this is where I clam up. How much do I share with them? How much can I share without the consent of Lucas? They both know him.

  In any other situation, it wouldn’t be a big deal. But with Lucas, there’s a pretty significant detail to this dynamic. No one else knows he’s into men and by divulging our tryst, it outs him.

  I clear my throat, looking them both in the eyes with a death glare, poking at them with the jab of my finger.