Hot For Teacher (10 page)

   “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.

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. Red-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.

   “While I appreciate the advice, I have no intensions of inviting, nor encouraging any behavior among my students.” I take a sip of my water from the typical brown diner glass, wiping the condensation off and rubbing my fingers together to dry them off. I wonder how smooth and slippery Edith’s skin would be when wet. It is a thought I shouldn’t be having, but everything brings her to mind now that I am seeing her again. 

   “I know, but given the attention you drew as a student, and later as a first-year professor, I shudder to think about the females ready to launch themselves in your direction.” Dean Andrews smiles politely, but I know his words are also a warning.

   “No worries there. I’ve been dating someone off and on, and it’s becoming a more serious arrangement.” Who was I kidding? I hadn’t seen Amanda in weeks because of our schedules and, at this point, it is far from convenient. Who would have thought I’d be scheduling sex three to six weeks in advance? Not me.

   “Excellent. I hope I’ll get to meet the lucky woman. You know, I’ve thought of you like a son since your freshman days here. I always wondered what became of your teaching career, though you’ve made a fine choice in opening up your own business.”

   I look past Dean Andrews, slightly narrowing my eyes at the woman who ruined me for public teaching all because I was afraid I might have actually considered crossing the line just once. It is a good thing you can’t be prosecuted for one’s thoughts.

   “Next time Amanda is in town, I’ll be sure to bring her by.”

   “Yes, please do. Oh, before I forget, make sure you stop by the clinic on campus and get a flu shot. Seems there’s a bug going around, and with Dr. Roth getting surgery and limited people to fill-in, I’d hate to see you come down with anything these kids pass around.” Claire saunters back with our lunch, and Dean Andrews digs in.

   “I’ll definitely do that as soon as possible.” I try eating my lunch, doing my damnedest to ignore the table of students that included one dark-haired girl.

Edith

   “Shit. Is he still looking?” I mutter, slinking down in my seat, face hot with embarrassment as I crawl back up, trying to look as normal and as adult as possible.

   “Are
you
still looking?” Aiden returns, laughing at me.

   “Aiden, don’t turn around
.
You’re the most obvious,” I point out.

   “Really? So sitting behind your menu
isn’t
obvious?”

   “Shut up,” I say, annoyed.

   “Wow. I’ve never seen you this flustered before.” Aiden seems like he wants to elaborate on this conversation further, but I’m just getting angrier.

   “I. AM. NOT. FLUSTERED,” I hiss in my loudest whisper.

   “Well, you could have fooled me. Are you going to eat those disco fries or not?” he asks, already reaching for one.

   “I thought this dinner was about fattening me up for my vampire donation.” Sometimes I wonder if there are alternative motives with these two.

   “Please. You putting on weight is a lost cause. I just want you to eat the meat protein…and the fries have no protein,” he tells me.

   “Is that some medical fact?”

   “Uh huh.” Aiden shoves the fries in his mouth, talking while chewing, causing Shelby to elbow him.

   “What’s up with you two anyway, besides him being your hottie student teacher back in the day?” Shelby asks me, shoving more of my fries in her mouth. I don’t answer her, picking at my burger. My appetite is long gone as I start thinking about those shitty days in high school from which I couldn’t wait to escape.

   Yeah, what
was
up with us? The last time I had an actual physical run-in with Jack Hamilton was in my junior math class before the end of the school year. My teacher, Miss Reynolds, went and got herself knocked up, married, and quit teaching a month before school started. So, Mr. Hamilton was some super math whiz kid who was student teaching and came to our high school to get hands-on experience. Hands on, indeed! I swear, every damn female in my school had it bad for Mr. Hamilton. They wanted to spend extra study halls, after school, and during lunch getting “extra” help from him. Granted, he seemed earnest in wanting students to succeed, and he seemed to have a soft spot for the girls who were struggling the most.

   One day after school, near the end of the year, I stayed late to get some books from the library. Some stupid English project on Beowulf, and I didn’t want to work with other students making videos. It would have been hard for me to explain my absences at home as it was, so I asked my teacher if I could write a paper instead and she agreed. As I came out of the library, my arms full of books and not paying attention, I slammed right into Mr. Hamilton. Books and papers flying up into the air like a cyclone, I landed on the floor, banging my head pretty hard. I saw stars, but not only that. In my addled mind, as Mr. Hamilton was picking me up off the floor and asking me if I was okay, I kissed him. I freaking kissed him or, rather, our lips met. I kept hoping it wasn’t totally initiated on my part, but I knew that wasn’t true. I remembered them tasting cool, wet, and soft, his bottom lip sticking out slightly. As we kissed, I felt his hands roam my body and push me against the brick hallway, gripping my thigh so acutely, I remembered having a set of fingerprint bruises for days afterwards. I traced those bruises for the remaining days, matching my fingers to his prints watching them fade, and secretly loving them. My core tingled every time I looked at them. I’m not sure how much of the memory is totally accurate and how much I’m horrifically romanticizing. The kiss was so tender and fleeting, the only other memory that overpowers it was when he pushed me back, horrified, and proceeded to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, looking me over, disgusted. What the hell had possessed me to do such a thing?
Had
I even done it? I mean, I’d like to think I hit my head pretty hard on those linoleum tiles. All I know is that the taste of cool, icy, winter mint gum became my best, my worst, and my last memory of high school. I still get flashes of heat every time I see that gum flavor in the drugstore.

   “Edie. Earth to Edie?” Aiden sounds like an annoying broken record, scratching the skipped beats.

  “Hmm?” I drift out of my reverie slowly, wondering when I might have enough spare money for some mint ice cream so I can relive that kiss alone in my apartment.

  
Thunk.