Page 39 of Full Service

I just want to sit here and sulk like the child I’ve become.

This is good though, I try to reason with myself. This is the line I drew very carefully. He’s not crossing it anymore, especially since he’s into someone else now.

This is a good thing.

The best thing, really.

I turn on my computer and pull up my email, seeing an urgent one from the school, reminding me that I have a sexual harassment training module that I need to complete.

Well, if that isn’t a cold, harsh reminder. What I’ve done with Everly is wrong. I need to remember not to do it again, no matter how tempting he is.

I need to remember that I cannot sexually harass my TA by sticking my tongue up his hole.

Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door. I sit up a little straighter in my seat and place my hands on my keyboard, wanting to look like I’m actually working and not ruminating over a student.

And harassing him in my brain.

“Come in,” I say gruffly, and a moment later, a very wet Everly strides into my office.

My hands slide off the keyboard and my mouth falls open. Fuck. His t-shirt is practically see-through. I can see his hard nipples and the outline of his belly button. This is terrible. Absolutely wretched. That line I drew is looking a little squiggly at the moment.

With very large gaps in-between.

Ones I could easily walk through.

“Where in God’s name is your sweater?” I hiss, and Everly glances down at himself and shrugs.

“I forgot it at home.”

I snap my mouth shut and grind my teeth. “It’s torrential out there!”

“Yeah, I didn’t realize it was storming until after I left my place. Didn’t have time to run back.”

“There’s been warnings all over the news for days.”

“Who listens to the news, old man?”

I scoff and motion to the door. “Close it.”

Everly reaches behind him and pushes it shut. He stands there, positively dripping as I stand and rummage through a box behind my desk.

A moment later, I hand over a t-shirt and a sweater from the biology club I was an advisor for that I never could get rid of. They’ve just been sitting here for years, collecting dust.

“Change into this before you catch cold.”

“Are these yours?” he asks, and I swallow. I would like to see him in some of my clothes, not that I’ll ever allow that.

No.

Lines.

I have lines.

“No. They’re just extras from the club that I never threw away.”

“Cool. Vintage.” Everly takes them from my hands, and I feel the cold tips of his fingers. He must be freezing.

I should turn around and not watch him strip that shirt off. But I don’t. I just wait for him to pull it off, like the pervert I’ve become, staring at his puckered, pink nipples before they’re sadly covered with the dry fabric. Within seconds, he has the sweater on, looking far too good in something cheesy that I purchased wholesale.