Page 7 of Falling for Mindy
What were the odds?
Out of 121,000 people in Berkley, California, and over forty thousand students enrolled at the university, what were the chances that the gorgeous woman I saw at the club two nights ago would show up front row center in my first class? I couldn’t win the lottery. I couldn’t defy the odds that way. No. It had to be an embarrassing against-all-odds moment where I ended up face to face with the stranger I’d jerked off to two nights ago.
I had to remind myself that I was a professor and that she was a student, and that there was no way I was going to have any kind of personal interaction with her. She was just a student ID number and name on my roster, Melinda Rose Sayers. I had to quit thinking about her.
I got through my introductory lecture. I outlined the objectives for the course and delineated my expectations. They logged in to my online classroom and had instructions for the first assignment.
The whole time I was trying not to look at her. Which was difficult because she was so beautiful. Her pale blonde hair fell across her shoulders, and she was typing studiously, as if every word I said had to be recorded for future reflection. Every time I stole a glance at her, telling myself I had to make eye contact with students in the front row and not just ignore them because she was sitting there, she didn’t look up.
In fact, she seemed to be trying to disappear. I didn't blame her. Not that I thought our one minute of eye contact in a crowded space had affected her the way it affected me. I couldn’t explain why it felt so significant to me. It would be for the best if she didn’t remember me at all. Nothing improper had taken place. Nothing improper would ever take place between us. I just had to act like a grown man and do my job.
Never before had I congratulated myself on making it through a class without making a fool of myself. It was never a problem before. Plenty of students had tried to get my attention or convince me to tutor them or to let them take me to dinner as a thank you for such an enlightening lecture. I’d heard it all.
I’d patiently and professionally explained the impossibility of any kind of friendship, mentorship or relationship of any kind. This was the first and God willing only time I’d ever been faced with this situation—of being attracted to a student. Of course not. I wasn’t attracted to her now. I had been attracted to her two days ago before she was my student or had ever entered my classroom. Goddammit. This was awkward.
When the students had filed out, I messaged Aaron.
I want an extra training session at the gym tonight. The more grueling the better.
All day, I taught classes, kept my office hours to advise the students assigned to me. I paused to thank my lucky stars that Melinda Rose Sayers was not one of my advisees who needed help with scheduling or finding an on-campus job or a tutor or something. At least I’d been spared the indignity of having to see her in my office one on one.
That could never happen. If she ever had an issue with the class, she’d have to email me. I could behave professionally, but I could only maintain that if we kept our distance. It would probably take more than a cold shower and a long workout to kill whatever stubborn attraction I had felt for her. I would never let a brief meeting at a club interfere with my job.
This feeling, this fixation on her was a threat to my ethics, to my teaching. I would wrestle with it privately and act as though nothing was out of the ordinary. It would be my personal hell for the next fifteen weeks.
Promptly at five, I reported to Aaron’s gym and changed into workout gear. He’d gotten my text and booked me for a double session. Right away, he started me on interval training. I couldn’t see for the sweat burning my eyes, and it hurt to breathe as he ratcheted up the pace.
“Why the sudden need for punishment?” he asked as he had me start another round of pushups.
“The other night. At the club. The blonde woman,” I gasped as I did another pushup. I stopped and sat for a moment. “She’s in my fucking class. Front row center. Distracting as hell. And I can’t look at her. God, I’m wiped out from this workout, and I should be exhausted and I’m—just thinking of her makes me hard.”
“Not information I wanted to know,” Aaron chuckled. “So you’ve got a sexy student? Does she wear a pleated skirt? Crop top? Hair in pigtails?”
“This isn’t your Britney Spears fantasy.”
“No, it sounds like it’s yours. I didn’t think you wanted to be the next Nat Josephson. Better call Hamilton for some legal advice.”
“I don’t need legal advice. I need to get over this ridiculous attraction. I saw her once, one time. We didn’t even speak!”
“So if it’s nothing, why are you paying me to kick your ass for two hours? Because you wish you were spanking her on your desk?” he laughed.
“Oh God, shut up,” I said, wiping sweat out of my eyes. “I don’t wish that. I wish I hadn’t seen her at the club, or she wasn’t in my class.”
“Can you get her switched out of your class?”
“I’m the only one who teaches this course, and it’s the only section this semester. So no, I’m stuck with her.”
“What if she wasn’t in your class? What would you do?”
“What I did at the club. I’d walk away. She’s too young, even if she weren’t my student.”
“I’m serious. What would you do? Just think about it. She won’t be in your class forever, you know. There’s no rule on the books about dating a student who isn’t your actual student.”
“I could never do that. It’s still unethical. I’d still be in a position of authority. It’s inappropriate. It’s—”
“Forbidden? Wrong? Sexy?” Aaron teased.
“Shut up and put me through some more hell,” I growled at him, and he laughed.