Lover (Court University 4)

Bri

I ended up running late for my first seminar of the term, go figure. Apparently, testing my daily commute nearly two weeks before the start of classes meant nothing. The city of Maywood Heights had been gridlocked the entire way out of it, then my almost two-hour commute to campus the same. Queenstown Village, where Pembroke University and my new teaching job happened to be, had been just as much of a cluster fuck coming in so I’d been screwed either way.

The past two weeks had been me trying to get my life together as much as trying to forget about how it had basically started. I hadn’t heard from Ramses. Obviously. I hadn’t given him my number, nor had we exchanged full names. We hadn’t even been intimate before he left. We’d just left things.

And that was that.

Easier, I think for both of us, in the end. I could focus on my new life in Maywood Heights, and he could do whatever he was doing. He clearly did pretty well for himself if his choice of ride and the fact that he rented a condo out to his friend was any indicator. I rented myself at thirty-five and on a professor’s salary. He didn’t need the distraction of me in his life any more than I needed him in mine, and as I felt before, we saved each other from that with a clean cut-off.

We’d also given each other a night not to think about our own shit, and I’d had a lot of it. I’d chosen to move to Maywood Heights via a direction from my friend and support system, Evie. She also happened to be the dean of the history department at the university, so when it came to deciding being close to her in town versus my new job, I’d decided to rent in Maywood Heights. This was apparently pretty common for both students and faculty to commute. Pembroke was the closest university to the city, esteemed, and lots of money came out of Maywood Heights just to go into the university’s programs. At least, according to Evie. I guess even her family funded several programs in the campus’s rigorous curriculum.

“You’ll love working there,” she’d said to me, the pair of us getting coffee over the weekend before my first day. She’d apologized for basically ditching me at that wedding, and since I was hard-pressed for friendships as of late, of course I’d forgiven her. I also owed her a lot. She’d taken more than one phone call through the panic of my failed marriage and understanding of my quick need to get away from both the place and the person I’d been with. She’d gotten me this job at the university and heard all about my ex-husband, Alec.

At least, all the stuff I could verbally say out loud.

I’d had to sign an NDA in the end, customary since my ex-husband used to play sports for a very popular team. He was still a fan favorite, despite being retired for more than a few years. Had an image to protect.

I just wished he’d cared about protecting me more.

My ex-husband was an asshole, a pathetic, uninspired has-been who spent more time indulging himself in vices instead of trying to rise above the problems in this life. I suppose we were the same in that aspect.

No, you’re nothing like him.

No, I would never have done the things he did to me pre-divorce and definitely not after what had transpired to basically cause the divorce. We’d both been a mess, but at least I’d tried to handle things, keep my chin up.

Refusing to think about all that now on my first day, I peeled my Benz into the faculty parking lot of Pembroke University. The weather had cleared a little since that wedding a couple of weeks ago, but still, the evidence of slush and dirty snow remained. It packed onto my heels good upon sliding out of my SUV and nearly sucked me beneath my car like Alice into Wonderland.

On concrete, I scraped and slid around in my woman’s cigarette pants, a taupe-colored crop-style to go with my blazer. I didn’t want to be matchy-matchy today, so I went with a warm brown to complement my black top beneath. Honestly, the juxtaposition of tones reminded me of what I used to wear back in the days when I frequented dig sites in Egypt and other more remote areas of Africa. Of course, that’d been before I’d decided to become a sports star’s wife.

I grumbled in the wool coat I wore atop it all, trying to balance my coffee, bag, and purse. I managed to lock my car with a chirp, then glided through campus without killing myself. Faculty parking got me right at the entrance of the history department. My first class was early western civilizations. Definitely fitting since that was my background. I’d actually met Evie during my first early western civ class during my time at NYU.

I passed her office on the way to mine. Her light was on. Odds were, she was in there doing her own work, but I didn’t have time to say hi since I had maybe thirty minutes before my class started. This may seem like a lot of time for the students, but since I was a professor, I needed to prepare a bit.

I dropped my personal items inside my office, still packed with boxes and other personal items I’d moved over here. I still had a lot to do regarding getting the place together, but obviously didn’t have time this morning.

A sip from my coffee and my coat hung, I dashed out the door with my messenger bag, thankful I didn’t have any overly eager students already in there. I appreciated that, but not today, embarrassed enough since I was already what I considered late.

I turned on the overhead projector, then logged on, hitting the lights while the computer booted up. I also got my syllabus out as well, stacking them at the front, and by the time the computer came on and I had my presentation on screen, I sorta kinda looked like I had it together. I always found it funny how I believed my professors in school and teachers in high school always had things together. I was definitely not a great example of that.

“Morning, professor.”

“Morning.”

A few students chirped as they filtered inside, and I passed a wave in greeting to them as I finished setting up. This was an undergraduate class, a general elective for most, so odds were, it’d be mostly freshman in here today. Sometimes an occasional junior or senior would make their way in as well, waiting until the last minute to get their gen-eds in and all that. I smiled at the small group. “Go ahead and grab syllabuses before you sit. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Today should be a rather easy day. Usually, the first week or so was pretty easy. I’d let the class read the syllabus today, then as the weeks progressed, we’d get to the more detailed stuff regarding class work. By week three, the class had usually thinned out pretty good and long gone were the days that I took offense to that. Especially when it came to undergraduate classes. Early western civ wasn’t for everyone, and it wasn’t a course I let my students sleep through. They had

to do the readings and the work, and some found they could get by with an easy art or media class instead.

The students took my direction while I worked my jacket off, already hot from rushing around. I fanned myself out behind the podium, leaving my arms bare in my black dress tank. I probably wouldn’t stay the whole period that way, but it worked for now.

I drew my hands down my face, before lacing my fingers together and greeting each new student in with a smile. I gave them all the same direction, take a syllabus before sitting and they did, the room filling up quickly. Before I knew it, the whole classroom was filled aside for a few seats.

I closed the door promptly at the top of the hour. Literally the most annoying thing to me in the world was to start late, and the second, late students.

In the center of the room, I stood. “Good morning, class. My name is Brielle Whitman-Quintero. Doctor. But you can just call me professor.” I put my hands together. “And this is History 275, Early Western Civilizations.”

Making my way to the podium, I flicked to a slide about myself and my credentials before coming around and hitching a seat against the table up front.