We sit together at the dining room table, set expertly by Shannon, and devour the food exceptionally prepared by the staff at Roberto’s. I apologize. I was wrong. Shannon did manage to clear the mail and trash from the dining room table so we could eat, but that’s about it. While Shannon and I eat in a peaceful silence, my mind wanders back to Zara. I’m sure she’d be able to hold an intellectual conversation that doesn’t revolve around what store she’s going to or the next designer handbag she wants to purchase. Then I remember the slip of paper in my front pocket. Logically, there’s no reason for me to be concerned with her, but I can’t help it. Her address is starting to burn a hole in my pocket.
When my plate is clear, I ta
ke it into the kitchen and think about how I’m going to rid myself of the guilt I carry with me. Thinking on my feet was never a strong point of mine. I’m a calculated person, considering all of my options and their consequences before acting. Once a plan is formulated, that’s then, and only then, I take action. It’s one of the reasons that the dean trusted me to take over the class—I really am, or at least I try to be, an honest-to-God good guy, putting the needs of everyone else ahead of my own. I do it in my personal relationships as well as in my professional ones.
As improper as it would be, knowing Zara’s not starving or living in deplorable conditions would set my mind at ease. As an educator it’s an unwritten part of my job description to show compassion. If this young woman’s living in a trashy apartment, not able to afford a meal, I’d feel a responsibility to help.
“That was amazing.” I sing praises more to the culinary expertise of the head chef at Roberto’s than to Shannon’s skills at ordering carryout. “I think I’m going to run to the gym in a bit. Want me to grab some dessert on my way back?”
“If you could run by Tony’s and pick up that strawberry cheesecake we had a few weeks ago, I’d be forever in your debt,” she responds. Perfect answer. Tony’s is only a few blocks away from the address I took from Zara’s file.
“Got it.” I grab my jacket from the back of the chair and my gym bag from the closet.
“Thanks, Noah, you’re the best.” If she only knew. Lying never came easy for me. Each time I tried, guilt got the better of me. Shannon’s just not in a place in her life to show anyone empathy, so, since I plan on hitting the gym and getting her the cheesecake she’s requested, omitting the truth by choosing to leave out the additional stop I’ll be making at Zara’s seems logical.
—
I park down the road from the apartment building Zara lives in. Killing the lights and engine, I wait, unsure of my next move. This is completely out of my comfort zone. I should have a plan of action, at least an idea of one, and nothing is coming to mind. It would be far too awkward for me to just knock on the door like “Hey, I’m your professor and I stole your address from the student file given to me by the school. Figured I’d stalk you for a second to make sure you’re doing okay…No, this is totally normal. Professors behave like this all the time.” Still, sitting down the street in a dark car seems pretty creepy. I’m pretty sure I’m in a no-win situation.
LOCAL PROFESSOR ARRESTED FOR STALKING ONE OF HIS STUDENTS. I can almost see the headlines in the paper now. The dean would be so proud. It wouldn’t even matter that my intentions were thoughtful. I’d be displayed like one of those teachers in the Lifetime movies. Shuddering at the thought of being labeled a pervert, I think of what I can do to be as inconspicuous as possible.
As I wrestle with my options, a black SUV pulls into the lot and parks under a streetlight. Within a few minutes, a woman with straight-as-an-arrow blond hair emerges from the passenger side, followed by a male wearing a baseball cap from the driver’s side.
Zara.
She has her purse slung over one arm, and in the other she’s carrying a sack from the grocery store. The male grabs a few more bags from the backseat and they walk toward the entry door of the apartment building.
I can’t make out anything they’re saying, but she’s laughing. She finally looks the innocent age of twenty-one that she is, but who is the guy? He appears to be older than a college student, yet fully equipped with a fraternity sweatshirt and a matching logo ball cap. Maybe a recent graduate?
Realizing that she’s absolutely fine and I worried for no reason, I move to put the keys back in the ignition, but I accidently hit the panic button on the keypad.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Of all the idiotic things I could have possibly done, I go and do the dumbest of all. And the award for least stealthy stalker goes to…
The horn blares and the lights start flashing, attracting the attention of anyone with the sense of sight or hearing in a mile radius, including the two people I was watching. In order to silence the alarm, I have to turn on the small dome light above my head. It takes only a second to locate the button and cease the incessant noise, but the damage is done. The man’s eyes hit mine first. He squints as he stares in my direction, shrugs, and keeps walking to the door.
Then it’s Zara who sees me, and there’s finally the recognition of who I am. I try to slink into the seat and make myself invisible, but it’s a futile effort. The interior of my car illuminated for a few seconds gives her all the clues she needs to put two and two together. She hands the grocery bag to the guy and marches in my direction, hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. I desperately try to fit the key back into the ignition to start the car and drive away, but with the way my hands are shaking, it’s no use.
It’s mere moments before she’s knocking on the driver’s-side window. I try to look away, pretend I’m not there like a child who wants to fake that he’s invisible, but that doesn’t work. I don’t even know why I thought it would. My judgment just keeps getting better and better. She continues knocking until I’m worried she’ll break the glass.
After finally getting the key into the ignition, I turn it and press the button to roll down the window just a crack, fleeing the scene no being longer an option. Leaning toward the door, I angle my head up and my eyes follow suit.
“Oh, hello, Ms. Hamilton. How are you this evening?” I ask, trying to keep calm and play it cool. I’m sure my parents are filled with pride that I chose to become a teacher instead of an actor. To say my skills are subpar is the understatement of the century.
“Is there something I can help you with, Professor Bain?”
Chapter 3
Zara
He’s flustered.
I suppose if I’d been caught stalking a student, I’d be flustered, too. I stand there with my hand on my hip, my eyebrows raised, waiting for him to say something. Containing my smirk is harder than I’d imagined. I really couldn’t have planned this any better if I’d tried. Oh, Karly, justice is so close, I can taste it.
I don’t even think he’s aware he’s glanced at my chest three times already. Noah’s already putty in my hands.
“Mr. Bain? Would you like to tell me why you’re at my home, of all places? You couldn’t be stalking me, could you?” The cool, sarcastic tone of my voice surprises even me. I had no idea I had it in me—so Karly-like. It’s as if her attitude’s flowing through me.