Me: Good night, Zara.
Zara: Night Noah.
Plugging my phone into the charger, I leave it on the counter in the kitchen only after deleting my text and call history on the off chance that Shannon checks my phone. I’m still not exactly sure why I feel this urge to hide Zara away, but it makes the most sense. The calls…texts…they’re so inappropriate, there’s no way I wouldn’t get in trouble, even lose my job, if the administration finds out about any of it.
Climbing into bed, I’m fast asleep before Shannon returns from her day trip to the city. One day—one fucking day I hope she gets her priorities in order. I’ve never claimed to be an expert on women, but one shouldn’t own more Louis Vuitton bags than she has closet space to keep them. She could probably feed the needy with as much money as she’s spent at that damn store. My only reprieve is her pretty little trust account that funds her extravagant shopping trips. A teacher’s salary won’t keep her living the life she’s become accustomed to.
—
Tuesday afternoon rolls around faster than I would have liked. I usually enjoy my day free from classes, but this past one was a nightmare. All I could think of was meeting with Zara and making sure she was okay. Did she break if off with her boyfriend? Was she honest with him about their relationship? Did he kick her out and was she sleeping in her car?
I could have texted or called to check on her earlier in the day, but after last night and the sudden turn of events, especially the information regarding her sexuality, I wasn’t able to bring myself to initiate another conversation. One stupid dream I had has shown her in an entirely different light. One stupid conversation made me stop thinking about her as my student. All I could think of was bending her over my desk or folding her in half so her ears touched her ankles and fucking her madly.
The things I thought to do to that girl made an erotic novel look like a fucking children’s book. All of these conflicting emotions are going to give me a stroke. Half of me wanting to be only her professor, teaching her the beauty of literature, and the other half wanting to be so deep inside her I can’t see straight.
The day passes by in a blur. All I can think about is the tutoring session I have with Zara this afternoon. I shouldn’t help her, but I have this need to be there for her, which makes absolutely no sense. I’ve known this girl for three weeks and she’s made such a huge impression on me in that short amount of time. If I were being honest with myself and using all of the psychology shit I learned when I was forced into counseling when I was a teenager, I would tell you exactly what it is…Karly.
I met Karly on campus when I was still a teaching assistant, but became her professor just before she passed away. She seemed like she had it all together: had lots of friends, made good grades, and even pledged a sorority. None of that stopped her from taking her own life.
The morning her body was discovered the police interviewed a few of the faculty and some TAs to make sure that it wasn’t foul play. They finally ruled it a suicide. I wish I knew why. I wanted to ask her mother, but I was too scared to bring up something that was really none of my business. If she would have left a note, it would have been for her, right? I feel like if I had an idea of why her life wasn’t as important to her as it was to us, then I could put the silly notion aside that if I would have been there for her, I could have helped.
I took it harder than the rest of the school. Karly had been a friend of mine. She’d trusted me enough to tell me about problems she was having with her boyfriend and how her family would never understand him, but I never knew anything more about it. To the best of my knowledge, she had broken it off with him.
One night we were talking on an instant-messenger app and then the next the dean is making an announcement for grief counseling. That’s probably why I’m so interested in helping Zara with whatever she needs. I wouldn’t be able to handle it if anything happened to her like it did with Karly.
I’m so inside my own head that I don’t hear Zara enter the room until she’s within a few feet of my desk. I should have prepared myself a little better for this.
Zara saunters toward me wearing a tight fitted T-shirt and a pair of black pants that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination tucked into a pair of tan boots. She looks every bit the part of the college student she is, reminding me that I can’t even think about touching her.
Since she transferred in while classes were already in session, she did miss lessons from the beginning of the term. With midterms coming up, I feel compelled to help her even though I shouldn’t be alone with her any longer. I’m finding it harder and harder to fight the attraction that’s there. I’m not positive, but it feels like she wants to make a move but isn’t sure how. I really hope, for her sake and my sanity, that she doesn’t. It would make things too complicated, and I really do enjoy spending time with her.
“Let’s get this started. I want to try to make it home before Dillon and bake him something. It’s our anniversary,” she says, pulling a notepad and book out of her backpack. After everything she’s told me about him, I’m shocked she’s planning to celebrate anything with him. There’s also another feeling I’m not fully aware of, but it feels a lot like jealousy.
We spend the nex
t half hour discussing the traits of Mr. Darcy. If I would have remembered how much she loved this specific character I would have chosen another one…maybe Lizzie.
“Noah, are you high? Mr. Darcy might be the greatest hero of any book written. He loved hard. Even after Lizzie shot him down multiple times, he never stopped fighting for her…for them. Never again are you allowed to say anything bad about him,” she all but yells defensively. What is it with girls and their book boyfriends?
Watching her get all riled up about a book is turning me on. It sounds crazy, but a woman’s intelligence is almost as sexy as her ass, and with those damn yoga pants, Zara’s hitting it out of the park.
I give Zara a few notes to take down that will be on the final and she starts writing in her notepad. A piece of her blond hair falls in front of her face and, acting on their own accord, my fingers reach out and brush it behind her ear. Zara turns her head to the side and stares up at me through her lashes.
Our eyes lock and everything around us stops. Time isn’t going forward, the sounds outside of the room mute—like everything is in slow motion. I brush my thumb across her bottom lip, relishing the soft flesh under my digit. I lean forward and just before our mouths touch, her cellphone starts ringing.
I immediately pull back, scrubbing my hands over my face. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, as she digs the phone out of her purse. She stares at the caller ID for a moment and then answers.
“Hi, baby.”
“I’ll make sure I’m home when you get there.”
“I don’t really want to go out, but if you want to…”
“Okay. All right. Love you, too. Bye.”
She presses the end button and deposits the phone where she found it. “I have to go. Thanks for the lesson.” She smiles nervously and starts packing away her belongings.
“I really am sorry, Zara. I don’t know what happened.”