Teacher's Pet

While he made a few of my suggested changes, I tried to take a tour of his apartment. From every angle, all I wanted to look at was him. We had realized that publishing the article from Landsman College was a bad idea, so when Ford invited me to his apartment, it felt natural. Now my stomach wouldn't stop fluttering. I tried to tell myself it was only the excitement of exposing Michael Tailor's misdeeds, but that was a lie. There was more to it, and the full extent hit me every time I glanced at Ford.

His white dress shirt was rumpled, and he had rolled his sleeves up past his elbows. The top buttons were undone and exposed the deep V-neck of his white undershirt and a fringe of dark chest hair. I remembered being pressed to his chest when he comforted me and missed the question he asked me.

"Sorry, what?" I asked.

Ford smiled. "I asked if you wanted me to turn music on. The radio's right there, but I also have a decent record collection. Do you even know how to turn on a record player?"

I stuck out my tongue at him. "I'm not that young."

He laughed and turned back to the computer screen. I started to peruse the records he had stacked tightly on a bookshelf, then I ran across another framed photograph of his sister.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" I asked. "I feel like I pushed you into it, but you're the only one that really has anything to lose."

"That's not true," Ford said. He pressed saved and stood up to join me at the mostly bare bookshelves. "This could change your life."

"Not as much as yours. You're going to lose a steady paycheck. I'm not some sheltered college girl that doesn't get what it's like to work for a living," I said. His proximity brought a bright warmth to my cheeks.

Ford's brow furrowed, then he saw the picture of Liz and smiled. He picked up the frame. "This was taken about ten minutes after she fell off her bike. Her entire leg was scraped up. Somehow, she managed to fall on part of a broken glass bottle. She's smiling that big because she just helped the doctor stitch up her knee," Ford told me.

"She always wanted to be a doctor," I said.

"I was a mess. All the blood and the big gash across her knee. It was awful, and yet look at her smile," Ford sig

hed proudly. "Liz could always take care of herself. She just let me help."

"So she'll be okay, but what about you?" I asked. Ford was inches away, his fond smile drawing me in. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

He put the photograph back and caught both my hands. He tugged me closer and looked deep into my eyes. "I am sure." He brushed a kiss across the back of my knuckles. "In fact, I'm ecstatic."

Ford's bright grin surprised me after the gentle caress. I took a step back and gave him a wary look. "Ecstatic? Have you lost your mind?"

He dropped my hands only to bring one hand to my cheek. "Clarity, you have no idea. You inspired me. You gave me a way to get my integrity back and do something good. I feel renewed, excited. The anticipation is intoxicating."

My body thumped as if a large door had just swung open inside me. I knew he meant the anticipation of breaking the news story, but the heat where his hand touched me suggested otherwise. We were off campus, Ford was off the clock, and we were finally just two consenting adults alone in an apartment.

"So let's do it," a voice said, and a heartbeat later, I realized it was my own.

Blue blazed through Ford's eyes, and his gaze dropped to my lips. There he fought for a moment, then dropped his hand, and turned to his computer. "You're right, let's get the truth out there and see what happens."

Ford sat down at his computer, and I looked over his shoulder. With a few swift keystrokes, he signed in to the School of Journalism and used his faculty password to access the department web page. He uploaded our article, and it became the cover copy within seconds.

"Your phone's ringing," I said.

"They'll take that down right away, but I couldn't resist." Ford then opened our student newspaper page and published the exposé as the main headline. "This is password protected and should take them longer to shut down."

I leaned over him and reached for the keyboard. "Then let me link it to social media. If students don't read it, they'll at least get outraged when the article is removed."

Ford scooted his chair back. I was so intent on getting the message out there that I perched on his knee so I could type easier. When I was done, we sat together and watched the article circulate through the student population and beyond in a matter of minutes.

A strand of my hair caught in Ford's stubble, and he gently brushed it away. The faint caress sent a bolt of lightning through my body. Ford felt my reaction, and the muscles of his thighs tightened underneath me.

There was no one way to stand up without giving him an intimate view of my backside, but I did it as quickly as I could. I hated the nervous giggle that escaped my lips. "My stomach's growling," I lied. "Too bad we can't really order a pizza now, or people will know you're home."

He stood up and took my breath away with the first step he took towards me. The rumpled white shirt, his charcoal dress pants, the sheen of his black leather belt. Ford's dark hair was tussled, and his five o'clock shadow was dark. He looked so delicious, it was no wonder my brain had jumped on hunger as an excuse.

Ford took my hand and guided me into the kitchen. He opened up his freezer and grinned. "My apartment might be bare, but the kitchen is fully stocked. What are you in the mood for?"

The thought of what I was in the mood for covered me in a wave of heat the freezer could not combat. I had only had two serious boyfriends since high school and one silly fling last summer. They had given me good ideas, but none of them had elicited such a deep-seated craving.