She looked to be enjoying herself. “Do you usually open the door for your students?” she asked. “Do you usually watch them walk away with an admiring look on your face?”
“I think you’re reading too much into things,” I said.
“You look different, too, you know,” Lindsey pointed out. “There’s an expression on your face that I haven’t seen before.”
“Exhaustion?”
She rolled her eyes. “No. You look like someone who’s got a juicy secret, and you’re worried someone will figure it out…like I just did.”
“There’s nothing to figure out because I have no secrets,” I said calmly.
“So, there’s nothing going on between you and the brunette?”
“Nothing at all,” I said firmly.
“I see,” Lindsey nodded. “So then am I to assume that you also make it a habit of kissing every student who comes in for a consultation?”
My eyes went wide for a moment, wondering how on earth she knew that. Lindsey’s face broke out into a triumphant smile, and I realized I had just given myself away. She hadn’t seen anything – she was just calling my bluff in an attempt to make me out myself.
“I so knew it.”
“What did you mean about Professor Stiller not being as prudish as he seems?”
“Oh, I just meant that Professor Holier-Than-Thou Stiller likes hot blondes…especially hot blondes who look like me,” Lindsey revealed. “He’s tried to hook up with me a couple of times.”
“Ugh… Aside from the age difference, I don’t see why that’s so scandalous,” I said. “It’s not like there’s a rule that states that professors can’t date one another.”
“That’s not the reason it’s scandalous.”
“No?”
“Stiller is married,” she revealed. “Has been for fourteen years. His wife’s too good for him.”
“Ah.”
Lindsey nodded. “Any more questions about Stiller?”
“Uh…no.”
“Good, now back to you and the brunette.”
I groaned. “Wait, I did have another question about Stiller.”
“Too late,” Lindsey said, cutting me off. “When did this forbidden romance start up?”
I stuttered a little, wondering if I should just keep denying it, but I figured Lindsey had the same secret I did. If anyone could be trusted, it would be her.
“About a week ago,” I admitted.
“And, she’s in one of your classes?”
“Yes.”
“Let me guess… She needed ‘special help’ with macroeconomics?”
I smiled. “No,” I said. “We met at Oasis.”
“Huh?” she asked. “I thought she was one of your students?”