ROOMIES (Strangers-To-Lovers Romance Novel) Page 21

  “Well, it’s not your worst idea,” Frankie shot back.

  “It’s not like anything can ever happen between us,” she sighed. “He’s my professor. Do you have any idea what kind of trouble we could get into? I mean, me definitely, and I’m counting on a bunch of recommendation letters from the department, but come on! It would be way worse for him. Wouldn’t it?”

  “I don’t actually know,” Frankie replied, pondering it for a moment. “But he certainly wouldn’t be the first professor to sleep with his student. I mean, really! Don’t you have feelings for him?”

  This struck a nerve Amelia wasn’t aware she had. “Of course I do,” she snapped. “But it’s not like that matters.” She banged the espresso out of the porta-filter. “Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  Frankie made a face and continued to clean the espresso machine. “Whatever you say,” he said, apparently not convinced by her protests. “I didn’t tell you, but I got a text from Jake the other night.”

  “Jake?” Amelia asked. “That fraternity jock?”

  “Yes, that one,” Frankie said testily. “His name is Jake, and he’s actually really cool.”

  “So is he…?” She raised her eyebrows at him from across the counter.

  “Gay? Um, I’m not actually sure,” Frankie admitted. “He’s… It’s complicated.”

  “Like he’s still in the closet?” she asked bluntly.

  “Well, yeah. Maybe,” Frankie replied with a shrug.

  “And are you going to waltz him on out of there?” she asked, waggling her eyebrows at him.

  “I have no idea.” Frankie sighed. He looked sad, and Amelia realized she was using the wrong tactic.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, honestly. “I wasn’t making fun. I want to know.”

  “I really like him, Ames,” Frankie moaned. “He’s gorgeous, and funny, and when we’re alone, he’s incredibly nice.”

  “And when you’re not alone?” she asked, prepared to go on the defensive.

  “Well, then he’s more of the ‘smash the beer can on the forehead’ kind of jock,” Frankie admitted. “But it’s not who he is.”

  “But does that matter, if that’s how he chooses to act?”

  “It does to me,” Frankie said flatly. “But I’ll take what I can get right now.”

  “Oh, Franko, that’s no way to live,” she said in a soft voice. “So you really like him? Like, you like him like him?”

  “Afraid so,” sighed Frankie. “I like him like him.”

  “Well, I just want you to be happy, you know that.” Amelia smiled. “But I can’t say I’m not worried about you falling in love with a two-faced, closeted fraternity jock.”

  “Yeah, well, how’s falling for your professor working out for you?” Frankie said smugly, chucking a wet rag at her.

  “Touché,” she said, dodging it.

  When Amelia got home that evening, she was covered in espresso grounds and stale milk from the coffee shop. Her feet ached from standing all day on the concrete floor, and her back was sore.

  She plugged in a string of little white lights, pulled her Joni Mitchell vinyl out of the sleeve, and placed it carefully on the record player. Pouring herself a glass of Pinot Noir, she turned the volume up, and after taking a quick rinse in the shower, she turned the knob and began to fill up the bath.

  As strains of “California” warbled into her little bathroom, Amelia settled back in the tub with her glass of wine and a copy of Professor Bell’s latest journal article. She felt a little bit like a dork, reading her professor’s scholarship essay while sipping wine in a tub.

  His paper isn’t exactly an erotic novel, she thought wryly to herself. But something about the clarity of his words, the passion that came through the dense content written in the style of academia, made her feel close to him. It excited her. She sat in the tub, wondering what was wrong with her for getting turned on by a scholarly journal article.

  She turned off the faucet and let the bathwater flow over her. She hadn’t eaten anything but a stale coffee shop muffin all day, and the booze swirled in her empty stomach, making her feel giddy.

  Tossing the paper to the floor beside the tub, she slipped her hand beneath the surface of the water, running it over her soft skin until it nestled between her legs. She closed her eyes and thought of his words, his praise for her work, his encouragement. She pictured his face so close to hers, and imagined leaning forward and touching his lips with hers.

  Her eyes flashed open as she felt the wave of pleasure course through her. She trembled in the water, the image of Professor Bell’s face hovering in her mind as her legs twitched and the water sloshed carelessly at the side of the tub. She let out a sharp exhalation and bit her trembling lip.

  As Amelia curled up in bed that night, she wondered how her feelings had gotten so out of control. She needed to be more careful or things could get awkward with Professor Bell. She needed this semester to go smoothly to ensure she had the best recommendations possible for grad school.

  But as Amelia snuggled down in the comforter, she imagined what it would be like to curl up against him and hold his warm body against hers. Despite her reservations, one thought crossed her mind as temptation flitted through her brain:

  What was the worst that could happen?

  4

  Theodore stood at the front of the class the next week, wondering where Amelia was and why she wasn’t in class. He had spent the weekend thinking constantly about what had passed between them. He debated whether it was just him fooling himself or if, perhaps, there was some intense, unspoken truth that had emerged in that awkward moment when they’d run into each other.

  Theodore also spent the weekend wondering how badly he’d fucked up by holding her too long, his face so near to hers. He forced himself to be logical. She couldn’t bring him up on sexual harassment charges, not for that. It was truly an accident.

  As Theodore considered this, he hoped that Amelia wouldn’t want to punish him. Unless he was crazy, she had also felt something change between them as they stood in the hallway. Still, it dismayed him when he noticed her seat empty among the rest of his lazy, disengaged students.

  He missed her in class, not only because he worried about the implications of their encounter but also because without her in the seminar, the lectures seemed to go on for millennia. It was like pulling teeth to get anyone in the class to respond to his questions, and he was sick and tired of having to extract answers from people like a practitioner of the Spanish Inquisition. Today, he just didn’t have the energy for it.

  When the door cracked open and Amelia slipped in quietly, the creaking hardwood floors giving her away, he was flooded with a mix of feelings. Irritation was the one that surprised him most, but it was coupled with a strange mixture of relief and pleasure to see her.

  Amelia was late, and she tended to be late fairly often. Even if it was only fifteen minutes, those were fifteen minutes he stood at the board wondering over her, thinking about her, distracted from the class because of her. That’s not her fault, he told himself. She had no control over where his mind settled. Despite his rationalizations, he was irritated.

  As she took her seat among the other students at the table, he was posed with another problem. Should he say something? If he let it slide, wouldn’t that be favoritism? Wouldn’t he say something if another student came in fifteen minutes late? He was stuck between these two uncomfortable options, calling Amelia out or letting her tardiness go unchecked. He decided, finally, that he needed to err on the side of caution and treat her like any other student.

  “Miss Jones,” he said reluctantly. “Nice of you to join us. Would you mind seeing me after class?”

  Amelia flared a bright, embarrassed red, the flush on her cheeks arousing Theodore. Something about her physical responses being so open and obvious, outside her ability to control, was a huge turn-on. The raw, unfettered, physical honesty of her emotions was a stimulant for him. He felt hims
elf grow hard and took a seat quickly at the head of the conference table.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” she apologized quietly. As the sudden surge of horniness subsided, Theodore regretted embarrassing her. His heart panged with guilt for humiliating her in front of the class. He wanted to comfort her with a smile, an apology of sorts, but her eyes were glued to her book as if she was refusing to look at him.

  He spent the rest of the class frustrated, intellectually as well as sexually. He had blown it with Amelia from the start, and she was uncharacteristically silent for the remaining time, offering him no assistance when he sought to evoke a discussion from the class. He couldn’t tell if it was payback or if he had genuinely hurt her feelings, but either way, the whole class was a waste. He decided to let them go half an hour early with a stern warning that there would be a pop quiz on the tenets of Romanticism and they had better do the readings.

  “What’s up his ass today?” he heard Dan mutter to one of the vapid blonde girls just outside the door of the classroom. Although Theodore felt the comment land like a punch to the gut, he said nothing. He was out of sorts.

  Although Theodore told himself he couldn’t identify the cause, his eyes settled automatically on Amelia, who still sat in her seat, staring at the book. Finally, after what seemed like a solid two or three minutes while the other students shuffled out of the room, she raised her eyes to his.

  Her eyebrows were furrowed, her mouth was screwed up a little to the side, and she seemed unconscious of the fact that she chewed on the corner of her bottom lip. The indentation her straight white teeth left in the plump, rosy skin of her mouth made his pants feel tight against him. Goddammit, he thought. He had to get this under control. She was giving him spontaneous wood like he was a horny thirteen-year-old.

  Despite the erection distracting him and preventing him from standing up, he wanted to comfort her. “Sorry to call you out like that,” he said finally. As soon as the words left his mouth, he couldn’t tell if he regretted saying them or not. Perhaps the only thing worse than favoritism was being overly harsh, then stupidly admitting his mistake to the student in question? Jesus, this girl was in his head.

  “It’s okay,” she answered without looking at him. “I’m sorry I was late. I was supposed to get off work twenty minutes before class, but I was the only one there and the other girl never showed for her shift. I tried calling everyone but no one could come in, and I couldn’t just close the shop or I’d lose my job. And I can’t lose my job, because then I can’t pay my way through school.” She was rambling and realized it because she drifted off and fell silent.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. Well, now, I’m really sorry for scolding you,” Theodore said regretfully. “I should have known you had a good reason.”

  Amelia glanced at him and smiled hesitantly.

  “So I heard from the other girls who agreed to do the panel,” Theodore continued awkwardly, not sure what to say. “Jenna is out with mono and apparently won’t be back for a few weeks, and Kendall quit school all together. So… I guess that leaves the two of us.”

  “Oh,” Amelia said, looking surprised. What other expression crossed her face? Theodore wondered. Excitement? No, it couldn’t be. Not after their awkwardness today. He was fooling himself.

  “Are you still up for the work?” he asked hopefully.

  “Yes, of course,” she replied, beginning to soften. She unfolded her hands from her lap and ran her fingers through her hair. Theodore was mesmerized by how it fell in silky sheets across her shoulders. He had an instinctual urge to reach out and touch it, and his entire brain had to fight it.

  “That’s wonderful.” He smiled. “Well, I guess since it’ll just be the two of us, we can be a bit more free-form with the work hours. I know Friday night isn’t exactly ideal… social lives and whatnot.” He trailed off, not sure what he hoped to get out of this line of thinking. Perhaps some confirmation that she was single? Smooth, he thought to himself.

  “It’s fine,” she shrugged. “I’m good whenever. I don’t have much going on for a social life. If I’m not in school, I’m studying or working in the coffee shop. So whatever day is good for you, it’s fine for me.”

  “Oh, great,” Theodore replied. “Well, I guess that’s about it for today then. Want to set something up by email? We can just pick a time to meet that way.”

  “Sounds good,” she nodded. “I should get going.” The bell tower had just struck the hour. Theodore hadn’t realized they’d been sitting there for almost thirty minutes. Time flew by when he was with her.

  “Goodbye,” she said, pausing in the doorway and half-turning back to smile at him. Something about the way she looked at him gave him that warm feeling in his stomach, the same kind of pleasurable heat as if he’d just taken a sip of cognac.

  “Goodbye, Amelia,” he replied softly.

  Theodore returned to his office and attempted to work, but the building was quiet and his thoughts were loud. Outside, it was already dark, even though it wasn’t late. After half an hour of reading the same passage three or four times, he finally tossed the book on the desk and picked up his phone. He wasn’t sure who he wanted to call or what he wanted to do. He felt like getting a beer, or maybe a whiskey, but as with any college town, there were no good student-free bars for the faculty to enjoy.

  When he came up short on ideas for going out, he pulled on his coat, packed his leather briefcase with papers to grade at home, and headed to the convenience store on the edge of campus near his apartment. As he stood in front of the beer fridges, he noticed two of the freshmen from his Intro to Composition class whispering by the Twizzlers, giggling to each other and making moony-eyed, surreptitious glances in his direction.

  He had been hoping to find a good IPA, Lagunitas, or something, but he felt increasingly anxious at the impending advances of these silly young girls coming his way. He opened the fridge and grabbed the Miller High Life since it was the closest thing resembling an adult beer in the store, which was mostly filled with cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon and Mike’s Hard Lemonade, basically soda for the college kids. And as he headed to the counter, his fears were realized. The girls were in front of him.

  “Hi, Professor Bell,” the redhead cooed. “What are you doing here?”

  “Just picking up some beer,” he said, trying to remain aloof without being rude. He did not want to engage with these underage college girls.

  “Um, I had a question about the assignment,” the redhead continued, giving him what he assumed she thought was a sexy expression.

  “Oh… uh, sure,” he stammered, desperate for an escape. Fucking college towns. “I’m actually in a hurry—do you mind emailing me? I’d be happy to respond then.”

  “Um, okay…” The redhead pouted. “I just—”

  “Or you can drop by office hours on Wednesday,” Theodore interrupted her, backing down the aisle. “Sorry, girls, gotta run!”

  He threw a ten-dollar note on the counter and left without his change.

  When Theodore got home, he tripped on the boxes just inside his door. “Goddammit!” he muttered, his shin throbbing from the hard corner of the box of books. He needed to unpack. This was ridiculous. He’d been here six months, and it looked like he’d just moved in. But where was he going to get the time between committees and teaching, grading, and writing? This place was depressing. He dropped his keys on the counter and grabbed a bottle opener.

  After a second beer, Theodore’s thoughts returned to Amelia. In the fuzziness left in his brain by the alcohol, it occurred to him that he could read Amelia’s college application essay. He couldn’t access her student file, but this was an essay she had written for the department faculty in order to qualify for certain higher level courses in her freshman and sophomore years.

  Theodore had noticed it once when submitting grades to the department portal, and at the time, it had meant nothing to him so he’d forgotten about it. But after spending more time with her, he wanted to know w
hat it contained. He wanted to know everything about her—her hopes, dreams, and career aspirations. She was a foster child who loved books. She was smart, funny, and mature. She was beautiful. And she made him feel things. What else was there to her?

  As he skimmed through the paragraphs detailing her academic accomplishments—which, frankly, blew his mind given what she was up against in life—he hoped to find something more, some hint of her true character. Her writing confirmed what he already knew. Her determination and her refusal to be held back by the cards she’d been dealt. All this was very obvious. But what made her tick? What made her happy? What was the secret to Amelia?

  As Theodore finished his third beer and reached for his fourth, it occurred to him that instead of grading, or writing, or even watching TV, he’d just spent the last two hours reading a student’s essay, trying to elicit the secrets of her soul. What was going on with him? Was he lonely? This isn’t normal behavior, he cautioned himself. Despite that, it felt natural to want to know about her. Thinking about Amelia felt like the most normal thing he did these days. And that thought, more than any other, scared him.

  Am I really that sad and hard-up? wondered Theodore. No. He could get laid if he wanted to. He had noticed the effect he had on women. Something about his shaggy mess of sandy hair and pale gray eyes made things easy for him. He was a good-looking guy, objectively. He dressed well and made interesting conversation at cocktail parties and department meetings. He’d had his share of serious girlfriends, the latest of whom was in Washington, finishing her doctorate. And although he had thought for some time that he missed her, it occurred to him now that, truthfully, he didn’t. It dawned on him that he hadn’t spent nearly as much time thinking about her as he did thinking about Amelia.

  That left the other option… the more terrifying option. That left the uncomfortable possibility that he had real feelings for her. Theodore didn’t know where to begin. Nothing good can come of this, he reminded himself, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand. Don’t be a fucking idiot, Theo. Don’t blow your career on this. He repeated this like a mantra, letting the words seep into his beer-muddled brain. Don’t be a fucking idiot.