Page 13 of Learn Your Limits

Chapter thirteen

Reid

I’ve been up for hours, and my body is still thrumming with energy. I had my alarm set for seven a.m., and yet by six, I was wide awake and staring at the ceiling with nerves twisting my stomach.

Today is the start of the new semester, and I'm anxious about finally seeing Milo.

I mean, I don't know for sure if our paths will cross, but the possibility is there.

I spent half the night trying to find a gap in my schedule when I could make it across campus to the building he likely teaches in but then decided that seemed a little too eager.

Knowing there’s even a slight chance I’ll be meeting him today, I spent some extra time this morning getting ready.

Since this is California and it’s the middle of summer, I’m dressed in a pair of tan shorts, a black short-sleeve shirt, and a pair of black Vans.

I took the time to style my hair with some gel, running my hands back through the longer length on top.

I also spent way too much time standing in front of the mirror in my bedroom, staring at myself.

What if Milo isn’t attracted to me the way I am to him? What if the years between us are too much to handle in person?

Now that I’m walking across campus to my first class of the day, Cognitive Psychology, my stomach has never been more tangled.

I’ve got about ten minutes before class officially starts, but I’m not usually the type of person to arrive right on time.

I’d much rather be a few minutes early than awkwardly stumble in late.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out to find a text from Milo suggesting we grab lunch this week.

His words send a sudden mix of excitement and apprehension through me, the thought both appealing and terrifying.

I slip the phone back into my pocket with a heavy sigh, unsure of how I want to respond.

I want to officially meet him more than anything, but I’m scared.

The Psychology building is filled with theater-style lecture halls, rooms designed with the professor’s podium and desk positioned at the bottom of the class, while student seating consists of long built-in tables with individual chairs.

Each row is a step above the next, giving every student an unhindered view of the professor, no matter where they are seated.

Professor Cervantes is standing at the front of the lecture hall with his nose buried in a book when I walk in, and my steps immediately falter as my breath catches in my throat. His dark hair is lightly peppered at his temples and slicked back, dark, thick-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.

He wears them only for a second before they’re folded up and stored in the breast pocket of his dark gray blazer.

A white Oxford shirt is stretched across his chest, showing the muscles underneath as he sets his book down on the podium.

I can’t see much beyond his upper half, but for that I’m thankful.

My body remembers exactly what’s underneath his layers of clothing thanks to the photos he has sent me, and I really don’t need my cock to make its excitement known in a room full of people.

Well, this just became my new favorite class.

My eyes never stray from him as I sink into a seat in the center of the third row, far enough away that I’m not directly within his line of sight.

Sweat is beading at the base of my spine, my heart threatening to burst free from my chest. The nerves that had been tangled in my stomach this morning have amplified to a hint of nausea.

Part of me wants to get up out of my seat and march right up to him, announcing who I am.

The other part wants to remain rooted here, gazing at him and wondering how long it will take him to look in my direction.

Either way, there’s no chance I’ll be leaving this lecture hall without him noticing me.

He may not have seen my face, but he’s seen enough to piece together my identity.

Milo’s gaze lifts as people file in and fill the empty seats, including those on either side of me.

I shift forward in my seat, arms resting across the long table in front of me as I silently urge him to look at me.

I want him to make the connection. I want to watch him try to remain composed as he realizes that I am, in fact, his student.

In my defense, I was under the impression that he was a science professor.

While I know that sociology and psychology are both social sciences, this isn’t the type of class I imagined him teaching.

Not that I ever bothered to tell him what my major was, either.

He asked if I was an art major, which I’m not, and the topic never resurfaced.

Not even during the hours we spent on the phone.

I don’t know whether this is good luck or if karma has come to bite me in the ass. There’s a very real chance that, while our age difference may come with challenges, him being my professor crosses the line.

As much as I have my own reservations—none of which have anything to do with the fact that he’s fourteen years older than me and apparently, now my professor—I want him.

I have no idea what I’m doing when it comes to being with a man, and I don’t know where things between us will go, but I want to find out.

His voice fills the room and quiets the chatter of students as he introduces himself and begins to go over what this class will entail for the semester.

It's familiar from the hours we spent on the phone, and though he’s addressing the class, all I can think about is the way his term of endearment for me rolls off his tongue.

When his stormy gaze finally flits in my direction, my cock stirs at the sudden memory of the way his release covered his hand in the photo he sent me. The one I now have saved to my phone and may have used to jerk off to before leaving for class this morning.

I shift in my seat and tug my bottom lip between my teeth, resting my elbow on the table in front of me. Heat rises to my cheeks as I cover my mouth with my hand and fight back a smile. His eyes widen ever so slightly, nostrils flaring as he takes me in for the first time.

His voice halts mid-sentence, but he’s quick to recover without tripping over his words. He tears his gaze away from me and looks over the full lecture hall before he turns his back to the room and officially begins instruction.

An hour later when class is finally over, I’m desperate to run down the few steps separating us.

I wait not-so-patiently as everyone else files out of the room, and only when it’s just Milo and I remaining do I grab my bag and stand from my seat.

I take in a deep breath and dare to lift my gaze to his.

He’s standing behind his desk, hands braced against the surface, with his eyes locked on me, following my every movement as I saunter down the steps. Finally standing before him, I anxiously slip a hand into my pocket, leaving the other free to hold the strap of my backpack at my shoulder.

“This isn’t what I had in mind when you said you were a science professor,” I tell him, my voice coming out with more of a rasp than I intended.

He removes his hands from his desk and stands up straight, slipping one hand into the pocket of his dress slacks.

He’s a couple of inches shorter than me, but everything about his demeanor is commanding.

Clearing my throat, I let my gaze fall to the ground.

I can’t tell if he’s angry, disappointed, or happy.

He seems fairly calm on the surface, a well-crafted, put-together image.

I need to know what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling.

Does he feel betrayed that I didn’t give him my real name?

I figured Cal was a safe bet, a play on my last name: Callahan.

I lift my eyes to his and note the contrast of his stormy gaze compared to the warm amber of my own. “I guess you can call me Reid now,” I say, fighting back the tremble in my voice.