Page 1 of Lesbian Professor (Sapphic Sweethearts #6)

Polly

“ Y ou know I like my girls to be older than me,” I say, staring at Max. He smirks.

“Yeah, sugar. I know. Trust me. We all know.”

“I feel bad about this,” I say.

“Why?”

“Because I’m not supposed to.”

“Says who, honey? Society?” Max shakes his head.

He’s never been bothered by things like listening to society.

In Max’s mind, the only thing that matters is joy.

He wants to find peace. He’s on some sort of epic journey.

When he’s not making out with randos he picks up during our shifts at the bar, he’d going to yoga and trying to find some sort of greater reason to be .

“Yes,” I say. “Exactly that. Society.”

“Since when do you care about society?”

“Since always,” I say.

“You have pink hair, Polly.”

I reach for my locks, twirl them in my fingers.

“For now,” I say. We both know I’ll be changing the color soon. I always do. I can’t be counted on for much, I know, but I can be counted on to change my hair color regularly.

“Planning on another change?”

“You what I always say.”

“Hair dye is cheaper than a new tattoo?”

“Yes.”

“Fair.”

“Max?”

“Yeah?”

“Is something wrong with me?”

Max sighs, places his hands on mine. I flip my hands over so our palms are touching. We’re basically holding hands over the bar. A random person walking by might think there’s something between us, but there’s not. Max likes guys. I like everyone.

“Polly, I need to tell you something, and it’s going to be hard to hear.”

“I’m ready.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“You’re kind of picky.”

“What?”

“When it comes to women,” he says.

“I heard you.”

“It’s just that you’re really, really choosy.”

“Max, what the hell are you talking about?” I’m not picky. I just know what I want.

“You break up with every single woman you date.”

“Lots of relationships end,” I say.

“I understand that.” Max softens his voice. He sounds like he’s talking to a child.

“That doesn’t mean the breakups were all my fault.”

“I get that, babe.”

But I don’t know if he does, and I don’t know if I want to talk about this anymore.

“Hey, your table’s drinks are empty.” Annabeth, one of the newer servers, sidles up to me.

“You want me to top them off?” She smiles.

It’s genuine. Annabeth is the kind of person who is always trying to help others out.

She doesn’t have any interest in overtaking.

She just wants to make sure that we’re all successful.

She’s too nice.

She’s much too nice to work in a place like this.

“I’ll get it,” I say.

I head over to the table. Two insanely gorgeous women are sitting side-by-side with an equally beautiful woman across from them. The lone lady is a tall blonde who’s in her mid-to-late forties. She’s my key demographic when it comes to love, but I try to think about Max’s words.

I won’t hit on her as much as I want to: not for a tip, and not for the possibility of anything else.

“Ladies, how are we doing? Any refills?”

“I’ll take another vodka tonic,” says a lady with dark brown hair. She smiles at me. She’s holding hands with the woman next to her. They both have rings on.

“Got it. For you?” I ask her partner.

“Same, please.”

“And what about you?” I finally look at the blonde woman, the one who makes me feel like every nerve ending in my body is firing all at once.

“I’ll have a glass of wine and your Snapchat handle,” she says evenly. She smiles, but it’s more of a smirk than a grin. She knows she’s sexy. She also knows I was scoping her out.

“W-W-What?” I say, suddenly shocked at her impulsiveness.

“Did I stutter, darling?” She reaches out, takes my hand, strokes the back with her thumb. “I’d like another glass of wine,” she says. “And I’d like your Snapchat handle.”

“Snapchat,” I say. She uses Snapchat. There’s only one reason she’s asking for my Snap, and it’s not because she wants to send pictures of her food.

“Yes,” she says.

I think of Max’s words, but this offer is too good to resist. I blurt out my username, turn, and scurry back to the bar. Quickly, I make the drinks.

“Are you good?” Max asks. I’m moving swiftly. I think I’m making everything correctly. No, I’m certain that I am.

“I’m fine.”

“What did your table say to you?”

“Oh my god ,” says Annabeth, rushing into the bar. She grips the side of the counter with her hands. “Did she seriously ask you for your Snapchat username?”

“Yes,” I say through gritted teeth. I look at Max. He’s shaking his head.

“Don’t do it, Polly,” he says. “It’s a bad idea.”

“I already did,” I say, and I start loading the drinks up on a serving tray.

“Polly, no!”

“I already did,” I say again, hissing the words.

Then I turn, march back over to the table, and paste a grin on my face to keep from melting. I ignore the blonde lady. Instead, I serve her friends.

“Two vodka tonics, coming up,” I say. I set the drinks down. They each murmur their thanks, but then I have to face the other woman, the pretty one. I try not to shake as I turn to her. I can feel her eyes on me even before I catch her gaze and match her stare. “Your wine,” I say.

What I want to say is, “Let me kneel for you.”

What I want to do is drop to my knees for her.

She stays where she is. I set the wine down in front of her, and she reaches for my wrist as I pull my hand away. Her palm connects with my wrist, and I look up at her sharply.

“Ma’am?” I ask. I’m not sure what I’m actually asking.

Can I come home with you?

Can I kiss you?

Can I play with you?

“I added you,” she says.

“What?”

“On Snap,” she says.

“Oh. I haven’t checked my phone yet. The drinks.”

“Check now,” she says.

“Now?”

She nods.

Her friends are silent as I pull my phone out of my back pocket. These jeans are almost skin tight, but I still have enough room for the phone. I’ll always have enough room for the phone.

“I see it,” I say.

“Add me back.”

I can’t explain why I listen to her. Something about her voice feels important, needy, perfect.

“I added you.”

“Let me see.”

I hand her my phone. She checks, nods, and gives it back.

“When do you get off work?”

I stare at her. Why is she asking me this? Does she want to take me somewhere? She does, doesn’t she?

“I...I’m closing tonight.”

“Will you be working tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Five until close.”

“Do you have lunch plans?”

“Um,” I say.

“You do now,” she says.

She turns back to her friends, effectively dismissing me, and I turn and scurry away like a scared little kitten because that’s kind of what I am.