Page 7 of Lesbian Professor (Sapphic Sweethearts #6)

Polly

I n the list of bad choices I’ve made, sleeping with a professor the night before class is probably high up there. I mean, I didn’t know she was my boss.

“I’m Professor Martin,” Noelle says. She’s wearing a white blouse, a black pencil skirt, and red heels. Who the hell dresses like that in real life? She’s like a star from a porno, like the nightmare incarnation of my fantasies. I want her, but I dread her. Oh, what the hell have I done?

My mouth goes dry as I realize we’re introducing ourselves and saying where we’re from.

Quick! What’s a fun fact about me? I have mommy issues.

That’s fun. My aunt died while babysitting me when I was eight.

That’s another fun one. Oh, I want to become a writer one day, but nobody would ever read anything I wrote. Fun.

Fun.

Fun.

Eventually, it’s my turn. Everyone stares at me, including her. I can’t bring myself to look up into her eyes.

Last night, Noelle’s mouth was on my pussy, and my mouth was on hers.

Last night, she gave me the best orgasms of my damn life.

How am I supposed to act like she’s just my professor?

Like this is normal?

“And you?” Noelle stares at me.

“My name is Polly,” I say. “I’m a sophomore. I’m majoring in English Literature.”

I didn’t include a fun fact. Luckily, Noelle seems to have forgotten about our wonderful night together because she doesn’t seem to have an issue calling me out in front of everyone.

“And a fun fact?”

“I’m gay,” I blurt out. I can’t stop myself.

“That is fun,” she says. “Thank you for sharing.” She smiles, and somehow, seeing her lips curl up makes my pussy ache.

Fuck.

When I woke up and she wasn’t there, I was devastated, but now I know why.

She was late for fucking class.

Noelle moves on to the next student, a young woman who says her fun fact is that she owns a chinchilla.

Another student, a girl with blue hair, says she knows how to pole dance.

We also have students in class who are singers, guitarists, and gamers.

I don’t listen to a word of it, though, because I’m too busy staring at Noelle.

Somehow, I make it through her lecture. I don’t really know what she’s talking about. Class ends and I push my way through the crowd of students trying to leave. I reach her spot at the front of the class by the little table she sat at.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hello, Polly.”

“You didn’t tell me you were a professor.”

She looks at me, and I almost think she looks sad. Before she speaks, I realize what she’s going to do. She’s going to say that she can’t be with me, that she can’t sleep with a student. It’s unethical. That’s what she’ll say, and I know that it’s true.

Only, I don’t really care.

I want to care, but I don’t.

“You didn’t tell me you were a student.”

“I guess we were too busy not talking to tell each other things.”

“I suppose that’s true,” she says. She leans against the desk, and I stare at her.

“I wish you had told me.”

“I wish a lot of things.”

“Like what?”

“Like, I wish I didn’t have to leave so early this morning,” she says.

“Oh.”

“I missed waking up with you,” she says. “I’m sorry I sneaked out.”

“It’s okay.”

“You seemed peaceful, and I needed to get to work.”

“I guess I understand.”

“You made it here on time,” she says. “Is this your only class today?”

“No.”

“When’s your next one?”

“Three minutes.”

“Polly, go to class,” she says. “And call me later.”

She takes my hand, writes a phone number on it.

“Why the hell are you writing on my hand? Just add me as a contact. This isn’t the 90s.”

She smiles at me, shakes her head.

“Sometimes the best things are from the 90s, Polly.”

“Like you?”

“Go to class, sweetie.”

She turns and starts gathering her things. I wait, watching her, but I can’t shake the feeling or the fact that I’ve essentially been dismissed. She wanted me to go, and now it’s time for me to go. I start moving slowly, casually walking toward the door. I want her to stop me, but she doesn’t.

When I reach the doorway, I almost bump into a tall guy scurrying in. Other students are also trying to get into the room, so I carefully fade out into the crowd, and I vanish down the hall.

“Where’s your next class?” Jacob, a friend of mine, sees me. He matches my pace as we walk.

“402,” I say. “Same building.”

“Me too,” he says.

“Cool.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine,” he says.

“Jakey, I’m fine.”

“Don’t call me that,” Jake says, whining, but I can’t stop thinking about her.

Noelle.

Noelle.

Noelle.