Page 140 of Oleander

I knew there’d be no food in the kitchen at the dorm either. I looked at the brown paper bag, greased spots of bacon already seeping through the sides, and the large brown cup of steaming hot tea. Salvation is what it looked like.

“I’ll get it,” a familiar American voice said from behind me. I whipped around to see Professor Alexander holding out his card towards the cashier. “Stick it on my order, Bailey.”

Professor Alexander was dressed for running. Black shorts, black fitted running top, cheeks flushed and healthy, curls damp on his head. He looked exceptionally good, startlingly so, actually. I was a little stunned by it so early in the morning.

He gave me a cheery, friendly sort of smile as he took me in. “Late one was it, Alcott?”

“Um, yeah, I was...out and yeah,” I stuttered. “And my phone died.”

His silver eyes gleamed with something like amusement as he moved to swipe up my order.

“I honestly don’t know how you kids do it.” He held the cup and the small brown bag out to me.

“Usual, Nathan?” Bailey, Keeper of the Bacon Roll asked. If the overly familiar way they’d addressed each other wasn’t clue enough, when I glanced at him to find him plotting my death, I got the picture. Bailey had a crush.

“Yeah, thanks,” Professor Alexander said without looking away from me. I took my breakfast from him gratefully.

“Thanks, sir. I’ll pay you back.”

Alexander’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he laughed. “Sir, is it?”

“Shit, sorry,” I groaned, cheeks flaming. “I don’t know why I said that. Professor, I mean.

“Nathan,” he corrected. “That whole professor thing makes me feel weird most of the time, but here in a coffee shop on Sunday morning?” He shuddered visibly. “All kinds of wrong, Jude.”

“Right, got it,” I said.

The shop was getting busier now and I was starting to feel increasingly worse the longer I stood there. I was well past hungry and the thirst had me about ready to topple over. I was sure I’d regret craving a grilled bacon roll altogether when I thought back on this incident but right now I wanted to take it home and shove it down my throat in one go.

“I’ll be off, then. Thanks again, Prof – Nathan.” I held up the bag and cup of tea and grinned stupidly before scurrying out of the shop and back home towards the dorm.

They were, admittedly, the best bacon rolls I’d ever eaten and after finishing them and gulping down the lukewarm sweetened tea, the lingering embarrassment over my run-in with Professor Alexander was all but wiped out by how blissfully full and satisfied I was. I slept for twelve straight hours after.

I’m not sure when I realised Nathan was attracted to me, when I understood that his rapt attention whenever I spoke in class – and furtive glances when I didn’t – was more than just scholarly interest in his student. But certainly it was sometime into Trinity term of my second year, after the coffee shop and after he had announced to our close-knit film studies class that he wouldn’t be returning next term. (A couple of the girls had actually cried during that class.)

He’d only been due to stay for one academic year, but had extended when a job he’d had lined up in London had fallen through.

He’d told us after one of our trips to the local cinema, he had an apartment in Brooklyn to get home to and a dog his sister had been keeping for him, and a job on a play (with a well-loved actor) off Broadway, that he was expected to start in November.

If not for all this, he said, he’d absolutely stay. He couldn’t tell us about his replacement yet but he said she was exceptionally cool and we’d love her way more than we’d ever liked his pretentious American ass.

He’d been decent enough never to mention the bacon roll incident. On the Tuesday after, I’d set a slice of vegan banana loaf and a large iced black coffee on his desk with a note that said, ‘Bailey said this was your usual – thank you ’. He’d lifted his head and given me that gleaming American smile and a nod, and that had been that.

Until one night in the Upper Camera library I’d been typing away so long on my laptop that my hands had gone numb. I stopped to shake them out. It was late on a Friday, and I had a paper due on Medieval language on Monday. I was working at P&P all weekend, so this was the only time I had left to finish it without having to pull an all-nighter on Sunday. I hadn’t eaten yet, though it was about 8 p.m.

Suddenly, a cheese and pickle sandwich appeared in front of me along with a bottle of water still chilled from the fridge. I twisted in my chair to find him standing over me, avidly reading my laptop screen. He was tall, so he needed to crouch over me in order to see the screen.

“Eat something,” he said, eyes still fixed on the screen. “You’ve been here four hours and haven’t eaten.”

My brain was too overloaded, too exhausted, to think about asking how he knew how long I’d been here or that I hadn’t eaten. I opened the sandwich – from the vending machine onthe ground floor, I noticed – and ate it in four large bites while Nathan read my paper over my shoulder.

As he read he said, very close to my ear, things like, “good point”, “ah, so smart”, “really good”, and “clever boy.”

“You need to stop buying me food,” I joked when I’d finished the sandwich and drained half the bottle of water.

“And what if I like feeding you?” he said softly.

I turned my head to look at him. The library was quiet – not empty – but quiet. On Friday nights, most people had better things to do.Iwould normally have better things to do. But it meant there was no one in the immediate vicinity to see Nathan turn his head and bring our mouths just a breath away. His eyes dipped to my lips and I felt something stir nervously in my gut, then lower between my legs.