Page 21 of Teach Me

Mr. Mystery:Apologies for my hasty reply earlier. I was in the middle of something.

Mr. Mystery:I’ll be there Saturday and am very much looking forward to it.

I sank against the tiled wall of the bathroom stall and thunked my head against the back.

I had to tell him, right? It would be too dishonest not to say something.

It would end things for sure, though, and I really didn’t want that.

I thunked my head against the wall again.

Fuck me for my text timing. I wished I could turn back time and keep my stupid phone in my pocket.

Ignorance was truly bliss.

And fuck Professor Lusk for being hot enough to make a volcano jealous.

I gnawed on my lower lip, an idea forming.

I had to tell him, I had no doubt about that. But maybe, just maybe, I could make him see reason.

We were both consenting adults, after all.

10

GRADY

I’d told Cameron ten minutes. Ten minutes had come and gone with no sign of him. He’d seemed uncharacteristically discombobulated when we’d spoken briefly after class, which in turn had discombobulated me, apparently. It wasn’t like me to be so focused on whether a student of mine showed up or not, yet there I was, checking my watch for a fifth time. I was rooting for him, invested in him, and reluctantly (or perhaps not so reluctantly) attracted to him. I wouldn’t be the first teacher attracted to a student, I was sure. But as long as I kept it to myself and didn’t act on it, no harm, no foul. Once the semester was over and I no longer saw him, I was certain the feeling would pass. I assumed his concern was about his essay draft, which had been far from the worst I’d seen in the class, though not up to par with his previous coursework. It’d been a little sloppier than usual. But that was why I requested the drafts in the first place, to give students a chance to improve. I told myself that my anxiety over his arrival was simply because I wanted him to do well, and I suspected a brief conversation between us would help in that regard.

I jerked upright in my office chair, squaring my shoulders, when a knock sounded at my door. “Come in.” I ran a hand through my hair, trying to tame any muss in it.

It eased open slowly, and Cameron stepped inside before shutting it gently behind him. “Sir, I mean, Professor—” he started. “Sorry about earlier.”

I motioned toward the chairs in front of my desk. Behind those was a raggedy couch where I’d snuck many a nap while working into the night on my book. Cameron dropped his backpack there.

“It’s no problem.” I offered him what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “How’s the whole mastering swallowing thing going?” He still seemed on edge, and I was hoping a little levity would bring him down.

I was almost certain his cheeks pinkened, and then he barked out a laugh. “I haven’t choked on my own spit in at least twenty minutes. Actually”—now he was definitely blushing—“I didn’t choke on my spit. I lied about that. I got caught off guard and panicked. There’s this dumb game my roommates play in class sometimes where we say something completely ridiculous and try to get the other in trouble. Nate got me because I was distracted by—” He rubbed a hand down his face. “I was just distracted. That sounds about as bad as choking on my own spit, doesn’t it?”

I chuckled. “It sounds like college days. I won’t judge. I think I like that explanation better than the choking on your own spit one. It had me a little concerned.” I arched a brow.

“You’ve never choked on your own spit before? Fallen up the stairs? C’mon.” I could tell Cameron meant it as a tease, but it came out a bit strained, and I suddenly felt bad. Maybe I shouldn’t have called him out in class that way.

“Okay, fine. I have.” I leaned in a bit. “I just don’t acknowledge it unless forced. If you’ll recall, I sent an entirestack of papers flying off the desk at the beginning of class. However, it’s thankfully been many years since I can remember accidentally drooling.”

Cameron’s smile flagged, and I once again wondered if I’d gone too far.

I straightened in my chair, attempting to get back to business. “I’m sure you’ve thought of this, but a visit to the student aid office might be helpful if you’re struggling to keep up with your course load and work.” I hated the idea of him working himself to the bone trying to keep up, only to exhaust himself. “Or if you’re taking too many classes and need to drop one?—”

A vigorous shake of his head silenced me. “It’s not that. At all. That’s not an issue.”

“Ahh, good. I’d be sorry to miss out on your theories about human motivation.” I hesitated, then, eyeing the way his shoulders tightened and noting the tension pouring off him, added, “You know I was teasing in good fun in class today. And just now.” I frowned. It probably bordered on flirting. I wondered if I’d somehow offended him. That hadn’t been my intention at all. “Maybe I shouldn’t have.”

He waved a hand. “Yeah, no. I totally deserved that.”

I cocked my head at him appraisingly but still couldn’t suss out the reason for his visible agitation. “Sit, sit. Tell me what’s up.” I was starting to get the idea that maybe he was considering dropping the class after all, and I was more invested in his decision than I should have been.

“Okay.” Cameron shifted on his feet, as if debating, before perching on the edge of the chair and rubbing his palms lightly over the top of his jeans. His nervousness fired up a strangely protective instinct in me.