5. Yes, Professor

Because of Elias’s stupid, infuriating denial. I tossed and turned all night, replaying his words, his eyes, the way he looked at me. It was all a lie. He remembered, I know he remembered.

It’s the first day of classes at St. Francis College. Gemma is buzzing, already dressed, practically bouncing off the walls. I’m just trying to get through a bowl of cereal without throwing up.

“You okay?” Gemma asks, nudging my arm. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

“Worse,” I mutter, taking a sip of juice. “A seminarian ghost.”

She snorts, then her eyes widen. “Oh, right. Elias.” She glances towards the living room, where Aunt Jo and Uncle Ben are probably already deep in prayer. “Did you… talk to him?”

I tell her about the kitchen. About his denial. Her jaw drops.

“He said he didn’t know you?” she whispers, sounding shocked.

“Yep. Stone cold. Like he’s never seen me before today.” I push my cereal away. “It was infuriating.”

“Wow,” she says slowly. “That’s… intense. He’s really committed to the whole holy man act.”

“Tell me about it.”

Aunt Jo pops her head into the kitchen, beaming. “Girls, ready for your big day?.”

“Ready, Mom!” Gemma chirps.

I just nod, trying to plaster on a convincing smile. I’m not ready. Not even a little bit.

The drive to St. Francis is a blur of Aunt Jo’s excited chatter and Gemma pointing out familiar landmarks. My stomach churns with a mix of nerves for my first day and dread about running into him. He’s going to be my proffesor after all.

We get out of the car. The campus is buzzing. Students everywhere, laughing, talking, holding stacks of books. It feels like a movie scene.

“Okay, my first class is Lit,” Gemma says, checking her phone. “Yours?”

“Psych 101,” I reply. “Building B, Room 302.”

“Good luck, Simone!” Aunt Jo calls from the car. “Remember what we talked about!”

I wave vaguely, knowing she means ‘focus on your studies, no distractions.’ If only she knew.

“Should I take you there?” Gemma asks.

“No I’ll find my way, go now so you won’t be late”

Gemma hugs me quickly. “See you at lunch! Don’t let the hot professor distract you too much!” she winks, already halfway down the path.

I roll my eyes, but a fresh wave of anxiety washes over me. Hot professor. Right.

I find Building B, and then Room 302. It’s a big lecture hall, already filling up. I grab a seat near the back, hoping to blend in. I pull out my notebook, pretending to look busy, but my eyes keep scanning the door.

A few minutes later, the door opens. My breath catches.

Elias walks in.

He’s wearing a tweed jacket over a simple white shirt, dark trousers. His hair is neatly combed, his glasses perched on his nose. He looks completely different from the man in the club, and even different from the man in the kitchen last night. He looks… every inch the professor. Composed. Serious. Unapproachable.

He walks to the front of the room, sets his briefcase on the podium, and turns to face us. His gaze sweeps over the room, calm and professional. Then, for a fraction of a second, his eyes land on mine.

The flicker is there again. A tiny, almost imperceptible shift. A tightening around his mouth. But then it’s gone, replaced by a cool, serious blankness.

He clears his throat. “Good morning, everyone. Welcome to Psychology 101.”

It’s like his voice gets deeper every time I hear speak, more controlled even. I grip my pen so hard my fingers ache. This can’t be happening.

“My name is Professor King,” he continues. “Elias King. And I’ll be your teacher for this semester. I think it’s important for you all to know that I’m a priest in training and I’m just filling in for your main teacher who is currently on leave and will be back in six month or less than”

Murmurs fill the room.

This is a nightmare. A cruel, twisted joke. Six months. Six months of this.

“Urm Professor…about the priest in training —are you sure?” a guy speaks and everyone laughs, except me though.

I can see the change in Elias countenance. He is clearly upset.” Quiet everyone!” He practically growled hitting his palm on the desk.

“First! in my class, you don’t speak unless permitted to. Most especially, keep my private business out of your mouth! Understood?”

“Yes professor!” Everyone echoes.

“Good, let’s start” his eyes meeting mine again briefly before he turned to the board.

He starts talking about the syllabus, about what psychology is, about expectations. I try to listen, I really do. But all I can hear is the steady rhythm of his voice, and all I can see is the way his hands move as he gestures, the way the light catches his dark hair.

I can feel my cheeks burning, convinced that everyone in the room can see the secret pulsing between us. But of course, they can’t. To them, he’s just Professor King. And I’m just another student.

He pauses, looking out at the class again. His eyes meet mine once more, a long, steady gaze that feels like it’s piercing right through me. I peel my gaze and pretend to write something in my book.

About thirty minutes later, the bell rang and everyone stands up. I pack my books in to my bag and stand up, making sure I don’t look or meet his eyes as I head for the door.

“Miss Grayson, please stay behind” Elias voice stops me in my track.

I stand at the doorway with my hand still around the strap of my bag as the other students file past me, and for a moment I consider pretending I didn’t hear him, but there are only a few people left in the room and I know he will simply call my name again. I wait until the last student walks out before turning around to look at him.

“Close the door!”

My eyes widen “What?”

His expression, however is neutral, unreadable. He looks calm like what he just said means nothing.

But it is not nothing when a man you once slept with and had denied you countless —ask you to close the door when it’s just both of you in the room.

“Should I come do it then?” He took steps toward me and I shift back instinctively, my mind running through different thoughts, my heart hammering and my body excited.

I take another step and another until my back touches the edge of the door, but Elias doesn’t stop moving until he is trapping me to the door.

“Turn around” he barks the command so naturally I don’t need him to say it again before I spin around, my palms pressing against the hard wood as I face the door.

A sharp spike of heat shoots straight down between my thighs. My pulse thumps heavily in my throat, but the real ache is lower. A hot, heavy throbbing that makes my knees feel weak. I can feel the damp slickness already soaking into my underwear, my body showing just how desperate I am for him to touch me.

Behind me, the intense heat of his body radiates to my body. His scent fills my lungs, but I’m waiting for his hands, his mouth, or anything to break the tension before I lose my mind.