“I haven’t agreed to anything yet,” I remind him.
He winks at me. “No, but this way I’m all set when you do,” he says with a grin, and – God help me – he has dimples.
Thankfully I still have half an hour until class because I’m sure there’s now a wet spot on my skirt that will need to dry before then.
Ash stands, and I do as well. I’m 5’7” – not exactly short – but even from across the desk I can tell he towers over me. He extends a hand, and I shake it.
“It was nice to meet you,” he says. “Regardless of whether you end up working with me or not, text me if you ever want to attend a game, and I’ll set you up with a couple tickets.”
“Thank you. That’s really sweet of you,” I say, careful not to promise anything on either count.
He flips the hood back over his head and turns to leave. I’m not sure how many people will recognize him on campus, but better to be safe.
It occurs to me I don’t know why he doesn’t want to be recognized.
“You don’t want anyone to know you came to see me because…,” I say, inviting him to fill in the blank.
He shrugs. “It’s probably moot at this point, but our PR guy doesn’t want anyone to know I’m working with you. Orcouldbe working with you,” he corrects. “He says that will only confirm for people how big the issue is, and he doesn’t want word getting around more than it already has. When they send over those contracts, there will be an NDA clause that prevents you from talking about anything that happens between us.”
So much for getting a publication out of this.
“Understood,” I say, and he opens the door to leave.
Now that I know he’s not a student, I allow myself a quick once-over of his physique. I can’t tell a lot with his baggy jeans and hoodie, but I seeenough to know he’s probably ripped under all that clothing.
It’s been about a year since I’ve had sex, and it must finally be getting to me because I’m ready to text him right now and take him up on that offer of hockey tickets.
Ash turns down the hall, and I give him a good ten seconds before I sit back down and google him. I’ve reached a new low, but I don’t care.
Ash Dagur Gunnarsson. His family moved to the US from Iceland a few years before he was born, then they moved to Canada when he was five. He came back to the US when he was drafted by the Tampa Bay Lightning. He’s twenty-seven years old now, three years younger than me, and at 6’4”, he’s one of the taller forwards to play in the NHL, since forwards are typically the smaller players on a hockey team.
I look up news about him and find half a dozen articles that blame him for Tampa Bay losing their chance at the Stanley Cup last year. As Ash suggested, he started out playing great, but he played more and more erratically as the season went on, and he imploded by the end. The Lightning were up three games to one in the semi-finals, but Ash seemed to lose steam, and the other team crept back in. He rallied in game seven to score a goal in the first period, but then he did nothing for the rest of the game and spent a lot of time in the penalty box. The Lightning lost that game, 3-2, and with it, their chance at the Cup.
I’m not sure it’s fair to blame Ash for the loss, given that there were plenty of other players on the ice that could’ve done their part, but maybe I’m missing some context. I don’t know enough about hockey to judge how his loss of focus might’ve affected his teammates.
I scroll further but regret it as a gossip article about him dating an actress named Grace comes up. She’s not an A-lister by any means, just a woman I’ve seen play a one-off character in the law dramas and buddy-cop shows I watch. She’s beautiful, though, and Ash looks happy as he poses for pictures with his arm around her.
The article is from a year and a half ago when he was still in Florida, but I can’t find any recent mention of whether or not they’re still together.
By the time I finish nosing around the internet, it’s almost time for my class. I forward the contracts from Kaladin Global Group to my department head, Melinda, with a quick note that I need to talk to her, then shut my laptop down and mentally prepared to go lecture.
I generally enjoy teaching, but I’m an introvert at heart, so I have to psych myself up to face a room full of three hundred undergrads. Teaching is like a performance in a way, and it takes a lot out of me. I much prefer to do my research, but that’s not my primary responsibility at the university.
I sigh and stand to go to class. I’m counting on Melinda to veto the idea of working with Ash because part of mereallywants to work with him, and that alone tells me this isn’t a good idea. I don’t make good decisions when it comes to men.
I text my best friend Celena on my way.
Gray
Free tonight? I need wine.
I get a text back seconds later.
Celena
What did your students do now?
Gray
