“So what happened?” Carter asked. “You walked into class, realize she’s your professor and then…?”
“And then nothing,” I replied. “I’m her student. It’s against school policy.”
Carter chuckled to himself and took a sip of his Sprite.
“What?” I asked.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“But you’re thinking it.”
“I am,” he admitted. “I’m thinking that about three years ago, Sergeant Strickland was the most stubborn son of a bitch in the Army. So I don’t believe for a second that you’ve given up on this professor.”
“I’ve been leaving fruit on her desk every class.”
“Fruit?”
“An apple. Then an orange.”
“I bet you’re leaving her notes, too.”
I glanced away. “Maybe.”
“Take it from your friend, who is both olderandwiser.”
“You’re a month younger than me,” I pointed out.
“I’mspirituallyolder than you because I’m married with a kid on the way,” he argued. “Leave your professor alone and find a nice college woman to date.”
“I hear you.”
“I’m sure you do. But are you going to listen to me?”
“I’ll let you know when the semester is over.”
Carter slammed down his Sprite and gave me an intense look. The kind that could only be shared between two guys who had been through a lot together. “You’ve got a second chance, pal.Think about it. Free tuition thanks to the GI Bill. In a few years, you’ll be a federal investigator. Maybe even work for the FBI like you always talked about. Don’t jeopardize that over something—someone—you can’t have.”
I downed the rest of my scotch and sighed. “You’re right. I already knew all of that, but I think I needed to hear it from someone else. Thanks for having my back.”
“Always have, always will. Now tell me which name you like better: Charlotte, or Caroline.”
“You’re having a girl? You lucky son of a bitch!”
“Lucky?” he asked.
“If it’s a girl, she’ll probably get Cindy’s good looks. If you had a boy, he’d be as ugly as you.”
We spent the next hour catching up, and then Carter left to pick up fried chicken for his wife who was having a craving. I ordered another drink and a plate of fries, then idly picked at the latter while rereading Tinder messages.
Lila wasn’t the only girl I’d been messaging in the past two weeks. But she was the only one I had actual chemistry with.
The bartender came back and flirted with me a bit. I flirted back, and when she eventually brought out my bill, her number was written on it. There were a few other girls around the bar who I’d made eye contact with, but I wasn’t drawn to any of them enough to make a move. The same with the bartender.
These were college girls. Emphasis ongirls.
Lila was a woman.
While waiting for my Uber ride home, I pulled up our class syllabus. Lila’s email and phone number were listed at the top. I wondered if the phone number was for her office, or her cell phone.
