“Because I am your professor. I have a duty of care and if I believe a student is in trouble, I have to act on it.Areyou in trouble?”
“No.”
“Is someone hurting you?”
She shakes her head. “No, nothing like that.” She swipes away a tear that has escaped with her thumb. “It’s just... I don’t know how long I can carry on like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like this. I'm missing deadlines, I’m falling asleep in class… I'm barely eating and averaging four hours sleep a night. I'm balancing two jobs with college, constantly worrying if I’m gonna be able to afford to pay my rent... I'm just so tired of it all.”
Two jobs?
She places her head in her hands and blows out an exasperated breath. She sounds exhausted. Totally and utterly worn out.
I reach down and grab her bag, shoving her notepad inside before standing up. She looks up at me with questioning eyes. “Come on, I’m taking you to get something to eat,” I say.
“That’s really not necessary, Professor. I’m fine, honest.”
I cock an eyebrow. “I’m not taking no for an answer. And it’s Dwight. Call me Dwight.”
“Dwight,” she says quietly and my heart jumps at hearing her say my name. It sounds so good when she says it, even better than it did in my dreams.
She heaves a deep sigh and stands up cautiously. I ready myself for her to faint again, but she doesn’t, and we make our way out of the building towards the parking lot. Luckily, it’s deserted, I don’t really want to answer the question of why a student was seen getting into my car. Of course, it’s completely innocent what we’re doing, but a lot of people won’t see it that way.
Chapter 11
Quinn
We drive for about tenminutes, a journey that remains in an awkward silence the whole way, the tension so thick you could almost taste it. Every now and then, I glance over, and notice his hand tighten on the steering wheel, his biceps flexing. The thought of his arms around me sends a surge of need straight to my core, I turn my head away to hide my blush which I can feel heating my cheeks.
I keep reminding myself that I shouldn’t be noticing these things about him because he’s my professor, but somehow I don’t care. I know nothing could ever happen, but there’s no harm in looking, right?
We pull into a parking lot of a diner I used to go with my parents when I was younger, and a wave of nostalgia washes over me. So many memories. It’s far enough away to avoid anyone who might recognise us. It’s a quiet diner, decked out in sixties décor, red and white striped chairs, black and white check flooring.
Dwight holds open the door and lets me through before following me inside. We find a table in the corner by an old jukebox that’s playing some old sixties song I can’t remember the name of.
The waitress heads over and takes our drink order and hands us each a menu. A couple of minutes later she returns with our drinks.
“So, what would you like to eat?” Dwight asks with a smile.
I scan over the menu and go for a simple cheeseburger and fries, as does he. We hand the waitress our menus and wait for our food to arrive.
I take a sip of my coke, letting my eyes wander around the diner, remembering the time I was allowed behind the counter to help make my own smoothie when I was about twelve. I smile to myself.
“What?” Dwight asks curiously, his eyes flicking back and forth between mine, his eyes sparkling like gemstones in the light.
“Just remembering things. If my parents had a weekend off together from work we’d always come here on a Saturday. We’d always sit at that booth over there,” I point to a booth by the front window and he follows my eye line. “When I was little, we had to drive past here every morning before school, and whenever it was my dad’s turn to take me, he'd always bring me here to get a strawberry milkshake, but made me swear not to tell my mom, she'd have killed the both of us.” A laugh escapes me.
Talking about my parents has actually made me feel a little better. For so long I’ve had it all bottled up inside of me, it feels good to finally let it all out.
“What happened?”
“My dad was a truck driver for a haulage firm, and he had a heart attack behind the wheel. My mom died a little over a week later.”
“Oh my God.” Dwight scrubs a hand over his jaw. “I’m so sorry, Quinn.”
“My mom died in her sleep, though I think the real reason was a broken heart. My mom and dad were high-school sweethearts, they met when they were fifteen, married at twenty, had me a couple years later and... I guess she couldn't go on living without him.”
