“I’m so sorry.” I close my eyes, hoping to disappear, then flash them open and pinch my lips together in an attempt to quiet my rambling.
Professor Wilder smiles and scrubs his big, square hand down over his beard before landing it on my arm.
His actual hand is on top of me!
His hand!
His big, rough, sandpaper hand!
It’s on me!
“I’m sorry. That much weight can be exhausting. If you ever need an extension on homework, just let me know.” His gaze holds with mine like he’s really listening, which apparently, I’ve never experienced before because it’s a little unsettling. “Are you making time for yourself at all?”
Time for myself? Well, I masturbate to thoughts of you every night, so… I guess.
“You mean like a spa day or something?”
“Or a nice long walk in the park. There are some great trails up at Vista Point.” He looks at me with a quiet intensity that makes my pulse stumble. “If you’re not familiar with the area, I’d be happy to show you around. That’s actually why I called you up here.”
My chest tightens as I sit on the precipice of every fantasy I’ve ever had. “You called me up here to ask me to the park?”
He grins and reaches for a manila folder with my name on it. “Not exactly, but I was hoping to spend some time with you so I could pick your brain. I read your most recent work on the dual nature of human attachment, and I was intrigued. Your view of connection as a form of vigilance is unique. Most of the papers I get speak of dependency or biology. Your use of the language shows a personal layer.” He hands me the folder and pulls a chair closer to his desk, offering me a seat.
I take a load off, though I have no idea what I have to add to this conversation. “That’s super nice of you to say, and I’ll take an ‘A’ if that’s what you want to give me, but I’m not sure I have anything very smart to say on the topic. I wrote that paper in an hour between calls at work. It wasn’t very well thought out.”
“What do you do for work, Ms. Carmichael?”
“I work customer service for the phone company.”
He nods slowly. “How much is the phone company paying you?”
“I’m sorry?”
He clears his throat as he pulls out the leather chair behind his desk and sits. “I’m writing a book about the relationship between attachment and desire. How early experiences shape the way we seek connection as adults. Your paper touched on something I’ve been struggling to articulate. You have a sensitivity to emotional nuance that I find academically valuable. I’d like to offer you a paid research assistant position.You’d summarize my notes, prepare reading lists, give feedback on drafts, and help with literature reviews.” He raises his cheeks in a slight smile. “This, of course, would mean you’d have to do the required reading.”
I’m not sure what to say, or think, or do. I can barely manage my way through this conversation. How the hell would I ever give him feedback on drafts? I’d be a bumbling idiot.
“I think you may be overselling my work. Like I said, I wrote that paper in under an hour, and it’s not that great.”
He flips to the last page of my paper, slides on a pair of black reading glasses, and recites a line.“… and then attachment becomes something else. Something physical. The person you lean toward becomes the one you ache for, the one your body craves, the one you can’t live without.”
My face goes back to overheating. “I wrote that?”
He slides his glasses off and leans forward slightly, his broad shoulders reshaping the cables on his knit sweater. “You wrote that. It shows a sensitivity to attachment that I can’t get from theory alone. I can offer you a full-time position at twenty-five dollars an hour. I see on your student file that you’re majoring in psychology. This would look great on your resume or your applications to graduate school.”
Twenty-five dollars an hour is almost twice what I’m making at the call center.
“I’m assuming the position is temporary?”
“The position will need to be filled for the duration of my deadline, which is October of this year.”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I can’t quit my job to take a position that ends in October. I need the money. Like I said, I’m the only one bringing in a paycheck at home. Well, the only one bringing in pay that actually goes to bills.”
He nods slowly as I speak, his gaze never leaving mine, as though I’m saying the most interesting things. “I see. Maybethen I could take you for coffee and a walk. I could show you that park, and we could discuss theories.”
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was into me. I mean, he wants my personal thoughts on desire and attachment. I do know better though, and I’m pretty sure if he were the type to seduce students, he’d choose the blonde with the tiny waist, the big tits, and full midriff on display. Not me, the thick ginger with tight red curls and a cluster of freckles on each cheek.
That revelation makes it even clearer that this assignment is not for me. I’m already dreaming about this guy. The last thing I need is a one-sided, unhealthy attachment to the man. I have way too much going on for that.
