“I’m so sorry,” I say, standing from the chair. “I’m really flattered, but I don’t even know when I’d find time. Some days, I struggle to shower.”Wow, did I really need to say that?
He reaches into the top drawer of his desk, pulls out a card, and hands it to me. “This has my personal cell number. Call me when you’re free. I’ll make it worth your while.” His gaze drops down to my lips and up again, sending moisture to my panties as I take the card, the edge of my finger brushing against his.
Okay, that just happened. He definitely said,‘He’d make it worth my time,’and‘Call me!’
I want to read into it. I want to believe there’s something about me that could get the attention of this big, older, smart, hot as hell, inked-up grizzly bear, but the truth is, he has dozens of students, and I’m not even the tenth most attractive girl he sees every day, nor am I the smartest.
Maybe a man like Professor Wilder isn’t looking for the prettiest or the smartest girl? Maybe he’s evolved beyond that. Maybe he doesn’t see beauty as a skinny, little blonde with shiny hair and amazing tits. Maybe he has his own standards. Maybe he likes chubby little redheads with full cheeks.
I laugh to myself as I make my way out of the lecture hall and toward the west end parking lot as a text comes in from my dad. Another request from the couch for beer, I’m sure. I ignore the message and stay sunk in the fantasy that Professor Wilder likes chubby, little redheads with subpar intellect. It’s about as ridiculous as believing in unicorns, but I’m okay with that.
Sometimes, reality isn’t meant to be real. It’s meant to be manageable.
I’m halfway to the parking lot when I hear his deep, graveled voice calling my name. At first, I think I’m imagining it, but when I turn back, there he is. My big, giant professor with a note in his hand.
