“Exactly. And what’s the best thing that could happen?”
He’d take charge of me, tell me what he needed, and let me give it to him.
I shrug again. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter because I’m not going over there.”
“Oh, come on! Stop being such a stick in the mud! If you’re worried about your dad, I’ll stay and watch him.”
The sharp hiss of carbonation bursting free echoes in the background. “I’m not worried about my dad. I really don’t want to go over there. I mean, I’m exhausted. I’ve worked forty hours already this week and I have another fifteen to finish before Sunday. Plus, I haven’t even started my homework yet.”
She rolls her dark eyes to the side. “So… go… play… with… your… professor.” She says the words slowly and poignantly as though I’m an idiot who’s not catching on fast enough. “I’m sure he’ll let the homework slide.”
“Lord help me,” I pray playfully, pinching my lips together as I shake my head. “You need help.”
“No,youneed help, so I’m helping you. Go to his house. Come on.” She stands from the couch and grabs my hands, pulling me up from the couch with a grunt. “Go take a shower, put on a cute little dress, drive over to his house,” she’s shoving me down the hall now, “and‘help’the man with his ‘book.’It’ll be good for you.”
“Why are you saying it like he doesn’t really want help with his book?”
She tilts her head to the side and narrows her eyes toward me like I’m an idiot. “I’m sure he does want help. I bet it’s hard writing a book when your balls are full and heavy.” She pulls me further toward the stairs. “Let’s get dressed. Something cute!”
“You’re crazy! He wants real help with the book. Not sex.” I glance down at my stomach then back toward Ellie. “If you could have anyone in the world, would you choose this?”
She drags her dark hair to one shoulder. “Where you’re seeing extra pounds, some men see feminine curves and softness. Don’t you remember that chapter on renaissance philosophers at the beginning of the semester? Professor Wilder was all kinds of complimentary about how natural people looked back then.”
I narrow my gaze. “It was one comment and everyone says that about renaissance people. They were living the good life. Women could eat real food, have normal-sized bodies, and they were painted and revered. Men could have tiny, little, shriveled penises, and they were carved into stone. The renaissance was where it was at.”
Ellie smirks. “You’re missing the point.”
“No, I get the point. You genuinely think Professor Wilder is a kinky, circus clown who’s desperate to have his way with a renaissance woman.”
“Oh my God!” She crosses her arms over her chest as she bites back a grin. “Get dressed!”
“Fine, I’ll go,” I say, shaking my head, “but I’m not getting gussied up. I’m going as I am.”
Her gaze drops and scans over my frame slowly. “In a pair of cotton short shorts and a skimpy tank top?” She grins. “Okay! Get it, girl!”
I glance down at my hard nipples currently poking through said tank top. “Yeah. If I show up to his house wearing this… and he’s into me, he probably won’t be able to resist himself, right?”
Her eyes widen playfully. “I mean, I’m having a hard time resisting you myself.”
“Exactly. And if he doesn’t notice a thing, then we can both agree he actually wants my help with the book, you’ll drop this whole thing, and life will go on as usual.”
Ellie grins so wide that her teeth practically glow. “That’s right! You’re a quick learner.”
“And when I get there and it’s confirmed that he’s genuinely looking for help with his book, you owe me a new piece of turquoise.” I glance down at my hand. “I’ve been wanting something new for my index finger.”
She holds out her hand for a shake as I slide on my shoes. “And if you guys end up getting handsy tonight, you owe me lunch at that new Italian place on the corner.”
“You’re going down girl.”
Ellie shakes my hand with the confidence of a possum crossing the highway. “I got you on this one.”
“Whatever you say.” I grin and step toward my car, butterflies gathering in my stomach as I think over the implications of what I’m about to do.
It was one thing to play brave, little toaster in the confines of my own house, but out in the real world, where I’m wearing a skimpy outfit to go see my professor, it’s a whole other can of worms.
As I climb into my car, it hits me that I have no idea what I’m doing? Why did I take this stupid bet? There’s not even a bet to be had. Professor Wilder is not sitting around thinking about me in any way other than educationally. To think otherwise is insanity. Heck, I’m sure he took an oath or something promising not to look at students sexually.
That’s a thing, right?The ‘don’t look at students sexually oath.’
