“You make it sound like that was a long time ago.”
“It was,” I laugh. “Fourteen years ago to be exact.”
The guys look at each other and smile. I know all about the whole MILF thing. I’m sure that’s what’s going through their minds. Summer stares at me in awe. “How old are you? You don’t look much older than me.”
“I’m thirty-two.”
The guy beside me leans in close. “Hey, I’m Brad. You married?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
Summer snorts and waves him off. “Honey, she’s not going to want a little boy like you.” Then she focuses on me, but then her eyes widen at something over my shoulder. “Holy hell.”
“What?” I jerk my head toward the front of the class and that’s when I see him. Our professor, only he’s not just that to me. His dark brown hair that used to be cut close, is now longer, and looks like he just ran a hand through it. I remember when he used to hate not being able to grow facial hair, but now his cheeks and jaw are covered with stubble. I never thought I’d see him again. Jude Daniels. He was my best friend for most of my life until my husband wanted me to cut ties with him. I’ve often wondered where he was, and now I have my answer.
Summer’s voice is right by my ear. “This class may be stupid, but I think I’m going to love it.”
I nod, but I can’t even form the words. Jude sets his stuff down on the desk and glances around quickly. “Good afternoon, everyone. I’m Jude Daniels, your philosophy professor. You are more than welcome to call me Jude. I usually teach computer science, but they needed someone at the last minute to fill in here.” He laughs and it makes me smile. It sounds the same after all these years. “Just bear with me.”
His attention starts to turn my way, and out of reflex, I look down at my notebook so my hair covers my face. He passes out a stack of papers, and luckily, he doesn’t get a good look at me. After ending our friendship eight years ago, he probably hates me. I just hope he doesn’t fail me.2Jude“Stupid, stupid hair,” I mutter as my hand brushes through it one more time. I step closer to the full-length mirror my mother hung in my cabin not too many weeks ago, reminding me that I needed to look professional when I went to work and not like some lumberjack who just crawled out of the woods. She also mentioned something about a haircut, which I conveniently forgot about until just now. I groan and give up on my unruly mess of hair. It’s not overly long, but long enough for my friends to tease me by saying I have “sex hair” or “just had sex hair.” Surely, people comb their hair after sex, especially before entering a college classroom full of horny students. I also should’ve shaved, but doing so now would make me late, and being late for class means none of the students will be there because they don’t wait for anyone.
The drive to campus consists of a windy road, a watchful eye for any wildlife who tend to dart out in front of cars as if they’re playing their own version of chicken, and a repeated flip of my visor. Up, down, up, down. I swear my forearm gets a workout while I try desperately to block the sun.
When I arrive on campus, I watch as students leisurely walk toward their next class or their dorms, with their backpacks slung over their shoulders, a latte in one hand and their phone in the other. After five years of teaching at the high school level, I obtained my masters and immediately took a job at Appalachian State. It’s not that I didn’t want to shape the minds of teenagers when it came to computer science, it’s that I grew tired of the excuses and the phone calls from parents making even more excuses as to why their child didn’t do their homework. In college, don’t do your homework—fail. It’s that simple. I don’t have to explain myself ten times over on why Junior received a big red F on his report card. The chances are, if a student fails my class now, they don’t even tell their parents. It’s a win-win for me. Except I hate it when students don’t give it their all.
As I get out of my car, my phone dings with an incoming email from my department chair. Gotta love customized notification. After I grab my messenger bag and set it on my shoulder, I push my car door shut with my hip because my eyes are too focused on the email to pay attention to what I’m doing.