My hands still tremble every time I hold it, look into his deep, dark eyes. The heavy, intellectual brow over them. His thick dark hair with a hint of silver.
His chiseled jaw is always set firm.
He’s in charge, his authority goes without question. Whatever he says goes, both in the classroom as well as every scenario I’ve imagined him in with me in my mind.
Far from being the scrawny academic type, Michael Grayson used to be a college football star before he was bitten by the science bug.
He turned down a sports career to study instead, and by his own admission in class. “Glad I did because most guys from that same team can’t even stand straight, let alone run or throw a ball nowadays because of all their injuries.”
At well over six-five, he’s an imposing figure of a man, and he’s kept all his original college physique somehow.
When Zoe’s mom arrived one day twenty years ago, handing him his daughter he never knew existed who was still a baby, he made another life choice and raised her as best he could as a single dad. Loving and supporting her in everything she does.
Except maybe her dating boys like Todd Freeman.
I sigh loudly, noting the tremor in the sound as another part of me shivers at the thought of the man.
My hands want to stray between my legs. I want to touch myself while looking at him.
Touch myself like I imagine he would.
But I know it’s useless. My own experience tells me that nothing on earth could match the strong hand of that man except the man himself.
Something I had for four years, right in front of me almost every day. And now?
I’m moving back west. About as far away as I could be from him and my best friend.
My own family is a pair of aging parents, who adopted me after fostering me, who I love dearly.
Oh, Professor Grayson.
Why couldn’t things have worked out differently?
Chapter Two
Michael
I walk through each row of the seemingly ancient bench seats of the humble auditorium that I used to teach from, used to teach from until this week.
I almost feel just as old myself.
It feels like I’ve been teaching here forever, but it’s only been five years.
Another contract is up and time to move on.
But for me, it’s time to take a long break too. Time to reflect on what I really want out of life.
My office is just out back of the lecture hall, a small door with my nameplate already removed by the college.
A still sticky line on the wood where it used to be in bold print, black on gold.
There are boxes piling up already, mostly empty because I can’t find the motivation to get going.
To move all over again.
To move away from—
Don’t! Don’t even think it.
She’s half your age man.
But it’s too late, I’m already unlocking the drawer after leaning against the office door, hearing its lock click in the latch.
A low rumble escapes me as I take the framed picture from my desk drawer.
It was a photo of Zoe and her best friend, Sheree.
I have the original someplace, tucked away. But this one is a copy and just an image of Sheree.
Her crystal blue eyes bore into mine from the photo.
Her strapless dress shows her ample cleavage as she smiles, cutting a cake.
Taken on her eighteenth birthday, which I missed. Being here at the college on the other side of the country.
Zoe had flown back West and stayed with Sheree’s family, for a week before returning home.
Full of smiles again after seeing her best friend, and also full of stories and pictures of her bestie.
Sheree.
If I’d known she was gonna be a student of mine, would I have done things differently? Would I have recommended she be put in another class?
Maybe.
But at the time I didn’t think too much of it. A young girl, sure. My daughter’s one and only best friend.
I’ve taught hundreds, maybe thousands of girls her age. Having a daughter so close to that age helps me too. I can connect with my students better.
No real conflict of interest. Especially seeing as I never mentioned it to anyone on campus or the faculty.
That was before the first day of class. The day I realized in a single moment that a picture doesn’t relay much at all.
From the moment Sheree stepped into my class as a young adult woman I knew I would always struggle to see her as just a student.
From that moment it’s been a knife’s edge for me every lesson, every day. With the nights alone being the worst.
But nothing’s harder for me than when Zoe and Sheree come over together.
She had a sleepover once, at the house Zoe and I rent off-campus.
I made sure I was out of town that night, the thought of Sheree under my roof. Sleeping just feet away from me was too much.