His brow furrowed. “Are you all right?”
No. I was pretty sure I was dying. “Yes,” I managed to say. “I’m fine.”
“Here, let me get you some water.” He stepped around me into the office, heading for a small refrigerator against the far wall. The office looked similar to when I’d been in it last for my final interview. The personal belongings for the prior director were gone, of course, but the desk was the same, and the—
Professor Olsen bent over to the fridge, his jeans pulling tight against his ass.
I made a sound that I’m not proud of, almost like a barking dog. A poodle, perhaps.
He glanced back at me over his shoulder.
I looked up at the ceiling.
“Here we are,” he said, standing back upright. He had a plastic water bottle in his hands. He started to unscrew the cap, frowned when it wouldn’t twist, and tried harder.
Since apparently my lot in life was to suffer, Professor Olsen managed to unscrew the cap, only to have some of the water slop out against his shirt. It soaked through immediately, above his right nipple, and it was then I decided that the religious right was correct and god did hate homosexuals, because surely he was torturing me at this very moment.
“Shit,” Professor Olsen muttered. “That didn’t go like I thought it would.” He laughed as he shook his head. “Guess I don’t know my own strength sometimes.”
“I do,” I breathed.
He cocked his head. “What was that?”
“Uh. Nothing. Nothing at all.” I told myself to get it together. Who the fuck was this bumbling fool whose body I seemed to inhabit? I wasn’t like this. I was cool. I was calm. I was collected. I didn’t take shit from nobody, and I kicked ass and took names. It was time to man up. “You can have my shirt if you want.”
Fuck me upside the head.
He looked confused. “But then what would you wear?”
“Oh, right,” I said hastily. “Yeah. There’s… there’s that.”
“It’s just water. It’ll dry. Besides, I don’t think your shirt would fit me. I’m a bit bigger than you, in case you couldn’t tell.”
Oh gee, I hadn’t noticed. Thank you for pointing that out to me, Professor Olsen. Now I won’t be able to stop thinking about it. Would the buttons pop off? Would the shoulders tear, the seams splitting over—
I managed to take the bottle from him without creepily caressing his fingers or dropping it. I was proud of myself. “Thank you.”
He went around the other side of the desk and sat in the chair behind it. He motioned for me to sit opposite him. I made it to the other chair without embarrassing myself further, something that had been entirely possible seeing as how my legs felt like jelly.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself.
It was going to be okay.
Then my brain said, Hey.
No, I snapped back.
Do you remember that porn you watched where the smaller dude got fucked over a desk just like this one by a bigger dude? You jerked off to that four times in six hours! Two of those times were dry! You got CHAFED.
I started scream-singing in my head to drown it out.
“Are you… humming?” Professor Olsen asked me.
I smiled at him, sure it was borderline crazed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Yeah, my brain said above a terrifying rendition of “What a Friend We Have in Jesus.” I didn’t know why I picked that song, but it wasn’t working. Right over the desk. It was all like bam, bam, bam, oh yes, harder, harder, give it to me! Wreck my butt!
He let it go. “Well, I wasn’t kidding when I said this is a wonderful surprise.” He leaned forward, resting his strong forearms on the desk. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, and he had this vein on his right arm that was obscene. It was so… veiny. His cardiovascular health was on point. “It’s good to see a friendly face around here. Marina’s great, and the kids I’ve met so far are too, but… I’m just happy you’re here.”