1
WES
Ikeep my eyes glued to the dark-green phyllite sample sitting on my scale; keeping them down while I record the weight and place it in the storage container. I smooth my finger over the label, not because it’s lifting, but because it gives me a split second to appreciate the handwriting.
The sample number, with its curly ‘2’. The ruler-straight lines of careful lettering. A faint smudge on the right corner where the side of her palm slid over the first letters. A smudge on a label shouldn’t make me smile, but when I look at it, I can almost hear the string of muttered French swears.
“Merde-mince-sa mere.”
Just like that. My college French is more than a little rusty, but you never forget the swears. I glance up at my student worker. The reason I’m desperately trying to keep my eyes on my work. The dark-haired beauty is on the far side of the lab, facing away from me. I wish that made her less temping, but knowing I could slide right behind her… yeah. It’s not helping. I watch as she drops the Sharpie to the table and shakes her head.
“Everything okay, Ms. Palomer? Do you need something?” Always ‘Ms. Palomer.’ She’s only Corinne in my head.
Corinne spins on her stool, purses her lips and arches an eyebrow. “Well, that depends, Doctor Napier. Can you make me right-handed?”
My blood heats at the thought of all the things I would like to do with her right hand. Or the left. “I’m afraid that’s outside of my expertise, Ms. Palomer.”
“You know, considering I’ve worked for you for almost a year and you’ve known me for four, you could call me Corinne.”
“I could,” I agree. But I won’t.
“Suit yourself.” She turns back to her work, but I can’t look away. Not when that aching tug yanks on my ribs telling me what a dick I am. It’s not that I want to be an asshole. I really don’t. She’s friendly with every other professor in the department. Hell, she’s friendly with me.
But it’s torture enough to sit on the far side of the lab from Corinne. At least over here, I can’t smell her hair. It doesn’t stop me from going home with blue balls on lab days, but if a dick gets hard and no one can see it, does it really count?
I sigh and look back at my sample. Yes. Yes, it counts. And I’m a fucking stereotype. That I’ve spent years lusting after a student, one that’s fifteen years my junior, is so fucking cliche. I’ve never laid a finger on a student, but because I’m the youngest professor in the department, there are always whispers. The rumors. The hot-for-teacher jokes.
By midterms, though? Most of those students have really perfected the art of hating me. I’m not unfair. I just don’t let students slide. The ones that put in the work do well. The ones that don’t… they take an incomplete and sign up for zoology with Professor Walthers.
As a freshman, Corinne Palomer strolled into my 101 class in leather pants and an off the shoulder sweater. I’ll admit I made assumptions. One that she quickly proved wrong. She sat in the middle of the lecture hall. Not front. Not back. Not tucked off to the side. Right in the middle and right in my line of sight.
She asked the smartest questions, turned work in early, and never missed a lecture. She was, and is, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, but compared to her intelligence, her curiosity, and her absolute drive to succeed, her looks are nothing. I’ve never looked forward to an 8 am 101 class in my entire tenure, but from that first lecture on, Wednesday mornings did not suck.
She turned up on day one of GEOL 312, claimed her seat and watched with rapt fascination as I spent the semester lecturing on mineral structures. I barely stepped out from behind the podium for fear of getting a semi every time she raised her hand. She was top of my class for Field Investigation, and set a record for the highest test scores in Petrology Labs her Junior year.
Last fall, Corinne walked into GEOL552 Hydrology, my favorite class, and a chorus of groans went up from the lecture hall. She didn’t give a fuck. She grinned at them, beamed at me, and took her seat. Corinne set the curve in every class and never once apologized for it. A fact that still makes me harder than my favorite igneous samples.
There’s a rustle from the other side of the lab, and I glance up again, wondering how long I was staring down at the scale. The auto-shut off kicked in, so… an embarrassingly long time. Corinne carefully closes up her sample, setting it on the tray, and rotating it so the label is straight with the others.
“I’m going to head out,” she says, her velvety eyes sweeping over me. “You sure you don’t need anything else from me before summer break?”
Actually, yes. Now that you mention it… Come sit on my lab table and let me lick you until you scream my name.
“No, I think I’m all set.” I give her a tight-lipped smile. “Have a good summer.”
“Thanks,” Corinne returns my smile with her own. One that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She takes her bag off its hook and situates it across her body. Some of her hair gets trapped under the strap, but she slides her fingers along her neck, freeing the dark locks, and giving her hair a little shake. I’ve watched her do that every weekday for the last nine months.
She floats toward the door, but pauses, resting a palm on my shoulder. The one with the little smudge of ink. My skin burns under my dress shirt, a perfect hand-shaped hot spot. My pulse races, strangling me until the urge to loosen my tie is almost overwhelming.
“See you in August, Dr. Napier.” Her voice has this husky, raspy quality to it that seeps into my bones.
“Ms. Palomer…” I trail off, unable to say what I’d like to, and knowing she wouldn’t want to hear it, anyway. “Have a good summer.”
She raises an eyebrow; her smile growing more genuine. “You already said that.”
“Oh. Yes, I did.” Fuck my life. “Right.” I try to laugh it off. “Well, have a doubly enjoyable summer.”
She presses her lips together and gives me a small nod. “You too, Dr. Napier.”