Agonizingly slow, the clock ticked on. Seconds turned to minutes, and eventually, the hour passed. Alas, the period ended and the usual rush of “busy” college kids began. Busy, I snorted, their biggest concern is the massive kegger going on this evening. What better way to spend a Friday night than with some loser, who tastes of stale beer, attempting to stick his tongue down your throat. Yeah, no thanks.

“Claire!” Julia hollered from across the lecture hall. “You’re coming tonight, right? Kyle’s brother Jace has been dying to meet you! I just know you two will hit it off! You are coming. Tell me you’re coming, Claire.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at her. What in the hell is so appealing about hundreds of bodies sweating all over each other in a confined space? And who is Jace? Some eighteen-year-old loser looking for an easy drunk lay? “Julia, I don’t know. My term paper is due on Monday, and I’m not done yet. How about this, I’ll go back to my apartment, look it over, and if I finish the draft, I’ll come out.”

“You know what Claire, this is so typical of you. Always some lame excuse. What are you so scared of? Having a good time? Loosen up and live a little would you.”

“I’ll call you in a bit and let you know,” I muttered before brushing past her and joining the swarm of students racing out of the class.

As I made my way through the hall I heard what sounded to be someone calling out my last name. I stopped and spun around for a moment, trying to locate where the calling was coming from. In a sea of thousands of students, it was impossible to see anyone in particular and being 5'6 certainly didn't help matters. Realizing I was creating a “traffic jam,” so to say, I continued on my way towards the door.

“Ms. Walsh!” A voice called out.

Once again, I spun around. To my surprise, my philosophy professor was waving me over to him. I hadn’t realized that he even knew my name.

“Mr. Kingsley?” I questioned suspiciously.

“Ms. Walsh, I read over your paper on the political ideologies of Montesquieu and Hobbes and was hoping I could speak to you a moment about it, if that’s alright with you.”

Flattered that he remembered my paper, I felt myself begin to blush. “Sure thing Mr. Kingsley. When would you like to meet and discuss?”

“Well, my lectures for today are over. Given that we’re both already here, would now be reasonable?”

“Yes, of course,” I confirmed. “Where to? The library?”

“Why make our way up that ridiculously long staircase another time than necessary? My office will do fine, if, of course, that’s alright with you.”

‘Of course, Mr. Kingsley. I just have to make a phone call first, if you don’t mind.”

“That’s fine, take your time. My office is in room 214. I’ll see you there.”

With my cheeks blushing a furious red, I turned away quickly and pretended to enter a number in my phone. Mr. Kingsley wants to discuss something with me? In his office? There is no disputing the man’s brilliance. He is an established and well-respected professor at the age of thirty-six. Most people that age are teaching in elementary schools, forget college. And don’t even get me started on the man’s looks… he has the appearance of a demigod.  

He was of average stature, but aside from his height, there was nothing average about Professor Kingsley. His rich bronze hair was always perfectly retained in place with the gentle use of wax, and his ocean-blue eyes were deep enough to swim in. Perhaps, there was a suspicion of silver in the crown of his hair, but it only added to the dignity of his bearing. His clothing always complimented his toned build, and left even the most conservative of ladies aching.

Gathering every ounce of courage that I could muster, I turned on my heel and began the unnerving journey towards his office. All too soon, the dark double wide mahogany doors appeared before me. Above the door frame stood the number 214. Timidly, I reached out my hand and tapped my knuckles softly against the cool wood. After a second with no response, I breathed a sigh of relief and was about to walk away when the door swung open.

“Come in Ms. Walsh,” he said, gesturing inside. “Take a seat, if you would.”

His office smelled of iced pine and was furnished exactly as one may expect from a man of his eminence. Two dark brown leather chairs rested in front of an expansive desk coloured in the same shade of mahogany as the doors. To the left of his desk sat a grand bookshelf with countless novels and encyclopedias resting upon it. On the highest shelf stood a row of silver flasks with different engravings on them. From the window in the rear of the room, the sun poured in and speckled light through his hair.

“Ms. Walsh?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yes? I’m sorry. ”

“You seem distracted, is everything alright?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” I replied looking down at my hands resting in my lap.

“Ms. Walsh, you needn’t hesitate to tell me if something is the matter.”

“No Professor, there is no issue. Again, my apologies.”

I forced my gaze away from my lap and allowed my eyes to travel back up to his. He was studying my face intently. “Very well then. I called you in here to discuss your essay on  Montesquieu.”

Squirming under his watchful eye, my philosophy paper was not what I was thinking about. It was very obvious that he looked delicious, but I wonder how he would taste...

“What about it, Professor?”

“I’ve read a lot of these papers in my time, as I’m sure you could have guessed. My classes range between three hundred and five hundred students per term.” He paused. “With that said, I found your interpretation of the Persian Letters particularly fascinating. Never have I read a paper like yours before. Your ability to draw connections from the fictional text to the State of the time period was quite impressive. As well, your analysis of Hobbes’s The Leviathan sparked my interest. Few students can relate Montesquieu to Hobbes as their beliefs are so distinctly conflicting. Well done, Ms. Walsh. I have to say, I was not expecting such an outstanding piece from a first-year student.”

Again, I felt the blush creeping across my face. I looked down at the polished mahogany as I spoke. “I’m truly flattered that you enjoyed it, Professor.  Such compliments mean a great deal coming from you.”

“You have no reason to be shy, Ms. Walsh,” he stated gently. “While you’re an excellent student, I feel you have a great deal of untapped potential. I realize that it is early in the year, as well as early in your university career to begin worrying about an Honours Program. But I truly believe that you should consider.”

“An Honours Program? Mr. Kingsley, during orientation phase, we were informed that an Honours Program for this particular major would not be possible as we don’t have enough staff willing to supervise and sift through the curriculum.”

“That’s not necessarily true.” He said, folding his hands on top of the desk. “The issue is not lack of staff. It’s that staff members simply don’t have the time to orchestrate personalized projects for dozens of students. On top of that, the vast majority of students who take an Honours Program simply are not cut out for it. I firmly believe that you would excel if you took on the extra coursework. With all of that said, I would be willing to serve as your instructor should you decide you are interested.”

“My instructor?” I repeated, not quite believing his proposition. 

“Yes, your instructor. Your mentor. Your teacher. The program would be personalized to you as an individual. It truly would be a shame to let so much potential go to waste.”

“That sounds incredible, Professor. I’m very interested.” 

Certainly not as interested in as I am in his jawline, I thought. 

“It would give you a significant advantage when applying to grad schools.”

“How soon would I have to begin this program?”

“Traditionally Honours Programs are only run in your final year of study, and in some cases, require an additional year of study. However, it is my understanding that your course load won't allow for that due to your desire to triple major. We would start preparing you immediately.”

Even though the course load would be excruciatingly heavy, I found myself nodding in agreement.

“Alright then,” he said clasping his hands, “we had better get out of here before we chat away the rest of the afternoon. However, we will have to discuss this arrangement further. Perhaps over dinner?”

Dinner? Did Professor Kingsley just invite me to dinner? My heart was immediately launched into my stomach and butterflies danced in circles around it. If I thought I was blushing before, I was now glowing crimson.

“Unless, of course,” he continued, “you made plans to attend that party that was all the hype earlier?”

“You know about the party, Professor?”

He laughed at me for a brief moment before containing himself. “Know about the party? Ms. Walsh, I can accept that I’ve arrived at an age where I am no longer privy to such gatherings. However, I am not yet at an age in which I have become deaf. This party has been the topic of student conversations for the past week.”

Seeing him laugh callously, even if only for a second had me left momentarily dumbfounded. Realizing the awkward state of silence we were descending into I stammered, “Yes. Dinner will do.”

“If it will conflict with prior engagements it can be rescheduled.”

“No, it poses no conflict.”

“Alright then, does seven at the steakhouse on Clarke work for you?”

“It works well. I will see you then,” I said giving off a fake air of confidence. I raised rather hurriedly out of my chair and turned towards the door.

Holding the door open for me, he bid me farewell and reminded me of our agreed timing in a tone that made it sound as both a promise and a threat.

When I arrived home I pinched myself several times, trying to determine if what had just occurred was anything more than a dream. How is it, that I of all people, managed to capture his attention? Surely there are other equally as talented students in the class. And yet, this offer was made exclusively to me, by the man of every college girl’s wet dreams. 

With merely an hour to get ready, the race was on trying to decide which of my many dresses I was going to wear.

Finally, I decided on a black dress that hugged and drew attention to the curves of my body while dipping low precisely in the right area. While it highlighted the alluring features of the female body, it was still appropriate enough to be seen in public with a professor in. Never underestimate the power of accessories, I reminded myself. Opening the massive chest of jewelry that sat on the table in my powder room, I chose to stick with a white gold theme. Elegant, with a trace of innocence, the perfect combination. To finish off the look, I slipped on my white open-toed pumps, and grabbed my glittery white clutch.  At least by dressing well, I could give the impression of confidence, even though in his company I tend to find myself at a loss for words.

I watched from my car as he made his way into the restaurant at exactly seven o’clock. Punctuality is always appreciated. I felt the butterflies in my stomach begin to stir. Why am I so nervous around him? He’s my teacher for heaven's sake. Shaking my head at myself, I swung the door of my Lexus open and made my way towards the restaurant.

He was lost deep in thought when I entered. His brow was furrowed and his lips were drawn into a tight line as he typed furiously on his phone.

“Sending a last minute email?” I inquired.

He clearly hadn’t seen me arrive and I had caught him off guard. I got the feeling that this was a man who did not like being caught off guard. He instantly returned his phone to his blazer and stood as I neared him.

“Good evening, Miss.”  He greeted. I watched as his eyes skimmed the length of the dress, paying extra attention to where it fell low.

“Good evening, Professor,” I returned politely.

“Shall we sit? I’m sure you’ve got plenty of questions.”

Questions? I was supposed to have questions? Damn it to hell, I thought. I was too busy accessorizing to prepare questions for what was supposed to be an intelligent conversation.

“Many.” I played along as I took a seat across from him.

The restaurant spewed elegance from every angle. The room was painted a majestic shade of ash and candles flickered in decoration creating a feeling of serenity. A caged pendant light hung from above our table, capturing us in its gentle glow.

He flashed me a soft smile, “Let us begin then.”

Knowing I had to come up with something quickly, I asked the most obvious question I could dream up, “How would this work? I don’t have the scheduling for it this year.”

“Indeed,” he nodded, “you do not currently have the time in your schedule to take on this program. After you left my office, I went to speak with the Dean. There is little we can do to rearrange your classes this term.” He paused a moment. “However, what I can offer you is my time after the day’s scheduled lectures.”

“Meaning we would have to meet after hours?”

Oh no, that had come out sounding entirely wrong, I realized in mortification. A smirk crossed his face and his eyes filled with laughter.

“Well, Ms. Walsh,” his voice clearly fighting against laughter, “I suppose that is correct. We would meet daily to discuss any queries you may have. I will provide you with materials and resources.”

“And what would the timing for this be?”

“Well, depending on where we decide to meet, timing can be flexible. My final lecture of the day ends at four. We could stay in the classroom for a few hours afterward if you don’t mind eating dinner late. Or, we could break for an early dinner and meet somewhere else later in the evening. Are you involved in any varsity sports or extracurricular activities that I should know about?”

“I play varsity volleyball. The practice schedule is usually directly after class for two hours.”

“Classes end at four, two hours more would take us to six, and to squeeze in dinner somewhere would take us to about seven. Would seven to nine or ten, depending on what we have to accomplish, work for you?”

“They lock the doors before ten. So we could not discuss in the classroom at that time.”

“I realize that. My condo is only a fifteen-minute drive from campus, we could meet there.

His condo? I half expected Zeus, himself, to walk through the doors and strike me dead with a bolt of lightning, I squirmed in my chair as I feel the heat between my thighs grow. 

“Ms. Walsh?” he repeated.

“Oh. Um, yes, that should work fine.”

“Fantastic.”

We discussed my analysis over dinner and wine, even though I wasn’t legally allowed to drink it. He commented on this and laughed before promising not to tell on me in a joking tone.

As we finished our meal I watched as he dipped his fingers in the warm lemon water. His hands appeared strong and well kept. To my surprise, they were bare of a wedding band.

“Well Ms. Walsh, thank you for meeting with me on such short notice.” he smiled before calling the waiter over and footing the bill.

“Hey,” I protested, “I can cover it.”

“Nonsense.” His face grew serious, while his eyes blazed with what appeared to be a hint of aggravation.

The waiter smiled graciously, surely due to the size of the tip Professor Kingsley had left, and disappeared.

“If, in the future, we are to come out for dinner to discuss your progress, do not offer to pay for it again,” he said sternly.

Why ever not? Surely he knows that I am more than able to, doesn’t he? My father is one of the most valued benefactors the college has. Slowly I nodded in agreement, though still perplexed at his order.

“Very well. I’m glad you understand.” His demeanor visually grew softer and more relaxed. Reaching into his pocket he produced a small white card and handed it to me. “This contains my number on it. Should you ever have any questions or concerns feel free to give me a call, or even a text. And before you ask, yes Ms. Walsh, I am still young enough to understand the complex world of texting,” he joked.

Smiling, I rose from the table and he escorted me to my car.

To be Continued...