The TA.

Plus

Nath taps my shoulder and when I turn my head to look at him, he shows me his phone screen. 
"You have class," he says.
I push my face into his neck.
"I don't want to go."
I take his earlobe between my teeth. 
He moans quietly, then struggles away and tosses my bag at me. I lean back to catch it. He drags me off the sofa and out of the library, out onto the quad. He keeps an arm over my shoulder as we walk. I reach back to hold that hand as we walk and talk about the points he wants to make in his film theory class today. 
He walks me all the way into the humanities building, all the way up to the classroom. I shrug off his arm, turn to give him a chaste kiss, then step into class. 
Cal sends me a look as I drop into my chair. 
Prof Smith's seat, behind the desk, is empty. 
When he comes in, he's glancing over his shoulder at the hallway, calling a goodbye to someone, Nathan maybe.
I am the first student he looks at. 
He tells us to consult the syllabus for today's writing task. Pens meet paper. Fingertips meet keyboards. 
I put a thumb between my teeth and watch as Prof Smith rifles through his folder. He pulls out a sheaf of paper and licks a finger to skim through the pages. 
It takes me ten minutes of tinkering, but I manage to write one line: the press of his lips has me thinking I only want to live like this.
I stare down at the words. They're not my best work. 
I put a bubble around them, set my pen on the opposite side of the page and tap it as I wait for a spark. 
Two figures, shadowed in headlights, met on a wooded road. 
Cute, but where's it going? 
The warmth in the room was an assault. 
I ease my phone out of my back pocket and send a message. 
Me: I miss being wet watching you teach. 
His response comes quick.
From Nath: Oh so that's why you were always fidgeting?
Me: You really have no idea just how wet it made me. 
Nathan: I'd guess very. But then, you have no idea how hard I get when you write me lines. 
Me: I'd guess very.
Nathan: Good guess, naughty girl.
I bite my bottom lip. 
Prof Smith breaks the silence in the room, "Doesn't Lannie look flushed?" 
I feel my cheeks fill with more heat as everyone's eyes sweep over me. 
"Is anyone else overheated?" Prof Smith asks.
A few people shake their heads and one girl tugs the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands, then rubs them together.
"I'm not overheated," I squeak.
"I know. It's freezing in here," he says.
He meets my eyes.
"Put the phone away." 
I slide my phone under my thigh and do my best to ignore it when it buzzes. 
I scribble down a new line: They use words the way other people use shots of liquor, as sharpeners, as warm-ups, as foreplay. 
When Prof Smith comes wandering over, when he leans over the page of my notebook, he hums approvingly. 
He points to that last line and says, "This is good stuff, really, run with it." 
I look down at it and wonder what to put around it, what the story will be when I apply those lines to characters that aren't me and my boyfriend.
I listen carefully as Prof Smith reads something, writes its lines up on the board, notates the stresses on the syllables and underlines the rhyming words. He tells us to listen to the words and sounds in the world, how they fit together, how they run together. He tells us to play around with them, to try and play with rhythm. 
And once more, as everyone is packing up, Prof Smith asks me to stay behind. I linger with my bag in both my hands and watch him rifle through that small stack of paper again.
He holds the papers up and says, "These are all the poems and stories you've written this semester."
I chew my bottom lip.
"Some of them were graded by Nathan," he says.
"So?" 
"Lannie, a couple of these poems got an A Minus. I think they deserved an A plus." 
"Oh." 
Prof Smith sighs.
"Nathan was covering his ass, wasn't he?"
"Apparently," I mutter.
Prof Smith sets the papers down.
"I'm going to mark these again. I want you to keep churning out beautiful lines."
"Maybe just about something other than boys, I guess." 
Prof Smith nods and chuckles weakly, "Yes." 
And when I step out into the hallway, I find Cal in my path, her red hair lit warm by the sun behind her.
I gesture over my shoulder with my thumb, "You heard all of that, didn't you?" 
"Some of it," she says. "I still think Nathan is blowing smoke up your ass." 
"Cal, please, I don't have the energy to fight with you about this."
"The TA," she sneers. "So basic." 
"You were thirsting over him too!" 
"Girls!" 
We turn to look at Prof Smith.
"Take this conversation somewhere else," he says.
I grab hold of Cal's wrist and drag her across campus and out into town, to College Bar. I get us a pitcher of beer and sling her into a booth. She breathes heavily and stares at me. 
"Why couldn't you just tell me?"
She drinks about half her beer in one go.
I run a nail around the rim of my glass.
"Cal, I couldn't. I didn't want to. I didn't know where we were until a couple of weeks ago. Now he's mine, I just want to enjoy it." 
Cal nods slowly.
"I can't be pissed anymore," she mutters. 
"Why not?"
She sighs.
"I was annoyed when I saw you at the DC because I assumed you were getting special treatment while things with him were secret. Except you're not getting special treatment, so now I have to be happy that you landed the hottest guy in the English department." 
I drink my beer for a moment.
"Anyway what's going on with you?" 
Cal shrugs and says, "I've been partying a little too much, I think."
"I mean, you know it at least. You're studying, right?" 
Cal shakes her head. 
I kick her gently and say, "Get your books out." 
She does and looks over at me.
"What’s the next writing assignment?" I ask
She reads: Write a story where the setting acts as a character.
She moans that she doesn't have an idea. 
"Let’s brainstorm it, okay," I tell her. "Tell me about your favourite place." 
Cal lowers her nose to her beer and breathes in, her forehead creased with lines.
"There's this patch of woods back home, at the edge of town. There's this river that runs through there, and in the summer it's so cool in the trees, so we used to sit on the riverbank together for hours." 
"Good. Write that down, write the story that fits that atmosphere." 
I make a note in my book and then pull out my Art History textbook to start reading for class. We work and drink and joke occasionally. 
And the mood is ruined by the almost simultaneous dinging of our phones. 
Nathan: Tacos for dinner? 
Me: Okay I'll come over, but we have to study tonight, at least for a couple of hours.
I feel Cal's eyes on me.
"You leaving?" 
"If you don't mind. Are we good?" 
"Yeah. Go be with him." 
I pack up my things, grab some clothes from my room, then head across to his apartment.
I find him at the kitchen table, lighting a candle, pouring beer into glasses. I crash against the fridge as I walk in and he laughs.
"Okay, this is your last beer," he chuckles.
"Just give me the tacos!" 
I drop my things, kiss his cheek and drop into my chair. 
I catch his hand as he sits down.
"Prof Smith says you were marking me down."
He nods, his head low.
"Your work is amazing," he says. "But I knew if it got out that we'd been sleeping together, your grades would be in question. I'd rather your grades went up instead of down," he says. 
I nod.
"I think it's okay," I tell him. "Prof Smith didn't seem annoyed." 
He nods, skims his thumb over my hand, then draws back to share out the tacos.
We eat slowly, brainstorming stories, talking each-other through the reading for our classes, laughing about the words he overheard Max shouting in his sleep last night. 
We study until it's dark out, until I have started to slump forward and crash with the weight of the beer. He pulls me up and drags me to the bedroom.  
I smile for him as I undress, dropping my jeans.
"You're not getting into my panties tonight." 
He smiles for me.
"That’s totally fine," he says. "You're knackered, sleep." 
I take off my bra without removing my shirt and crawl into bed. I spread out and cocoon myself in the duvet and fight him for it when he tries to get comfortable beside me. 
We tussle and kiss and grind and moan into each-other's mouths until one of us yawns too big. He bands an arm around my stomach, holds me close to his chest, tickles my shoulder with his breath as we lie together. He's whispering something sweet in my ear when I fall asleep.