Nobody Looks Good in Leather Pants (or bowties), Dear Professor Book #1

Part 5

I didn't go to class on Wednesday.

Instead I went to the movies. Alone.

Now it was Friday and I had until 11:59 p.m. to decide whether or not to drop the class. I didn't know what to do.

And I was rushing. I was rushing everywhere. I'd rushed through my shower this morning, brushing my teeth, getting dressed. My socks didn't match and, based on the way my underwear tugged unnaturally, I was pretty sure I'd put my panties on backwards.

At present, I'd just rushed into work. I wasn't late. I was ten minutes early.

"Hey, Anna. How was your week?"

Oh, you know, reading, rollerblading, puzzles; on Monday I almost kissed my hot professor, and on Tuesday I went to trivia night and won second place in the semi-finals. The usual.

"Fine. Good. Fine," I said too loudly and in a voice much higher than my normal tone.

My boss, Tim, gave me a perplexed smile. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, tying on my apron. "I'm good. Fine. Good. Fine."

He stared at me for another few seconds, then shrugged. "Okay, so, you're in zone four tonight and we have two big-top reservations. One for twelve, the other for twenty. Sasha will be with you and Frank will bus."

I nodded as Tim spoke, and kept on nodding after he was finished, forcing myself to absorb his words.

Zone four, two big parties, one table for twelve, one table for twenty, Sasha would be helping me, and Frank would be bussing the tables.

"Got it. Sounds good." I gave Tim two thumbs up.

He glanced at my thumbs then at me. "Are you sure you're okay? You seem . . . anxious."

I tried to swallow, but I rushed it, and experienced a swallow-misfire. It took every ounce of my self-control not to cough.

Instead I rasped, "Sure, yeah, good. I'm good."

Tim wrinkled his nose, his eyebrows forming a deep V on his forehead. "Well, maybe cut back on the coffee then."

As a server, if you rush you make mistakes, a fact I'd learned the hard way. This job had taught me how to pause and reflect before taking action, because the alternative was spilling seven beers on yourself while jogging across the dining room.

"Sure thing, boss." I stuffed my hands in my pockets and nodded once slowly. My slow nod seemed to pacify him because he walked away with less concern plaguing his features.

As soon as he was out of sight, I coughed and cleared my throat until I could swallow again.

He was right.

I was anxious.

I was anxiously obsessing about what to do.

I hadn't told anyone about my encounter with Professor Kroft. Not even Emily. I didn't want to get him in trouble. Or . . . something.

He didn't do anything wrong.

He hadn't. We hadn't kissed. He hadn't touched me or said anything inappropriate.

But still. Still.

STILL!

Of note, I accidentally looked up the University's policy on fraternization. There I was, minding my own business, when BAM! the Internet navigated to the University's guidance on the subject of relationships between professors and students.