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

Part 12

"You seem weird."

"What?"

Emily poked me with a long stalk of celery. "You seem weird. You seem off."

I sucked in a large breath, held it in my lungs, and returned my attention to the Concrete Structures textbook I'd been perusing. I couldn't recall a single detail about its contents.

"I'm fine," I breathed out.

She poked me again. "No. You've been off for weeks, all summer in fact, but today you're even worse than usual. Something is going on, you're keeping secrets."

I frowned at the textbook, staring at it without seeing the words, and shook my head.

But she was right.

I'd told her nothing of my interactions with Luca and I wondered if withholding this information somehow broke the unwritten best friend code. I didn't think so.

This wasn't anything as banal as me having a crush on my professor. Of course, I did have a crush on him. In an odd reversal of societal norms, Luca's external hotness played second fiddle to the sexiness of his brain. Most of the class—both male and female—had a crush on his brain. Fact.

No . . . the secret I kept from my best friend wasn't the crush.

"Tell me." She poked me once more.

I closed my textbook with a smack. "Fine."

"I knew it!" Emily shot up in her chair, jabbing the celery in the air. "I knew it. What happened? It's got to be good if you're this agitated."

"I'm not agitated."

"Yes, darling, you are agitated. You've been missing easy questions on trivia night. My guess is some boy has stolen your heart."

"Why would you think that?" I tried to make a face of denial and failed, more curious for her answer than concerned she'd figure out the truth.

"Because that stone-cold fox hit on you last Tuesday and you were even more oblivious than usual."

"Who?"

"The musician guy? The one who asked if you would sit on his lap?"

This time I successfully made a face. "He wasn't hitting on me."

"Yeah. He was. Pro tip, Anna: if any guy other than Santa Claus asks you to sit on his lap, he's hitting on you. So spill it. Spill your guts. Spill them everywhere."

I pinched my lips together and frowned, attempting to parse my thoughts. "Okay, first, you have to promise not to tell anyone. And I mean anyone. No one can know about this conversation. Ever."

"Oh. Okay. Crap. Fine, I promise. Geeze, who is this guy? A professor?"

...

...

...

...

Shit.

Emily's eyes widened and she inclined her head forward.

I held my hands up. "Wait, just listen—"

"Don't tell me, it's the Russian lit guy, right? Damn. I guess I need to take this class. Everyone talks about this guy."

"It's not what you think."

"Puh-lease. I've seen his picture. You don't have a crush on him?"

"I do, but—"

She waved the rest of my words away with a dismissive flick of her wrist. "I thought something serious was going on with you. I can't believe you fell under his spell."