Smoke of Sighs

Chapter 1: Samudra et al., 2016

SMOKE OF SIGHS

A Not-So-Cliché BDSM Romance

by Ami

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dedication:

This book is dedicated to all my fellow single-af ladies out there. May we all find ourselves a Dylan, Gavin, or Nero some day. Amen.

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epigraph:

"Love is a smoke and is made with the fume of sighs"

— From Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare

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PART I

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Chapter 1: Samudra et al., 2016

"first impressions may color student experience of instruction regardless of lesson quality"

Samudra, P. G., Min, I., Cortina, K. S., & Miller, K. F. (2016). No Second Chance to Make a First Impression: The "Thin-Slice" Effect on Instructor Ratings and Learning Outcomes in Higher Education. Journal of Educational Measurement, 53(3), 313–331. doi: 10.1111/jedm.12116

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LAYLA

I love Mondays.

They usually signal the start of the week, a fresh beginning. Back to routine, back to business.

So when school starts on a Tuesday, because Monday is Labour Day, I already know that my entire week is going to shit.

I was supposed to meet with my honours research supervisor first thing this morning. I got up at the stroke of 6:00 AM, showered, and spent a good ten minutes searching for a pair of pantyhose without a tear in them.

I waited in line at the Starbucks and ordered a couple of grande Pikes, splashed some cream and sugar into one of them for Dr. Zabina, and then discovered that the U of E psych department building was undergoing renos. Which meant that the elevator was out of order, which meant that I had to take the stairs up to the fifth floor, which was of course not air-conditioned.

My skin was covered in a sheen of perspiration and my backpack was just about ready to snap my spine into two by the time I dragged my feet off the last step and onto the scuffed linoleum of the correct floor.

And then I found that Dr. Zabina's office was locked and desolate and dark. I rested the coffees on a table in the waiting area, slipped my bag onto the tacky teal aluminum bench and fished my phone out to double check the time and place.

Only to find a typo-riddled email from ten minutes ago with a last-minute cancellation and a hasty promise to reschedule later in the week.

Fantastic.

So that's where I am now, catching my breath in the empty, eerily quiet fifth floor lounge of the oldest, shittiest building on campus.