I looked at my reflection in the glass door of the English building and sighed. It had been a long week with midterms just ahead of me, and I was freaking out. No matter how hard I seemed to study for my Senior Lit Seminar, my professor seemed to find fault with all of my work. This class was notorious for being the most challenging class of your entire college career, and I completely agreed. I was going to stop by the professors office to get a revision on my latest paper, and to ask a multitude of questions that trying to read the assigned novels seemed to raise.
To be quite honest, I've always been the kind of student that had no problem stopping by professors offices, to seek extra help or to even just hang out. That was not the case with this professor. He intimidated the hell out of me. I couldn't pinpoint what it exactly was. I found him attractive, sure, but who on this campus didn't. There was a joke that has floated around the English department that you could pick out the freshman by the level of drooling over him during class. I was a transfer student this year, so all of this was brand new for me.
I brushed my unruly bangs out of my eyes, and tugged on my cardigan. It was autumn outside, and the sun was just starting to set. I'd have to hurry to try and catch him before he left for the day. I strolled into the building, keeping my eyes open, seeking out his office number. My heart started to pound in my chest, and it was getting hard to breathe steadily. I reached his door, stopping to steady myself. Why was I so nervous? 'This is just your teacher, and you see him three times a week in class. This is not a big deal,' I thought, trying to reassure myself. 'Calm down, girl. He's not going to bite your head off.' I knocked lightly.
"Cmon in!" I heard from inside. I turned the knob and pushed, letting myself in. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the lighting in his office. It was all lit by lamps around the room, the florescents turned off. My professor sat next to the window, all concentration focused on his computer. His dark hair was messy from a long day of running his fingers through it in moments of intense thought, and his plaid shirt was a little wrinkly towards the bottom. He had a hand on his face, the other on the mouse. His legs were crossed loosely, and I found myself staring. This was not a good sign. I had managed to put aside how attractive he was during class, but seeing him in his natural environment - This was not boding well.
"Professor MacFarlane, I'm here to pick up my revision, and I also have some questions about the reading for the midterm. I'll be quick-" I blurted out. He put a hand up, silencing me. He then turned to finally look at me, meeting my eyes. I was surprised by the spark that ran through me.
"How come you've never been to see me during my office hours?" He inquired lowly. I flushed.
"Um. I don't know?"
"Why is it that I had to hold your paper hostage to get you here? Am I really that intimidating?" He slyly asked. I started to loosen up. "Here it is. Nice work." He picked it up from the desk, and stood. He walked over to me, placing it in my hands. His fingers touched my hand, lingering. It didn't go unnoticed. I started to be able to smell his scent, manly and warm. He smiled down at me, encouraging me to look at the paper.
I looked down. It was covered in red ink. My face fell. "I thought you said it was nice work." I murmured. A piece of hair fell into my face, and I reached up to brush it away. Before I could, warm fingertips brushed it gently back into place, and a hand rested on my cheek. I looked up quickly, meeting his warm gaze.
"It is nice work. You're a great writer, but I know you can do better. I want you to be the absolute best, not just the best by default." He murmured. My hand floated upwards to rest on top of his, making sure that this was actually happening.
"So that's why you've been so hard on me?" I asked. He nodded, a thumb rubbing my cheek.
With that simple motion, I couldn't stop my body from closing the space between us. I grabbed his collar, and leaned up to kiss him. His face came down to meet my lips, and our lips gently touched before turning into something much more. There was sparks of molten lava flowing through my bloodstream, and I felt tingly all over. We parted for air, and in a split second, he attacked my lips again. One of my hands found their way upwards and tangled itself in his brown hair. One of his big hands was still on my face, and the other was loosely draped on my back. I dropped my bag off my shoulder, and he started to back me up against one of the walls.
