Her Dirty Professor(26)

I still can’t believe Loche would rather leave his job than end his relationship with me. That’s more than a fling. I know that I love him, but I’d had my doubts about his feelings toward me. Until now. I need to find him. Find out what happened. See how he’s doing. This can’t be easy for him. You don’t just fill out an application and hand it over to a manager to get a job as a professor as a prestigious university. That takes time, money, commitment. He must be devastated. I have to be there for him.

I go to his house, ditching my classes for the day. It’s probably the most rebellious thing I’ve ever done in my life—well, besides sleeping with my teacher. But I’m sure the world won’t stop and my grades won’t plummet for missing one day.

I take a cab to his house. When I get there, he’s sitting on the porch swing with his borrowed cat curled up on his lap. Loche smiles when he sees me.

“What did you do?” I say, trying to sound firm, but my voice withers away into a pathetically sad sound.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” he says.

“I had to come see you.”

“I take it you talked to Dean Meyer.”

Tears start to fall without me realizing they were even there. Suddenly I’m imagining a life without Loche in it. No more seeing him every day in chemistry, my favorite teacher just a favorite memory. What if he starts to resent me after this? If he struggles to pay his bills or can’t get another teaching job, he’ll ultimately blame me. I don’t want to lose him.

He stands up, moving the cat to the side. The cat glares at him a moment for interrupting his comfortable spot before finding a different spot on the cushion.

Loche comes toward me. I should meet him half way but my legs won’t move. I’m afraid if I try, they’ll collapse.

He pulls me into a hug and I breathe in his familiar scent, his warmth. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I let the tears flow freely now. “I’m so sorry,” I tell him, trying not to be too loud even though my body is going through the motions of wracking sobs.

“It’s okay,” he says, kissing my forehead and rubbing comforting circles across my back.

“No, it’s not okay. I doubt Dean Meyer will give you a letter of recommendation after all of this.” I look up at his beautiful house. I can’t imagine living like this, then having to move into an apartment or something worse.

“I don’t need one,” he says.

I pull back to look at him. He wipes tears from my face with his thumbs. “What do you mean? How will you get another teaching job? Without a letter of recommendation, you’ll be asked why you left and you’ll have to tell them the truth. No one will hire you after you slept with a student—even if it’s perfectly legal.”

“I know,” he says.

I shake my head, confused. “I don’t get it.”

“I don’t need a teaching job. I don’t need a job at all. I was only teaching because it was something I worked so hard to do, but honestly, I don’t love it anymore. There are other things I’d rather do with my time.”

“What do you mean you don’t need a job? How will you survive?”

His cheeks flush and he looks at his hands that are now on my shoulders. “After I got paid for being in the movie, I used some of that money to patent a formula I came up with for a longer-lasting lubricant. It ended up changing the sex industry, actually. I made enough to where I don’t need to work anymore.”

I just stare at him, wide-eyed. “Are you serious?”

He smiles and shrugs.

“Let me guess, does it involve coconut oil?”

He laughs. “Maybe a little.” His gaze finds mine and he gets this serious look on his face. “I’m excited to see where this thing between us goes. I want to be with you.” He bites his lip, looking more nervous than I’ve ever seen him.

“What?” I say.

“I’m in love with you.”

I hesitate, but only for a moment, my muscle memory still fearing someone will see us. But I guess that doesn’t matter anymore. I launch myself into his arm and kiss him. I don’t want to stop kissing him, but the words are fighting to get out of me. “I love you too,” I say, more tears spilling down my cheeks, but this time with laughter falling shortly behind.

We can be a couple. He actually wants that from me, and I want it too. More than anything.

He takes me by the hand and leads me into the house. We’re barely through the door when I start to take off his shirt, and I kiss his nipples, sliding my tongue across them. I’ve heard men’s are just as sensitive as women’s. The way he groans make me think they really are.