The Professor (5 page)

He looked weary, and suddenly I felt ashamed. He did have a small point. I'd heard his phone conversation, obviously there was something heavy going on in his life, and that could explain why he'd been wishy-washy with me.

"You can't do this," I finished his sentence for him. "You can't get involved with me, even after I graduate. That's what you’re saying? Right?"

"I'm sorry," he said, returning his glasses to his face.

"No, I'm sorry," I said. "You've sort of tried to tell me to back off." I stood up and walked towards the door of the office. "I mean you also promised to fuck me hard and slow," I laughed, "but yeah I admit I've been provoking you. You've been a bit hot and cold, and I've been doing the best I can to keep you hot."

"Your endeavors have been both admirable and effective." he smirked and folded his arms across his chest.

"Gee, thanks," I rolled my eyes.

"But it's just," he shook his head, searching for the words.

"It's a distraction," I said.

"Yes"

"Your life is complicated," I was talking for him now, echoing his words, writing my own rejection speech.

"Yes."

"You've got a lot of stuff going on."

"Yes, I've got a lot of
stuff
," he nodded, and lifted his fingers, making air quotes around the last word.

"Well, I'll just leave you alone then," I said, trying to keep my tone nonchalant.

"Jane, if I may," he said, walking around the desk, to stand in front of me. "This infatuation you have with me, it's an illusion, it's temporary, and it's really very common. I've seen it, time and again."

"I've? You've? Time and again?" I said, raising an eyebrow at him, my breezy facade was starting to fade.

Where was this going? And WTF? My infatuation with him? If I recalled correctly he was the one that had me pinned against a dryer last night, promising all manner of indecent behaviors that would have had the Dean frowning. This electricity between us was most definitely mutual, and while I'd been pushing the envelope, last night he'd practically licked the stamp.

"I've never been involved with a student, or a former student for that matter," he said, his hands raised, anxious to clarify. "But I've witnessed it and the truth is, I don't respect that kind of relationship."

"I see."

"No, you don't. This is an impressionable time in your life. You're young..."

"I'm not that young," I said. "I'll be twenty-five in July." I could see where this conversation was headed now and I wasn't having it. If he wanted to let me down over "life complications" and "his job," fine, but I wasn't about to be lectured to.

"Oh," he looked surprised. "I didn't realize."

"Yeah, I started college a little later than most. Took some time off first," I shrugged.

"And you're graduating earlier than most. That's impressive."

"Thanks."

"I don't think I've asked you. What is your major?"

"Business," I answered. "I'm still not sure exactly what I want to do, but I figure whatever it is, a business degree will help."

"It will at that," he smiled at me, and the wariness had almost left his eyes. Now I saw only kindness, sympathy and a hint of paternal amusement.

I didn't want any of it. I may be a stripper and an incorrigible flirt, but just like the Professor, I've got ethics of my own. If he wanted me to back off, I was going to back off. But not before I left him hard, hungry, and full of regret.

"Look. You're right about one thing Professor. We don't know each other. I don't know you, I don't know your
stuff
," I said, making air quotes around the last word, mocking his earlier gesture. "But, I'm sorry I've made you uncomfortable."

"No, Jane, you didn't make me uncomfortable--" he took a step toward me, and I put a finger on his chest, stopping his advance. He'd left with the upper hand last night, but I was taking it back. Right now.

"Here's the thing. You don't know me either. I'm not the impressionable, infatuated, unworldly girl you imagine me to be. I've had my own stuff. I've walked through it, and I've come out the other side," I took a step forward, laying my palm flat on his chest. "The simple truth is this chemistry between us -- I'm experienced enough to know that it's rare, that it's intense and that it would've been explosive." I slid my palm up and let my fingers linger on the open collar of his dress shirt for a moment. "I know my own mind Professor, I know what I want," stepping closer, I pressed the fullness of my curves against his body, and looked up. He towered over me, those brilliant blue eyes were hooded now, darkened with arousal. "What I want--" I held his gaze in my own, and moistened my lips, "is you."

He inhaled sharply at my words and I smiled when I felt the hard length of him swell against me. I let my fingers breach the threshold of his dress shirt to caress the skin beneath it, to play briefly with the fine sprinkle of dark hair that lay there, to slide over the masculine lines of his throat for a moment. His lips parted, his head inclining towards mine, but he stopped himself, just as that awful grandfather clock chimed 3:00 PM. Clenching his jaw, he drew his head back and closed his eyes.

We stilled for a moment, the last chime of the clock echoing in the room as I stepped back. His hand came up and caught mine, trying to halt my retreat. But I pulled away and let his fingers slip through my own before I strode towards the door.

"Jane?" he breathed. I turned to face him.

"It's Ms. Claremont, Professor," I flashed him my business smile, all work, no play. "I'm just a student. And it's time for class."

"
I
've brought
you DJ Mandy's playlist for tonight, Jane." Sasha St. Cloud, owner and proprietress of Clouds Gentleman's Club strode across the white tiled floor of the dressing room on seven-inch heels. Her softly accented English lilted over each word, turning a simple statement into a melody. Glossy black hair hung nearly to her hips and framed her classically beautiful face with a sexy fringe of bangs. A form-fitting pencil dress embraced her sleek curves. Its hue, a deep turquoise, reflected in the pale teal of her eyes, and complemented the tawny glow of her complexion. She was stunning, as usual.

"Oh great!" I said, stuffing the last bite of my pizza dinner into my face. "I'd ask her to come up with some suggestions for my new act." I wiped my mouth with a napkin, settled back into my chair and tossed the playlist she gave me on the makeup counter in front of us.

"How do you do that?" I asked.

"Do what?" she said, coming to stand behind me, her eyes met mine in the mirror. She stroked my hair, and pulled it over one shoulder, smiling at me fondly.

"Look so completely gorgeous every moment of every day?"

"Are you trying to charm more money out of me Claremont? Because you should know I already give most of it to Lizzy Bendit," she said, referring to my stage name.

"And she thanks you for it boss." I grinned at her.

"Mmm-hmm, I bet she does," she said, arching an eyebrow. "I only dress like this at work, you know," she continued.

"Oh really?"

"Of course. At home I relax. The heels on my slippers are only five inches," she winked at me in the mirror.

"Please, please can I be you when I grow up?" I laughed.

"If you are a very good girl and you eat all your vegetables and you work that pole like a boss, then yes. Yes, you can. In fact…" she looked thoughtful for a moment, then patted me on the arm and walked towards the door.

"What?" I called after her.

"You graduate soon, correct?" she said turning back to me.

"Yeah." I swiveled in my seat to look at her, intrigued.

"Come to me after you've secured that piece of paper, sweetie. I might have an opportunity for you."

"Ooooo! What?" I asked bouncing in my chair.

"No," she shook her head. "We'll discuss it later. First, graduate."

"It's almost a done deal. Just a couple of weeks," I whined.

"Right, I've heard that before," she said eyeing me side-long.

"Not from me!" I argued.

"No, never from you. Others," she smiled faintly. "Still, let's not taunt the gods. When the ink is dry, then we'll talk. In the meantime stay focused."

"Thhhppttt," I stuck my tongue out at her as she walked out the door.

"No distractions!" she shouted at me, her heels clicking as she made her way down the hallway and out to the club floor.

"Yeah, yeah," I grumbled and turned back around in my chair.

There was that word again. The Professor had used that word. Distraction. Stupid little three-syllable noun. I was starting to resent it.

M
y phone buzzed
, and I picked it up, checking the screen. Incoming call from Charlie. Dammit. I put her on vid-chat, propped the phone up on the counter and smoothed my hair into a ponytail as I answered.

"Hey, baby sis. What's up?"

"What's up?" she said, incredulous. "You did not just ask me what's up! What's up yourself? What's up!" she glared at me from the screen, a large glass of wine, balanced precariously in her hand.

"So what's tonight's poison?" I asked, turning back to the mirror I reached for my makeup bag.

"Merlot," she snapped, taking a sip from the glass. "I was promised juicy details, where are my juicy details?"

"It was a bust, Charlie, there's nothing to tell. That's why I didn't call."

"Inconceivable!"

"You keep using that word..." I began.

"Nah, don't try to divert me with Princess Bride quotes, you geek."

"You started it." I grinned at her and began the process of applying my stage makeup.

"Whatevs," she rolled her eyes. "So...WTF Janie?"

I shrugged at the camera.

"No really. What the ever-loving fuck? That dress was perfection. Did you have like boogers, or bad breath or something?"

"Ha. Giggle snort. You're so funny Charlie." I flashed a snarky smile at the camera. "I take it Mason isn't over. You usually don't drink Merlot, or use such colorful language when he's around."

"Don't start," she warned. "And don't change the subject."

Charlotte's boyfriend is a rich prep school dick-bag. She already knows what I think of him and she was right to see my jab for the diversionary tactic it was. I quit stalling, and filled her in, hitting all the high and the low points of the conversation I'd had with the Professor that afternoon.

"Well shit," she said, slurping her wine. "He's just like, unrelentingly charming isn't he?"

"Overall, yes. But he loses a few points with that rejection, don't you think?" I asked, glancing over at her while I popped open my eye shadow compact.

"Nope, he gains."

"What?"

"Stay with me here..." she said over the steady glug of pouring wine. "He's valiant, noble even. He's thinking of your reputation, your honor, well, and his too. But, I mean it's clear from the boner he got when you were all up on his junk that this case of the hots goes both ways. He wants you too, for sure. I'm betting he'll come around. But only if you stop pursuing him."

"I have," I said. "This afternoon was my last hurrah. Although I did leave him thirsty."

"Good. Because you know what I'm thinking?" She paused and sipped her wine, musing quietly over the top of her glass.

"No," I prompted. "I love you endlessly but I cannot read your mind."

"Okay, I'm putting on my Mom hat for a second."

I groaned. Our Mother, Lydia, is a therapist, specifically a sex therapist. Broadly speaking she loves nothing so much in this world as examining and analyzing the nooks and crannies of other people's psyche. Charlie had inherited this adorable little talent from my mother. And by adorable I mean annoying.

"No, Janie, listen. Whatever is going on at home is heavy. Heavy enough that he ran away from England to come teach here for six months. But as he says, it's complicated, because whatever it is, he needs to take calls about it in the middle of a work day," she tapped on her wine glass for a long moment, thinking. "This guy's thing is control," she said suddenly.

"Oh, great," I groaned again, and began pulling on my outfit for the first dance of the night.

"No, I'm not saying he's a control freak. But right now, I bet he feels like his life is out of his control. You're only adding to that, with the flirting and the nip slips. So just back off, and wait for it. Give it some time and he'll come to you. He won't be able to help it." Charlie finished her wine and set her glass down, her eyes focusing on me fully for maybe the first time that evening. "Wait...where are you? What are you wearing?"

"I'm at the club. I'm working tonight."

"Oh, turn me around so I can say hi to the girls."

"Can't, it's just me."

"You, the whole night alone? Dang."

"It won't be busy. Most of our customers are out of town already for Thanksgiving and it's supposed to snow hard tonight. Sasha said if somebody volunteered to come in and cover the regulars, everyone else could have the night off."

"Aw you're so sweet, giving the mommy dancers the night off so they can have an extra night with their kids."

"Well, I remember how hard it was on us when Mom had to work that awful retail job. I swear she worked like every Thanksgiving for five years," I said zipping up my skirt. "Speaking of which, are we going to see you Thursday for Thanksgiving, or Christmas for that matter?"

"I don't know yet. Mason's still working out the details. Hey is that the skirt I made for you?" she said, quickly changing the subject from her domineering boyfriend to the snazzy skirt she'd made for my latest costume.

"It is indeed. It's for my new ditzy sorority girl look. You like?"

"I do! Spin, I want to see the whole thing."

I backed away from the camera and did a slow 360 twirl. The outfit was cute, a variation on the naughty co-ed theme that was popular at a lot of college town clubs. I could've gone with yoga pants and college sweatshirt, but even strip club patrons have aesthetic standards. So Charlotte and I had collaborated on something with classic appeal, a hot pink plaid mini-skirt that skimmed the top of my thighs and had a zipper that ran the length of one side for easy removal. I'd added a sheer Peter Pan collar shirt to the ensemble, some lacy thigh-highs with garters, and a corset over a sheer demi-cup bra. I'd be wearing a blonde wig and headband with a pink bow, a pink scarf and a pair of eyeglasses. I was even incorporating a few props into the act, a stack of authentic Wagner University textbooks and a classroom chair. My shoes were standard-height stripper heels, although I admit, I'd spent a few hours on the internet last week looking for a pair of Mary Jane pumps in the perfect shade of pink.

"Do I pass inspection?" I took a bow as Charlotte whistled and clapped slowly.

"You look fabulous. I'm still amazed that no one has ever recognized you, like on campus. None of the frat boys have ever noticed that the hot co-ed is actually Lizzy Bendit from Clouds?"

I wrapped my ponytail up in a bun, grabbed the chin length blonde wig from its stand on the makeup counter and slipped it onto my head, tucking any stray strands of dark brown hair up and out of sight.

"Nope. Because most of them have never seen me. They can't afford Clouds. All the bros go to that skanky titty bar over on Fourth. The one with the beer-water and shitty buffalo wings." I stepped into the pink Mary Jane's and sat down to buckle them.

"Oh right, there's that," Charlie agreed. "But what about teachers?"

"Yeah, there's been a few," I conceded, "but either my disguise has held up, or they just didn't have the nerve to mention it. Which is understandable, since then they'd have to admit they'd been to a strip club."

"True," she said.

"Mostly..." I said, picking up my phone, "I've never been recognized Charlie, because in this line of work, no one is looking at my face."

I
was right
. It was a slow night. The snow had picked up and by 11:30 we had only a handful of customers. Most of them were either watching a sports show at our bar, working on a laptop or nursing a beer at one of the tables that lined the perimeter of our main stage. I didn't really mind. While I wasn't going to be making any big money on private dances or tips tonight, Sasha pays a great hourly rate, and I was able to use the time to experiment with the performance I was designing to accompany my new costume.

DJ Mandy works an IT job at the hospital and spends her evenings moonlighting with us, spinning tunes. Her suggested playlist for my new act was a brilliant array of every rock song ever written about forbidden teacher/student lust. She ran through them one by one all night, allowing me time to experiment with choreography for the act. By the end of the evening I'd stopped removing any clothing (no one was watching anyway), and had worked out a routine that was one part burlesque, to one part striptease with a splash of fancy pole work thrown in for fun. I was just coming out of a perfectly executed fireman spin when I saw him.

He stood in the shadows by the door, just to the left of the bar. I watched, breathless, as he stepped forward into the dim light of the club and graced Sasha with one of those killer English smiles when she greeted him.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

He wore a long dark grey wool coat and a patterned blue scarf that looked like cashmere.

He's wearing a coat! And OMG he looks so fine in it.

 Thankfully, Van Halen stopped singing about how hot for teacher they were and the song ended. I slinked backstage unnoticed and adjusted my costume, peering discreetly around the curtain just in time to see Sasha seating the Professor at a table, the table at the very end of my stage. A few seconds later, Patti, our bartender came around with a bottle of dark imported beer and a bowl of mixed nuts. The Professor thanked her, removed his coat and scarf and draped them over the chair to his left. He sat down, threw a handful of nuts in his mouth, raised the bottle to his lips, and drank deeply.

Before he sat down I'd gotten a glimpse of that ass and my god was he fine. He wore fitted denims, a tight white button down shirt and of course his ever-present glasses. How anyone could a make such a simple pairing look so sexy I had no idea.

Fuck! What the fuckity fuck fuck am I going to do?!

The music started up and I heard the slow sexy notes of the first bars of The Police's “Don't Stand So Close to Me” playing clearly, tauntingly, from the speakers of our state of the art sound system.

Fucking digital clarity. Goddammit!

I couldn't run, I couldn't hide. I couldn't keep a customer waiting. Already I could see Sasha standing at the bar, looking for me. And DJ Mandy had skipped the song back, stretching out the opening refrain a little longer to allow me time. The routine I'd worked on leapt out of my head. I couldn't remember a single step, which meant I'd be flying blind, improvising a new dance, just for the Professor. I gave myself the fastest pep talk on the face of the planet, grabbed my stack of textbooks and headed out onstage. My only option was to go for broke.

The song started over again from the top and I stood center stage, with my back to my audience of one. Books clutched to my chest, one hand resting lightly on my prop chair, I clenched my legs together tightly like a shy virgin. I was petrified and trembling when the spotlight came up, illuminating my backside as Sting sang of school girls’ fantasies. I kicked into autopilot and moved my body mindlessly, small steps, subtle movements, anything to get the ball rolling.

I danced to the front of the stage, and flipped through my text books, setting the stack down carefully with an exaggerated forward bend that arched my back and displayed my cleavage to optimum effect. As I rose, I looked up, meeting his gaze over the rim of my bright pink prop glasses. I smiled at him, and saw shock flash across his features. But the surprise was quickly shuttered, his expression changing in an instant from pleasure to apprehension, his brows drawn together over a flinty, inscrutable stare.