My Professor's Secret

11|

I've never been the person to doubt my ability of moving people with words or the endless amount of stories circling in my mind but somehow sitting across from him on this sofa, doubt crept. Was he recommending me for this competition as some screwed up way to buy my silence?

"Is this something you'd be interested in?"

Professor T looks down to his desk as he scribbled something down on a piece of paper. The distance between us made it impossible to make out his chicken scratch from the sofa. Once he puts the pen on the desk, he glances up again, waiting for my answer though even myself hadn't decided.

Obviously it was a no brainer if his intention was pure.

"Who wouldn't? Twenty grand plus the chance to be published isn't something someone just happens to stumble across,," I half laugh, swallowing the possibility of disaster what I planned to say next would cause. "The skepticism is because I want to be sure you're not recommending me out of guilt about the other night. I'm not going to tell anyone, but I also wouldn't want someone else to miss out on an opportunity like this because you're afraid of what I might say."

Professor glances over to the door of his office—that he instructed me to close upon entering—then walks in front of his desk, pressing his weight against it with his arms folded to his chest. He keeps quiet but never pulls his gaze from me. Our eyes meet momentarily until it's me that breaks under the pressure of his stare.

"Alex," he says, allowing his arms to fall to his side before hoisting himself on his desk. My name slipped from his lips like butter to warm pancakes. "I'd never recommend a student for something they weren't capable of achieving." His lips remain perched as if there'd been more he wanted to say, but he doesn't.

"No, of course," I say to fill the silence.

"As far as the other night goes, what did happen?" I go to speak but before the words could leave my mouth, he continues. "It's not often that I invite anyone into my home. Especially students. The consequences following the misconduct my actions have are exponential and as a single father with a daughter to raise, I can't afford my spontaneity getting the best of me."

His words fill the room—almost suffocating me out of my last viable breath and still, it had been like nothing that left his mouth processed the way he meant it to. Truthfully, his words left me as confused—if not more—than our dinner together.

What was that night?

"I—yes. That's what I mean. I don't want mine and Taylor's lack of responsibility causing problems with your position. I apologize for allowing the first night to come in the middle of our professionalism. It was highly inappropriate asking you to compromise your job for some lousy night I ended up walking out of. I'm sorry."

Professor Thornton shakes his head, inching closer to the edge of his desk before standing from it completely. I scanned his face for the slightest micro expression, but all that remained was his ever present half smile and the dimple hidden behind the stubble on his face.

"An apology is not needed, if anything, it should be me apologizing for saying something that made you uncomfortable."

"Professor Thornton, there wasn't a single thing you said or did that made me uncomfortable," my hitching breath gains his once steady expression and drowns it with perplexity.

All this talk regarding unprofessionalism increasingly complicated the situation. Apparently my sudden departure in the name of avoiding miscommunication only added to the madness transpiring now.

"Forgive me for my inability to grasp what's happening right now. You've expressed there was nothing that made you uncomfortable, but that doesn't explain your sudden departure."