Course on Love

Dr. Rory Martin. Wow, what a roll off the tongue. Just as my head was swimming in the thought of him, he scrambled through the door. Looking sweaty and disheveled. Why, oh why, does this make him look even hotter? Shit Sutton, chill. He's your professor - "it's frowned upon," remembering the line from an episode of Friends, I told myself, shaking my head to try to clear the naughty thoughts that raced through my brain.

But, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop staring. The good Doctor dropped his pen in front of my seat. Reaching, my long blonde locks fell into my face. He reached for it at the same time. Our hands touched, my breath hitched. His hazel eyes met mine, they were even more beautiful up close, sparkling like a mountain lake. Today he wasn't wearing his wide-rimmed black glasses as he usually does. Mmmm. A spark shot through my body like a bolt of lightning. "Oh, uh, I'm sorry," he stuttered. "It's ok," I squeaked. Suddenly, I felt 16 all over again, not the 28-year-old working on her Ph.D. Pathetic, Sutton just pathetic.

Up close I can see sprinkles of grey in his very short, neatly groomed beard. "The professor can't function without his pen," he said, suddenly sounding confident, but sporting a crooked grin. I bit my lip, "of course not." Was he flirting? He couldn't be.

The Professor went back to his lecture on the Nervous System while I tried to listen. Watching, listening... I think I was listening. I subconsciously made notes all the while squirming in my chair for the good doctor. As the lecture was over I gathered my Macbook and headed for the door when I hear a voice behind me. "Ms. Johanson, right?" It was Dr. Martin himself. "Indeed, but you can call me Sutton," I cheerfully declared, trying my best to hold it together.

"I know I shouldn't be asking, but I know with your dissertation coming up you may want some input?" He asked head cocked to the side. He was rubbing his beard, while I stood there in shock, my jaw slack. "Oh, really? I would love - I-I mean I would appreciate that a lot," I said trying to not sound like a 16-year-old.

"Ok, then. Meet me at Shultzy's at 8:00 pm?"

"I'll be there. Thanks!"

Before I made an even bigger fool of myself I rushed out the door. I only stopped when I hit the moist Seattle air, breathing labored.

****

The bar was a woodsy establishment with the usual Northwest selection of beers on tap. The smells of onions, peppers and leftover cigarette smoke hung lightly in the air. The vibe was cozy, yet hip. The Beatles played "Helter Skelter" quietly in the background. A slow crowd on a Tuesday. Rory - wow, I've moved on to a first name basis - strolled in. A different err about him than when was teaching. Smooth, relaxed - oh, so sexy. He was wearing jeans - another first - and a button-down plaid shirt layered over a Burton t-shirt. He was looked like a typical Northwesterner. He spotted me across the room, I was sitting in a booth in the back corner, subconsciously wanting the quiet, alone time with the dear doctor. He waved and held up one finger, letting me know he would be over in a minute.

My cheeks burned red, I was nervous. Sutton, he's just trying to help you with your dissertation, calm yourself. I put my hair up in a messy bun hoping that it looked like I didn't try to dress up for him. But, I'm not totally stupid. I perfectly applied more makeup than on a normal school day, slipped on a strapless dress under my jean vest. Giving something for the imagination, with a little skin. Works wonders. Rory -- Professor, doctor, came strolling over with 2 drafts in hand. "Hope you didn't mind, they have some of the best on Tap in Seattle," as he handed over the two cold, foamy glasses.

"Of course I don't mind, looks great." I shyly smiled taking the glass from him.

"They have amazing cheesesteaks here, too. Best West of Philly. We may have to get one later."