It's 10 AM and I'm already dreading the classes I have to teach today. My head is pounding with a hangover from the other night and No amount of coffee is going to hide the fact that I look disheveled. The black circles under my eyes and yesterday's clothes don’t lie. Taking over Professor Dorian's class wasn't on the top of my priority list this year, but if teaching this class means more money in the bank, so be it. I have a mortgage to pay and a daughter to feed. Hangover be damned.

My cellphone rings as I cross campus toward the Gamma building, but I ignore it. I know it's Derrick calling. It's like this every year, on February 15^th. My wedding anniversary with Scarlett or what used to be. My brother thinks I'm a fragile man who's about to fall apart at any moment. Every year, since Scarlett left me, he insists on calling every day, all day. Derrick claims he just misses seeing me but I know better. Although after the fiasco last night, I thought it would be another month before I heard from him again. He seems head-over-heels for Vicky, a truth I'm not all together thrilled about. If he starts seeing Vicky, that puts me one step closer to Ms. Wilde.

My phone rings again and this time I answer it.

"So are we getting shit faced again this weekend?"

My brother is only four years my junior but at 35 he still acts like a fratboy during rush week.

"Derrick, we don't have to go out every weekend. Besides, I have papers to grade." His tired sigh on the other end of the line is all I need to hear to know he's frustrated with me.

"If you had a girlfriend, I wouldn't have to worry about leaving you alone."

"I'm not suicidal," I sigh. "I'm single."

"You've been single for three years. You're not getting any younger."

"Thank you for the reminder. I'm not turning to dust over here."

"You know, you can only play the angry, divorcee for so long before it gets old. You scared off that pretty student of yours last night at the bar."

I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. I can feel a headache coming on. My brother might be the most immature person I've ever met. Yet, he's still able to pick up more women than me.

"Maybe if you weren't such a picky dick-"

"I'm surprised you haven't contracted a venereal disease the way you go through woman," I say, cutting him off.

"I'm sorry, not everyone can be Saint Grant," he laughs. "You should call her."

He's not going to let this up no matter how much I want him to.

"She's my student."

"I'm sure today will be awkward."

I grunt. "If she shows," I answer reluctantly.

"I wouldn't blame her. You gave her the cold shoulder."

"I'm her professor. What do you supposed I should've done if another student saw us together?"

"Who cares? You should've danced with her. You were obviously attached to her."

"I don't fuck my students."

"Whoa, Parker. No one said fuck. Get your mind out of the gutter. Besides this one might change your mind. I saw how she looked at you."

I roll my eyes at the long chuckle on the other end. "You mean the look of disdain?" I ask.

"You know, I was thinking about asking her friend Vicky out again…"

"Do you have something important you need to tell me?" I ask, ignoring his comment about Ms Wilde's friend. I'm not in the mood for small talk.

"We could do a double date."

"Are you sure she likes you enough?" I ask, knowing all too well that I've given my brother someone else to obsess over.

"That was a dick thing to say."

"I'm hanging up," I warn. "I have a class to teach in half an hour."

"Fine, Parker. I just don't want to find you at home singing All By Myself and eating Ben & Jerry's ice cream."

"You've watched Bridget Jones's Diary way too many times."

"Chicks dig it. I've gotten so much pussy-"

I hang up on Derrick all too aware of the sordid details that he's about to get into. I don't need to hear it because it isn't helping my mood or the lack of sex I'm getting. I'm beginning to feel my age when it comes to the dating scene. Everyone is on apps line Tinder and I'm still walking around with the world's last flip phone.

Thoughts of Ms. Wilde plague me as I round the corner of the Gamma building and run into a familiar face. A gasp escapes her as our bodies collide, sending the books in her arms flying everywhere. She's so off guard that she doesn't even notice it was me that she ran into.

"I'm so sorry," she starts, but her words die in her throat at the sight of me. Her cheeks grow red as fumbles to say something.

"Do you always walk with your nose stuck in a book?"

There's no denying the irritation in my voice. After last night's fiasco, I thought she'd be slipping a drop slip request in my inbox. Looking at her now, I'm reminded of the way her body felt curved against mine. Fuckin' hell. Ms. Wilde slides a strawberry curl behind her ear and then leans down to pick up her books. It takes all of my willpower not to reach out and tug it, suddenly feeling like a pubescent boy eager to tug on a pretty girl's hair.

"Do you always make it a point to run over your students?" she counters. She dusts off her books and then slips them into her shoulder bag.

"Are you still my student?" The question has been on my mind since this morning.

"I'm not accepting an incomplete if that's what you're getting at."

I direct my gaze to the remaining pile of books left in her possession. She catches my attention as she reaches for with one title in particular. Between two textbooks sits a romance novel with a man's naked back on the front of the cover. The sight of it both amuses me and ignites a fire inside me.

"Interesting literature you have Ms. Wilde," I note. "I'm not sure it would fall under our course curriculum."

Her blush deepens as she picks up the book and hides it under her arm.

"There's no harm in reading romance novels. It's an escape from reality."

Why would you need to escape? I've met plenty of women like Josie Wilde. They come from wealthy families with the world at their fingertips. They fly private jets, own multiple homes and never have to worry where their next meal is coming from.

"Other than creating unrealistic expectations for women everywhere, no nothing's wrong with it," I say.

"I think most women can tell the difference between reality and fantasy."

"Can they? I can't help but wonder if women who read romance novels are delusional."

"There's nothing delusional about refusing to settle for just anyone. Maybe the problem is some men need to step up their game," she counters.

"Is that what you like? Little boys who play games?"

"I don't date little boys," she scoffs. "They can't handle me."

I believe her.

Without warning Ms. Wilde whirls around and stalks off, leaving me little room to shoot off a remark. My chest feels heavy as I watch her make a bee-line across the wet lawn toward the Omega building, exactly where I'm headed. I glance at my watch and smile. Class starts in less than fifteen minutes, but it seems Ms. Wilde is on a mission to get there a few minutes early. A growing sense of dread fills me as I watch her. The attraction is there, no matter how deep I bury it.