THERE WAS ABSOLUTELY no good reason for Derek to be sitting in what he now knew was a class called Millennial Masculinities, when he should be catching up on the sleep he didn’t get last night, triple-checking his thesis, or any number of important things. But it had been a long damn time since a woman had intrigued him as much as the Parking Lot Plower, aka Professor Fletcher, had, which was why he’d given up on his Wednesday afternoon to-do list and sat like the rest of her students, watching the hottest teacher on the planet stroll across the floor as she talked about the shredding of masculinity in America.
“How about societal expectations?” she asked the class. She was wearing glasses today, giving her an even hotter, more studious look. “Men have gone through major physical changes, from Neanderthals to metrosexuals. Most men these days do a fair amount of manscaping. Does that emasculate them? Or does it make them appear confident in their own skin?”
As the students raised their hands and called out opinions, Derek wondered what she’d thought of his hairy chest when she’d been watching him dance. He hadn’t expected her to show up, and when she had, everything and everyone had seemed dull in comparison. Listening to her thoughts on masculinity intrigued him even more, especially since he’d experienced being asked to conform to societal expectations firsthand. When the owner of Decadence had asked him to fill in as a male dancer, they’d also asked him to wax everything. They’d even gone so far as to say that most men who had hair on their bodies these days were seen as “bears”—heavyset, hairy gay or bisexual men. The Parking Lot Plower was asking all the right questions. Derek hadn’t given in to the pressure to wax, and as a result, he earned more money dancing than he had at his full-time accounting job, and the extra income came in handy to help pay for his ailing father’s medical care.
The impeccably polished professor handled each response eloquently, showing appreciation for class participation and also posing more thought-provoking questions. Derek watched the other students, particularly the guys, and he realized that while they were definitely looking at her as a hot woman, they seemed to also be drawn in to her intellectual prowess—the most alluring quality of all—like he was.
After class, he waited for most of the students to clear out before approaching her. He hooked his finger in the collar of his bomber jacket and slung it over his shoulder as he descended the stairs of the lecture hall.
She stood at the side of a long table, gathering papers and putting them in a big leather bag. Without a word, she turned to face him. Her cheeks flushed, despite the rigid, and obviously purposeful, set of her jaw. She righted her glasses on the bridge of her nose, standing up a little straighter in the process. Then she crossed her arms over her chest, but not before he noticed her nipples rising to greet him against her sheer blue blouse. Damn, she was adorable.
“Yes?” she asked, lifting her dark brows.
“I really enjoyed that discussion,” he said honestly.
She turned away and reached for a pretty red coat. He moved behind her and lifted the collar and sleeve, helping her on with it. A look he couldn’t read washed over her face. Worry? Confusion? He couldn’t be sure, but it was something a little uncomfortable with a hint of surprise.
She slung her bag over her shoulder and flashed a tight smile. “Thank you. If you came to class on time, you might gain more from it.”
Touché. “Probably so, but my life is a little complicated. I feel lucky to have caught any of it.” Not to mention that I’m not really in this class.
“Everyone’s lives are complicated,” she said, heading for the door.
He fell into step beside her. “Yes, that’s truer than you might think. I was wondering if you had a few minutes to further discuss today’s topics?” He held the door open for her to pass through.
She looked at him for a long moment and said, “Thank you.”
“Great,” he said, feeling a tinge of something he hadn’t felt for a very long time. The thrill of attraction.
“I meant thank you for holding the door open. I haven’t eaten all day and have just enough time for a quick cup of coffee and a salad at the cafeteria before my next class.”
“Great. We can chat over coffee.”
Her stride slowed, and she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, clearly assessing the situation. She stopped and faced him head-on, and it finally dawned on him why she was hesitant.
“Look, I’m not a weirdo or a stalker. It was a fluke when I saw you in the crosswalk. I was on my way to work and thought I’d tease you about almost hitting me.” He held his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry if that was in bad taste.” He pushed a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he’d never been able to break, and said, “I really did enjoy your class. All I’m asking for is a little intellectual stimulation.” As the words left his lips, he realized how true they were and how much he’d missed having meaningful conversations with people about something other than his father’s medical care.
She pursed her lips and continued walking toward the exit. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why? It’s a conversation. I’m not asking you to sleep with me.”
Her cheeks heated, and her expression turned stern. “I wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.”
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, realizing he’d completely misunderstood. “I’m an idiot. I thought you were under the impression I was hitting on you. But this is about my dancing, isn’t it?”
She raised her brows in answer as they left the building.
“That’s what I do, not who I am.” He took a step back and said, “I misjudged you. I thought you saw beyond societal expectations and generalizations. I guess I was wrong.”
She stopped cold. Her pretty brows knitted as she worried her lower lip between her teeth. “I . . . I’m sorry. That was unfair and unprofessional of me.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. There are a lot of guys who dance who probably aren’t worth your time. I’m not one of them.” He’d never been keen on dancing or stripping down to a G-string for bar dwellers, but he earned nearly five times as much in a few hours as he did in two weeks as a bartender. It wasn’t hard to do the math. He’d earned six figures each of the past few years, which went a long way in caring for his father and enabled him to save a nice little nest egg to use toward his real goal—opening an adult day-care facility.
When she began walking again, he kept pace with her. “I’m Derek, by the way. Derek Grant. I assume I should call you Professor Fletcher?”
“Not unless you want to call me by the wrong name. I’m filling in for a sick friend and teaching his class.” Her lips curved up in the most devastating smile, easing the professional mask she wore so well. “I’m Professor Dalton.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Professor Dalton.” That smile. Damn . . . It was radiant.
As they walked across campus to the cafeteria, making small talk, he couldn’t stop stealing glances, loving the way her smile lit up her face. He had a feeling she didn’t just wear that professional mask, but she hid behind it—and he couldn’t wait to strip it away and get to know the woman behind the armor.
Talia wanted to take a picture of herself having coffee with Mr. Blue Eyes Male Dancer and text it to her sisters and mother with the caption, Now will you leave me alone? This is me stepping so far out of my comfort zone I might get lost!
Derek surprised her by helping her off with her coat and pulling out her chair, making her even more curious about him. Last night her curiosity had been fed by their brief interaction and the episode of Magic Mike she’d accidentally stumbled upon. Or more specifically, by his mesmerizing blue eyes and the sensual moves she’d seen in her dreams. Now she wondered about his manners, which seemed to have risen to the surface overnight. She wondered who had raised him to listen when a woman spoke, help her with her coat, and pull out her chair. With most of the men she’d gone out with, she was lucky they remembered to click the button on the key fob to unlock her door.
The man wearing worn-out jeans, leather boots, and a black sweater, all of which had seen better days, definitely piqued her interest.
And she was nervous.
Super nervous.
So nervous she forgot to get a salad and would be existing on only caffeine for the next few hours.
“Didn’t you want to grab a salad?” he asked.
Was he a mind reader? She couldn’t believe he’d remembered when she’d forgotten. “Yes, but I’m fine.”
“I can grab one for you real quick. I wouldn’t want you to starve because I’m sucking up all your time.” He hiked a thumb over his shoulder as he’d done the other day in the parking lot, flashing his ring and colorful bracelets.
She usually hated jewelry on men, but they made him seem exotic. She couldn’t help wondering if they were emotionally significant to him, or if he was a Johnny Depp wannabe.
“It’s okay. I’m fine, really.” It was a total lie, but she wasn’t used to not being in control of her emotions, which seemed to be taking jaunts in ten different directions, because now she was thinking about Derek sucking . . . and not her time, which was crazy. She was his teacher, not his fantasy.
Yikes. That wasn’t helpful.
She sipped her coffee and did what she did best, sat up a little straighter and slipped into professor mode. “You wanted to talk about the class?”
“Yes. I guess I haven’t broken out of my Neanderthal stage.” He tugged down the collar of his sweater, revealing a patch of dark chest hair, and his lips curved up in a sexy smile.
She swallowed hard, because holy cow, did she love chest hair. Her dark dreams had been so real last night, she’d felt that dusting of hair on her fingers and palms, his leg hair on her thighs . . .
“You posed a lot of questions about the physicality of men and how it translated to their alpha status. I was curious about your thoughts on that.”
“I . . .”
He tugged his collar down again. “Do you think this makes me more masculine than Chris Evans in Captain America because he shaved his chest?”
She laughed at the reference. “To be honest, no. He was really ripped in that movie, and he acted manly, so it wouldn’t have made a difference if he had chest hair or not. In class, I was really focusing on changing gender roles and societal expectations and how they have an effect on masculinity, but personally, I don’t think generalizing is fair.”
“Interesting, considering that’s where your mind went when you learned I was a dancer.” Before she could respond, he said, “Generalizations happen, accidentally or not. It’s how we handle things after we’ve acknowledged them that matters. I think we’re made to be different. Some men are more masculine than others, and some women are more feminine.”
He leaned closer, bringing a wave of potent maleness so strong it felt tangible, like it moved around her, against her, and, oh boy, she had no idea what to do with that. He pointed to a woman across the cafeteria who was wearing a black miniskirt, black tights, high-heeled boots, and a tight white sweater. “That woman, for example, doesn’t look feminine to me. She looks hard, while you”—his blue eyes moved slowly and purposefully from her eyes all the way down her body, then back up again, creating a flurry of heat in her belly—“appear to be extremely feminine.”
He sat back, and the air rushed from her lungs.
Who did he see when he looked at her? She’d had her heart broken in college, and her ex had said she wasn’t feminine enough, wasn’t outgoing enough, wasn’t . . . enough, period. It seemed odd now, as she thought about it, how she’d reacted, but ever since, she’d tried to be even less feminine, focusing on her academics and hiding behind schoolbooks and her more natural studious persona, heightening it to keep men at bay. She was adept at protecting her heart, but being feminine? She wasn’t even sure how to feel that way anymore.
“But that’s all visual, so really, it’s meaningless,” he added. “Just as meaningless as whether a man is a caretaker or a lumberjack. What a person does, or what they look like, is not necessarily representative of who they are inside—masculine or feminine.” He watched her with a shimmer of something in his eyes. “Here’s an example. You’re a professor. That’s what you do for a living, but it’s not who you are. Is the person you are feminine, like your attire and mannerisms convey?”
“That’s a very personal question,” she said, trying to avoid answering.
“Exactly!” His eyes sparked with excitement. “Who you are is not necessarily who you want everyone to think you are.”
She took another sip of her coffee, mentally cataloging how different Derek was from what she’d expected. He’d come across as a strange mix of gruff and aloof when she’d nearly run him over, and she’d had him pegged as unambitious. When she’d seen him dancing, she’d added player to that assumption. But there was obviously much more to this intelligent man than met the eye. It was time to figure him out.
“You strip, bartend, come to class late and leave early,” she said, the tease in her voice clear as day. “Is that what you do? Who you are?”
“I’m a dancer, technically not a stripper, since I don’t take everything off. It’s like wearing a bathing suit.”
Maybe on a European beach, but I don’t know any guys who wear G-string bathing suits around here.
His expression turned serious, and he held her gaze as he said, “For the past few years, I’ve taken care of my father, who was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s, and yes, I work part-time at a bar, bartending and occasionally dancing. The first is definitely who I am. The latter, not so much, but it offers the flexible hours I need and pays the bills.” He cocked his head and said, “Tag. You’re it.”
Her heart broke for him, and she gave herself a virtual slap upside her head for making assumptions about the type of person he was. But still, she couldn’t stop seeing him up on that stage, baring himself for all to see. “I’m sorry about your father. That must be terribly hard to deal with.”
“Yeah,” he said in a slightly scratchy voice, as if his emotions were clogging his throat. “It’s been hard to see him deteriorate so quickly. But you know, people’s lives are complicated.” He picked up his coffee and took another drink, watching her over the rim.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come across as judgmental.”
“No one ever does.” A smile softened his rough edges, but it was a sad smile. One that said his mind was on his father, not her assumptions.
“It’s the teacher in me,” she said apologetically. “I see too many students throwing away their educations, and I completely misjudged you. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to watch your parent slip away like that.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s really not. You asked me if being a teacher is who I am, and I avoided answering.” Thinking of her sisters, she said, “I’ve been asked that a lot lately. I guess I’m trying to figure out the answer.”
His eyes swept assessingly over her face. “And how’s that going for you?”
“I’m not very good at stepping out of my comfort zone.” She surprised herself with her honesty, but Derek was being forthright, and the truth came easily.
“Like having coffee with a guy you almost ran over?”
She laughed softly. “Yes. I’m sorry about that, too. I’m really a very good driver, but my family was on Bluetooth doing their best to drive me crazy.”
“Don’t sweat it. My day needed a little livening up. I would do just about anything to have a crazy family around.”
“It’s just you and your father?”
He nodded and twisted the ring on his pinkie. “Team Grant. Since I was fourteen, when we lost my mother.”
“Oh, Derek. I’m so sorry. I seem to be saying that a lot to you.”
“You can stop,” he said with a low laugh. “I appreciate the sentiment, but this is part of life. I’m thankful I can be here for my dad. I’ve traveled all over the world, and I’ve seen too many orphans who never had a chance to know their parents. I’m pretty blessed.”
She was drawn in by his incredible outlook, and suddenly the things she and her sisters worried about felt silly, when he was dealing with so much. He seemed to have a solid grasp on life and what was important, and she wanted to know more about him. How did he stay so positive even after losing his mother, and now dealing with his father slipping away from an awful disease?
They talked about what it was like to care for his father and how he’d felt when he’d left his job and started bartending, and later, dancing.
“But doesn’t it bother you?” she asked carefully. “Objectifying yourself like that?”
“You never know what you’ll do until you’re forced into situations that push you out of your comfort zone,” he said with a spark of this hits home in his eyes. “You’re at the beginning of your journey, dabbling with stepping outside your comfort zone. I was thrust into mine without any thought or warning. I went from being a guy with a full-time accounting job to being a caretaker who needed a job that would allow me to change plans at the drop of a hat but offered a high enough income to create a life, and a future, for me and my father.”
He paused long enough for his harsh realities to sink in even deeper.
“I won’t apologize, or feel bad about myself, for getting up on that stage and earning the money I need,” he said earnestly. “As I said, it’s what I do, not who I am, and anyone who can’t see past that is too shortsighted to be around a guy like me anyway. I have a life that requires calmness, a focus on schedules and details. There are enough hard times on the road ahead of me. I don’t need to add feeling like shit about myself to them.”
“I understand.” And she did, which led to a host of conflicting emotions inside her.
The alarm on her phone sounded, indicating she had ten minutes to get to her next class. For the first time in forever, she wished she had more time to spend with a man, which startled her, because on the surface, Derek set off every warning bell she’d ever constructed.
“Duty calls,” she said more lightly than she felt. She reminded herself that in addition to being a male dancer, he was her student, but that did little to quell the desire she had to get to know him better. She rose to her feet and reached for her coat.
“Let me get that.” He helped her on with it. “Thank you for talking with me. I really enjoyed it.”
As she shouldered her bag, he put on his coat and slung his backpack over his shoulder.
“So did I. Good luck with your dad.”
“Thanks. I’m not trying to get an in with the teacher or anything, but since you’re trying to step outside your comfort zone, I wonder if you’d like a friend to come along when you walk your pooch tonight? I love animals, and I don’t get to spend much time with them.”
She should probably turn him down, if not for his dancing, then because of the student-teacher relationship. But he wasn’t asking her on a date, and she really enjoyed talking with him. Wasn’t this the perfect opportunity to take another step outside her comfort zone?
“She’s not my dog, but sure. I’d like that.”
He leaned closer, speaking in a low, sexy voice. “Ah, the plot of who Professor Dalton really is thickens. A dog walker? A secret pet stealer?”
She laughed as they headed for the door. “I’m helping my friend. Fletch is the professor for the class I teach on Monday and Wednesday afternoons, and Molly is his dog. Fletch’s appendix burst, and he ended up with peritonitis, which is why I’m teaching his class and walking Molly.”
“So you’re a caretaker, too?” He held the door open and put a hand on her back as she passed through, leaning in as he said, “See? We’re already finding out more about who you are, Professor Dalton.”
She stopped walking and he quickly dropped his hand, as if he realized he’d overstepped his bounds—which he had, but she wasn’t so sure she minded. “You can call me Talia, but please, not in class.”
“Talia. A feminine name for a beautiful woman.”
She felt her cheeks flush. It had been a long time since a man had called her beautiful, and it felt like more than a come-on. He was looking at her the same way he had the other night, making her feel like she was all he saw. They made plans to meet at the park at eight, and even though she knew she was treading a fine line, she told herself she could handle being friends with a student.
As she headed for her class, Derek called out to her, “You should call your family.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Tell them you stepped outside your comfort zone, you made a friend’s day, and you’re still alive.”