Chapter Thirteen
Zach
The fucking thermostat was broken again. After getting my laptop set up and connected to the projector at the front of the classroom, I pulled my sweater off and shoved it in my bag. Being dressed in just a t-shirt and jeans wasn’t the most professional, but the university didn’t have a strict dress code for the staff, and I really didn’t feel like leading this presentation while sweating my balls off.
I walked across the room and read the digital thermostat. It was stuck on seventy-eight degrees, just as I suspected. I’d call building maintenance later, but right now, there was no time. The first students were filing in and taking seats around the room. I couldn’t help but notice Poppy wasn’t among them. For a moment, I wondered if maybe she wouldn’t show up at all, then decided that wasn’t Poppy. No matter how confusing things were between us, Poppy was nothing if not professional. She would be here.
But as more students filtered in, and the small auditorium was nearly full, I couldn’t help but wonder if she was going to purposefully arrive late, just so she didn’t have to chance finding me alone in the classroom. Because really, what was there to say to each other? We’d gone out on an amazing date, gone back to my place and shared an amazing kiss. God, it was just a kiss. But when had kissing been like that? So raw and wild and passionate? I thought about the way she’d climbed into my lap, rocking her pussy up against my cock. And then things had escalated quickly from there, until I’d pulled down her jeans and panties to bury my face between her thighs. And when Poppy had come all over my mouth?
Christ.
I had to take a deep breath, and refocus myself so I didn’t become aroused in front of a classroom full of students. Poppy had been so perfect—so soft and responsive in my arms, making the most adorably sexy cries of pleasure as I kissed her and touched her. But then something changed in her and everything had stopped.
I knew on paper we didn’t make sense. I got that. But I was willing to say fuck it and at least try—to see where things went. But apparently, she wasn’t.
I knew when I saw her, I'd have to pretend that nothing had happened between us. I'd have to be professional and civil, not cold or unfeeling in any way that might make her think I was bothered by what she'd said or done when she left me high and dry on Saturday night. Because truly I wasn’t upset about that. Sex should be positive and safe, and comfortable and if Poppy wasn’t ready for that, I would wait. What bothered me the most was that she was shutting down any remote possibility of their being an us.
But I also knew we couldn't continue on the way we'd been. I couldn't offer her secret smiles or tease her in front of her fellow students. I couldn't even do that in private anymore. I needed to be the adult here and respect her wishes. And her wish—at least, the one she was willing to say out loud—was to never see me in a romantic capacity again.
I took my spot at the front of the classroom, and when I looked up—there she was. With her laptop bag slung over her shoulder, and dressed in an oversized sweater and leggings, Poppy looked irresistible.
I was supposed to be presenting on the internships, fellowships, and grants available for these student writers. Instead my brain was occupied with thoughts of one student in particular—the infuriatingly perfect girl who didn’t even trust herself to meet my gaze.
I couldn’t help the frown that tugged on my mouth while I watched her find an open seat. She pulled out a notebook and pen, readying herself for the presentation, and never made eye contact. That fact alone stung more than everything else.
Yet, after everything we shared, it was as though Poppy was ready to wipe me from her memory. As badly as I wanted things to be different, I was starting to realize that perhaps it was time to move on.
But then her gaze fell on me, and I was all too aware of the bright blush that painted her cheeks. I was careful to sweep past her, focusing instead on a girl with bushy eyebrows a few rows behind her.
"Hello everyone. Some of you already know me as your advisor, but my name is Zach Austin, and we're here today to talk about the most important thing in the world."
I glanced around the room again, studying one student's set of SpongeBob pajama pants before pointing to the boy they belonged to.
"What's your name?"
"Tad."
"Ok, Tad," I said. "How is your semester going?"
"Busy." The boy shrugged.
"Busy." I nodded. "Right. I'm sure that's the case for all of you. I'm not an idiot. I know most of you work full-time, some of you have families, and on top of that you're going to three-hour-long classes to advance your career." I clapped. "That's a lot for anyone. Which is why I have some bad news for you. It only gets worse from here."
Silence greeted my words and I sat back on the desk behind me, bracing myself against the wooden top. Pointing to the girl behind Poppy, I said, "Have you thought about your thesis at all?"
The woman blinked. "I mean, I wrote about it in my declaration of intent when I applied."
"But since then. What have you done with it?"
"Well..." She looked around. "It's been busy."
"Ah. And here's where we come to the important part. See, I don't hold this little graduate pow-wow because I like seeing all your smiling faces. I do it because I need you to understand something—It. Only. Gets. Worse. From. Here. Just like most schooling, graduate school is going to get harder over time so that little idea you had for a thesis when you were applying to study here? You need to flesh it out. You need to explore it. You need to work on it whenever you have a free moment because free moments are going to become very hard to come by. And two years isn’t that long."
A few of the students looked at each other and Poppy glanced down at her open notebook, her cheeks still a bright, pretty pink.
Don’t.
"This week, I encourage all of you to drill down into your thesis projects and really figure out what you need to do to succeed and get on the right schedule. Talk to your advisors. Learn to trust them. They have your best interest at heart, truly."
Poppy scribbled something in her notebook, but I continued to ignore her, looking at another girl with auburn hair and splotchy red spots on her face. She raised her hand and I pointed to her.
"Yes?"
"Can you go over the finer points of the thesis?"
I turned to the board, doing as she asked while bullet pointing the more fundamental parts of the project.
When I turned around, though, Poppy's hand was in the air.
My heart dropped into my gut, but I pointed to her all the same. "Yes?"
"Does the English Symposium on campus count toward our final graded presentation?"
"No," I said simply, then swept to the other side of the room. "Now, keep in mind that the department offers lots of scholarships and grants toward furthering your learning. I implore you to look into them and discuss your options with your advisor. For any other questions, you can also look to your adviser for help. They are your lifeline here on campus. Trust them."
I raised my eyebrows.
"Any other questions?"
When the room was silent again, I clapped my hands together. "Great, now get out there and seize the day. Good luck on your midterms. Good luck on those thesis projects."
I stalked back toward my desk and grabbed my briefcase quickly, careful not to look behind me at the meandering, shuffling students as I climbed the stairs again and bolted for my office. If I did, I was sure I would find Poppy’s gaze trailing after me, all her unspoken questions hanging in the air between us.
But today was not going to be about Poppy. Not again. Today was the first day of the rest of my life and I was determined to move on, take my own advice, and dive into my work with all the gusto it required to finally get my manuscript finished.
A knock sounded on my door and I glanced up to find Poppy in the open doorframe, her backpack slung lazily over one shoulder.
Today her hair was pulled into a tight ponytail and her oversized sweater had slid off of one shoulder, exposing the delicate skin.
"Yes?" I said. "How can I help you?"
She bit her bottom lip then stepped into my office and shut the door behind her. "I was hoping you had a few minutes to talk to me."
"What about?" I asked, trying again to feign nonchalance as my pulse pounded in my ears.
I couldn’t escape the memories of grinding her pussy into my face—the scent of her all warm and feminine and sweet.
She swallowed hard and then dropped into the seat opposite my desk. "I think I might be better off with a new advisor."
"I'm sorry?" I asked, raising my eyebrows and pretending that wasn’t like a sucker punch straight to the windpipe.
She glanced at the corner of the room, then forced herself to meet my gaze. "I think I ought to get a new advisor. You just talked so much in the meeting about how there needs to be a good partnership between advisor and advisee and how your advisor is your lifeline and—"
"And you don't think I can be that for you," I prompted, my voice chilly.
She shook her head. "It's not that. You're a great adviser and you've really improved my work, but I feel like if we continue on this way—"
"You can't trust me to be professional?" I tried again.
"Look, Zach."
"Poppy, " I said, folding my hands on the desk in front of me. "You don't have anything to worry about. The most important thing here is your work. You can trust me to respect your boundaries and remain professional. But, if you feel there's another member of the faculty who would suit your needs better, you are certainly welcome to change your advisor."
"You’ve been helpful. I just feel...well, you barely looked at me in there." She gestured toward the hall. “I…didn’t like it. Or the way it made me feel.”
"I think you might be reading into things. Give it time, and everything will go back to normal."
She nodded. "Yeah, okay, maybe. I know I sound fickle and I just want…”
“Look, this is what you said you wanted, Poppy. I’m trying but you’ve got to give me a little leeway to find my feet, okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I understand.”
“Great. Now is there anything else you need help with?"
"No, I think I'm okay."
It was clear she wasn’t. Neither of us was, but what else was there to say?
"Excellent." A moment of tension weighed on the space between us and then she straightened her backpack on her shoulder and made her way back to the door.
"Okay, well, thanks for talking it out with me."
"Any time. What are advisors for?"
She disappeared through the door, thankfully shutting it again behind her so I could lay my head on my desk and think of all the ways I could have handled myself better. I didn't know how it would be normal to ever be around her again, not when my libido was screaming at me even now to chase after her, but I knew I needed to move on…
* * *
Since my brain was so spun up over thoughts of Poppy, I decided a good old-fashioned dose of testosterone might do me some good. It was either that, or lose my fucking marbles over a case of blue balls.
One of my best friends from my college, Brandon, was always hassling me about coming out with the guys in his bowling league, and I'd always adamantly refused. But earlier this week, I'd texted him to find out if the offer still stood. Of course, he'd replied, which is how I found myself pulling into a rundown tavern at nine o'clock on a work night. Brandon said his league came here after their games for cheap beer and hot wings.
It was just the sort of masculine activity to keep my head on straight.
"Hey! There he is." Brandon rose to his feet when he spotted me across the bar, and waved me over to their table near the bar. "Can't believe you actually fucking came," he said, motioning to the empty chair beside him. "Guys, this is Zach."
"Hey." I gave a non-committal half-wave. "You guys win tonight?"
There were grumbles and some curse words traded among the half-dozen or so men and that, paired with the six pitchers of beer on the table, gave me all the answer I needed. "Better luck next time."
Brandon shrugged. "Ignore them. The league we competed against tonight is notoriously shitty, so we thought we had this one in the bag. Played too fast and loose. We'll be golden next week."
I nodded, watched the waitress approach. "Another pint glass, or would you like to order something different?"
"Yeah, bring him a glass," Brandon said.
"And a round of shots for the table. Something strong. Patrón?" I asked, handing her my credit card.
She nodded. "Right away."
"Thanks, buddy. You didn't have to do that," Brandon said.
I settled in, pouring myself a glass of beer, and listening while my friend filled me in on the latest. Brandon was recently married to his college sweetheart, and they were talking about trying for a baby soon.
"Holy shit, man. That's huge. Congrats." I gave him a thump on the back.
He shot me a smirk. "So, what gives, man? I've invited you out with us a dozen times. Why now? Why tonight?"
I'd been hoping to avoid this question. And thought I'd be able to. Brandon's fun, but he isn't the most perceptive person in the world.
I took another swig of my beer, stalling. "You picked up on that, huh?"
He shot me a pointed stare. "Doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out something's up, dude."
I shrugged. "I suppose not."
Our shots were delivered, and the guys lifted their glasses, toasting to next week, and then Brandon was looking at me again from over the rim of his beer glass. "You writing anything lately?" he asked.
"Been working on something, yeah."
He shook his head. "I don't get how you do that."
"What? Write a book?"
He nodded.
I chuckled. "It's not as hard as it seems."
He shrugged. “The first few pages, maybe, even a chapter, sure. But an entire book? It's beyond me, man."
I considered his sentiment. It was funny, because when I first began writing I used to feel the same way. I remembered the pain of having to write my first twenty-page paper in high school.
"You just don't stop," I said, like that cleared everything up.
Brandon shook his head. "If you say so. Hey, thanks again for looking out for Josh at that party."
"Of course."
My brain helpfully supplied that it was that party—that chance encounter where I’d first met Poppy.
“So, anyone special in your life?” Brandon asked. “I’ve gotta tell you, married life is pretty fucking awesome, bro.”
He grinned at me, and the desire to punch him square in the jaw flared up out of nowhere. I took a long drink of my beer instead.
“Not a fucking soul,” I said.
He grinned at me. “Might be able to help you there…”