Rachel
Oral perception.
Okay, so maybe the class was Aural Perception. Whatever. My mind was definitely all over the place as I sat in the back, watching Professor West teach about how different people—philosophers, composers, medical professionals, teenagers—conceptualize the act of listening. I remembered taking the course in my first year of undergrad school. I wasn’t sure if I had matured and could appreciate a lecture like this more at twenty-five than at barely twenty-one. At least now the particular professor lecturing was able to hold my rapt attention.
While I was busy listening, the beanie-wearing guy next to me was drawing nudes. He’d sketched a page of faceless bodies that were actually pretty amazing, even if they were sort of lewd and graphic. He shrugged when he caught me looking, smiled and whispered, “Gotta do something while this full-of-himself jerk drones on.”
Caine wasn’t a professor who sat at his desk to lecture. He wandered around the room and interacted with the students. “Listening can be broken down into categories: informative, appreciative, critical, relationship, perceptive, discriminative. The method and timing of delivery can affect what we hear. Tell me, where do you listen to music, how is it delivered, and who was the last musician you listened to?”
A bunch of hands flew up. A woman in the front answered, “On the train, delivered from my iPhone, and Adele.”
A male student responded, “I work at Madison Square Garden, so I get a lot of live music delivered at work. Last jam was Maroon 5 warming up.”
The lecture hall had two sets of stairs, one on either side of the wide middle row of seats. I was sitting at the top, in an aisle seat next to the left staircase. Caine walked up a few steps at a time, taking responses from different students as he went.
A few rows ahead of me, a guy with a long beard said, “In the truck. I work for UPS and listen through an aux cord. Last night was an old Slayer album.”
A woman on the opposite side of the stairs said, “At work. It’s piped in at the doctor’s office where I work as a receptionist. And it’s the same instrumental music over and over.”
“Seems like most people are getting their music delivered while traveling or at work. Anyone listen while doing anything else?” Caine walked up a few more stairs and stopped two below where I was seated. It gave me the perfect excuse to look at him, without overtly appearing to check him out. He spoke to another nearby student as I ogled.
Today he wore a dark suit vest buttoned over a white, textured dress shirt, sans tie. I wasn’t exactly a fashionista, but I knew expensive clothing when I saw it, and Caine shelled out more for his dress shirts than I did for most of my complete outfits. He had a rich elegance about him, even though he’d paired the shirt and vest with a pair of jeans and black chucks. His skin was naturally sun-kissed, so I was reasonably certain he was European in descent—perhaps Greek or Italian. I couldn’t quite place which, but whatever it was, it produced one hell of a chiseled man. His nose was straight and masculine, and from a profile view was as damn close to perfect as I’d ever seen. From the side, his dark lashes were magnificent. Any woman would pay a small fortune for the lushness that framed those chocolate-colored eyes. His jaw line was peppered with fresh stubble, and I found myself wondering what that might feel like against my skin. I was lost in that thought when I realized he was now looking right at me. He squinted, and I saw a hint of amusement in his eyes, even though he didn’t smile.
When he took another step up, I tried to seem nonchalant, as if I hadn’t been worshiping his ancestors, and looked forward—only to realize I was now perfectly aligned to stare at his crotch. I attempted to find somewhere else to put my eyes, but—was that...was that something in his pocket...or…? By the outline, I was pretty sure it wasn’t something. Or actually it was something—something damn impressive.
Caine twisted at the waist to call on a woman on the other side of the stairs, and his jeans pulled more snugly, confirming exactly what I was looking at. Figures the gorgeous man also had a big dick. I turned my head, needing to look away from his thick bulge, and beanie artist gave me a flirty smile. I smiled back…right before Caine called on him.
Beanie artist was the first student the professor called on who hadn’t volunteered by holding up his hand. Maybe he’d caught what the guy was doing and decided to bring him back into the fold of the class.
“What about you?” Caine’s voice was curt. “What was the last song you listened to, and how was it delivered?”
The guy smirked. “Some Pharrell, delivered from my Bose speakers in my bedroom while I was getting it on.”
The class snickered.
“Thank you, Mr.…”
Caine held out his hand to invite the man to fill in the blank, and he did. “Ludwig.”
Caine nodded and turned to head back to the front of the class. “All the examples today are appreciative listening. Before the next class, I want each of you to download Jason Derulo’s ‘Trumpets’.” Listen to it using whatever method you last appreciatively listened to music—with your headset on, while commuting on the train, in the truck while you’re working delivering packages, or, in Mr. Ludwig’s case, listening on his Bose at home while masturbating.”
The class cracked up.
“When you’re done, I want you to answer the questions on this page.” Caine began to hand out papers for the students in the first row to pass back. “This isn’t a test of any kind, so your answers should be honest. Don’t read the questions on the paper until after you’ve listened to the song once. Otherwise, your brain will be searching for the answers as you listen instead of truly appreciatively listening. In our next class, we’re going to compare the results you get with the results you’ll get while doing other types of listening.”
A few minutes later, the hour and a half class was over, and students piled out the door. I waited until the room had emptied and went down the stairs to the front to talk to Caine.
“On time and no stains on your clothing,” he said as he packed his laptop without looking up. “Impressive.”
“I’ve always considered fourth impressions the most important, you know.” I smiled.
Caine zipped his bag. While I’d thought our conversation was playful, apparently I was wrong. His tone was stern, and he leveled me with a look that matched. “You shouldn’t fraternize with students.”
“Fraternize?”
“Whatever you want to call it.”
“I don’t understand.”
He huffed. “Fuck. You shouldn’t fuck the students. Is that clearer, Rachel?”
“Well, yes, it’s clear what you meant now. But I’m not sure what would give you the impression I was screwing a student. I don’t sleep with college guys.”
“Does Mr. Ludwig know that?”
I had a feeling that’s what this was about. “You don’t need to worry about me giving anyone a preferential grade like your last TA. I promise.”
Caine held my gaze for a few seconds, possibly assessing my sincerity, then gave me a curt nod. “So, which princess is it?”
I furrowed my brows. Then I realized he must’ve caught the quiz I was doing in the back of In Style magazine before class began—Which Disney Princess are you? I’d tossed it on top of my book bag on the floor once class began.
“Jasmine from Aladdin.” I smiled.
“They get it right?”
“I like to think so. Jasmine is logical and skeptical.”
“You know those things are a bunch of crap, right?”
“God, I hope so. Last month I took one in Men’s Health called How healthy are your testicles?, and it wasn’t looking very good for me.”
Caine’s lip twitched. “Wiseass. You ready to finish going through the syllabus?”
“I have about an hour before I have to get to work.”
He lifted his bag from the desk. “Everything go okay with picking up your car?”
“Actually…no.”
“What happened?”
“When they took off the tire, they found my ball joints were bad—whatever they are. They’re replacing those, too, today.”
“You need a ride to work?”
“I can take the bus. There’s one right on campus that drops off two blocks from O’Leary’s.”
“I was going to suggest grabbing a bite while we finish up planning. I have a department meeting tonight and need to eat before then. Why don’t we grab a bite at O’Leary’s? Then you’ll already be at work when it’s time to start your shift.”
“That would be great. And I’ll treat.” I grinned. “Since our food will be free and all.”
“Looks like someone went to the supermarket?” Charlie looked over my shoulder at Caine standing behind me.
“Umm…no. This is Professor Caine West. I’m his teaching assistant at the music conservatory. Caine, this is Charlie. He owns O’Leary’s.”
Caine reached out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Charlie.”
Charlie shook. “You got a record, Professor?”
“A record?”
“Yeah. I don’t like my girl hanging out with trouble.”
I piped in. “Charlie—he’s my professor. I don’t think an interrogation is necessary.”
Charlie shot me a look. “Fine. But I’ll be keeping my eye on you.”
Caine didn’t seem bothered in the slightest by Charlie’s threat. If anything, he seemed amused. “Good to hear.”
Finally releasing their handshake, Charlie lightened up a bit. “What can I get you, Professor?”
“I’ll take whatever beer you have on tap. I was in here the other night. A friend of mine just moved in around the corner and said you made the best wings. But the kitchen had already closed for the night, so I didn’t get to try them. How about an order of wings?”
Charlie was old school. Two things made him like a man: A firm handshake and complimenting his wife’s wings. His face lit up proudly. “That’s my Audrey’s own secret recipe on those wings. Two orders coming right up. By the way, if you’re ever here after the kitchen closes, just let someone know you’re a friend of Charlie’s. My crew is pretty friendly.”
“Yes, they are. Rachel was very welcoming when we first met.” He glanced over at me with a wicked gleam in his eye. “I should have asked her to make me a batch. I’m sure she would have been happy to.”
None the wiser, Charlie poured Caine a beer and me a Diet Coke, and then headed to the kitchen to make our wings himself. It was that in-between time of the afternoon where the day crowd had gone home, but the evening crowd hadn’t started to trickle in yet, so there were only a few regulars sitting at the bar—most of whom were retired cops.
“Cute. Very cute, Professor.”
“I thought so.”
Caine and I went to sit at a quiet table in the corner where there was room for us to spread out and work while we ate. Since I was teaching the next lesson, he talked about what he wanted the students to take away from the assignment he’d given them today.
“The locked closet in the corner of the classroom has two hundred pair of Bose noise-cancelling headphones. Teach them about how appreciative listening can become critical listening just by changing the mode of delivery. Have them listen to the song I assigned again in the same place—on the train, or at work—only cutting out the background noise. Then have them answer the same questions I gave out today. At least half the class will notice things they didn’t the first time. The trumpets are synthesized.”
“They are?”
“It’s a good lesson on understanding the method of delivery and leads perfectly into the upcoming lessons on synthesized music.”
“Wow. Okay.” I furrowed my brow. “So, you let the students take home two hundred pair of Bose headphones? The professor didn’t do that when I took the class a few years back. The college has certainly upgraded from the crappy headphones they used to give out in music-recording class.”
“They’re mine, personally. Not the college’s.”
I did the math. That was at least five thousand dollars for one lesson. “What if you don’t get them back?”
“It’s never been an issue.”
I smirked. “Because all the students are afraid of you.”
“Unlike the smartass TA,” Caine muttered.
Charlie had his hands full with trays of wings, so he used his ass to push open the door that led from the kitchen. I slipped out of the booth to grab them from him.
“You should have whistled for me like you usually do. You shouldn’t be carrying trays with your back.”
“I didn’t want to interrupt your date.”
“It’s not a date.”
He looked over at Caine and shrugged. “Looks like a date to me.”
“It’s not,” I said flatly. “We’re working on lesson plans for class.”
“Whatever you say,” Charlie trailed off as he headed back to the bar.
I set the trays down at our table and noticed Caine’s beer mug was empty. “Want another beer?”
“If you’re joining me.”
“I don’t drink.”
Caine’s brows furrowed, but then an understanding crossed his face, and I realized what he’d thought.
“I’m not an alcoholic, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Okay.”
I really didn’t want to elaborate, but he was waiting for me to speak again.
“I grew up around alcoholism. At one point, I found myself drinking a little too much when my life was spinning out of control. I didn’t check myself into rehab or anything—I’m not a formal friend of Bill with a lifetime membership card or fancy sobriety chips—but I try to limit my drinking to celebrations and special occasions.”
The reason I didn’t normally elaborate was because people looked at me with sympathy in their eyes when I made such a statement. Oh. She had a bad childhood. Oddly, that wasn’t what I found on Caine’s face. His seemed to have admiration for what I’d just said, and I wasn’t sure what to do with that. It made me uncomfortable.
“So…I’ll grab you another beer, and I’ll have an O’Doul’s to join you.”
He smiled warmly. “Sounds good.”
When I returned to the table, I redirected the conversation back to work. “I was thinking—when it’s time to collect the Bose headphones from the class, I’m not touching Mr. Ludwig’s set. They need to be disinfected first.”
Caine’s beer was at his lips. “He was drawing you today, you know.”
“Drawing me? He was sketching headless women with great bodies.”
He sipped his beer. “And your point?”
“He wasn’t drawing me.”
Caine narrowed his eyes, and I got the feeling he was weighing whether or not to say whatever was on his mind. Apparently, he decided to go for it.
“You have two freckles on the left side of your neck.”
My hand flew to my neck. He was absolutely right, but my hair was covering them. “What are you talking about?”
“You have a tendency to push your hair to one side—the right side. I noticed them the other day when we were in my car.”
“Okay…”
Caine caught my eyes. “The sketches your friend was drawing. They had necks, but no heads.”
“Yes. I noticed them. They weren’t exactly appropriate to be drawing during class. But he’s a really good artist.”
“Yes, he pays attention to detail. All of the women had one thing in common.”
My eyes widened. “No.”
Caine nodded. “Two freckles on the left side of the neck. He was sketching you.”
“But he’s never seen me naked.”
“He has an imagination.” Caine’s eyes dipped down for a glance at my cleavage. They gleamed with wickedness when they returned to meet mine. “Pretty damn good one, I’d say.”
That caused a flutter in my belly that quickly traveled south.
Oh, God.
I tried to shake it off with a joke. “And this is why I don’t date frat boys. Needless to say, I won’t be collecting beanie boy’s headphones or sitting next to him anymore.”
“Good call.” Caine smiled. “Stick to men.”
He was right. Although I was starting to question whether my sticking to men meant getting stuck on one in particular.