A Classroom Affair

The afternoon sun casts a warm glow on campus as I run down the empty hallways of my university. The weight of my backpack swings against my shoulders with each stride, and strands of auburn hair fly in my face as I run. A familiar pang of dread creeps up my spine with each passing second, and I can already picture the disapproving look on Mr. Irwin's face. As I reach the lecture hall, flushed and out of breath, I start rehearsing apologies and excuses as I swing the door open. Everyone, including Mr. Irwin, stops what they are doing to glance at the sudden commotion. The heavy silence weighs down on me as all eyes turn toward me. I'm late once again due to my alarm not going off and to make matters worse I couldn't find my uniform skirt. The plaid one I am currently wearing is breaking the dress code in at least five different ways, but at least I'm dressed.

Mr. Irwin pauses, a look of disdain plastering his handsome face. 'Ouch,' I think to myself. This isn't the first time I have been late for his class, and it probably won't be the last.

"Ah, Scarlett, I see you've finally decided to grace us with your presence today," he says dryly.

I wince at his sarcasm and walk across the room to where he's writing on the chalkboard. He takes notice of the extra skin I'm showing. My already flushed face gets even warmer while I yank the material down in hopes of covering my exposed thighs. Mr. Irwin lets out an exasperated sigh at my leisurely pace, so I lightly jog over and hold out the late slip. As the professor reaches for it, he looks away to answer a student, and it slips from his long fingers down to the floor. We both stare at the piece of paper lying on the floor, and I hear another sigh of frustration leave his lips. Some of my peers in the front row laugh at his expense, or maybe mine. Probably mine. He is the only professor I know who requires you to write on paper why you were late, and I swear it's to embarrass us from being tardy again in the future, but this is my third late slip, so I'm not sure it's working very well.

"Oops," I mutter under my breath.
I bend down at the knees to avoid any potential flashing and steal a glance up at him through my lashes, only to be met with a bored expression as he looks at me over the rim of his glasses. I quickly straighten up and pass him the late slip. His rough skin grazes over mine for barely a second, but it is enough to make my breath catch in my throat. I've had the silliest little crush on my professor ever since I saw him stroll into the classroom for the first time. He wore a simple dress shirt with slacks and loafers, but he captured my attention immediately and has had it ever since.

"Sorry, Mr. Irwin." I pout with big, wide eyes. I'm hoping he'll take pity on me. I fear one more tardy could knock me down a credit, and that's the last thing I need so close to the end of the semester. For a moment, there's a look in his dark green eyes that I can't discern, but it disappears with a blink. What was that? Annoyance? More disdain?

"Go on, Scarlett, get to your desk." He says, his voice low and commanding. God, it makes me weak in the knees.

I briskly walk to the back of the classroom, not wanting to prolong my disruption any longer, and plop down in an empty seat. Mr. Irwin continues his lecture about statistics and probability and how it relates to studies done in psychology. I love his class very much, but as soon as he introduced numbers, my brain began to go haywire. Math in any form is not my strong suit, but my passion for psychology is strong, so I power through it the best I can.

Half an hour later, I am finding it difficult to focus. My pen is hovering above my paper, but my mind has wandered far from taking notes. I stare blankly out of the window, wishing I could be walking along the shore. The beaches are so much better here in Australia than the ones back home in the States. I can almost feel the warm water and sand between my toes. I'll have to plan a beach trip soon with my mom—thoughts of my professor cloud my daydreams. I imagine him shirtless, wading through the gentle waves, tan skin glowing in the sun, his chocolatey-brown locks wet from the ocean spray. He beckons me to join him in the water-