Mystery Master

Seven Different Kinds Of No-Fuckin-Way.

It was the first day of the semester and I was late. It was odd, this lateness was in fact something that had perpetuated throughout my whole academic career. I was always late or absent on the first day of classes, it was like I couldn't actually bring myself to be there on time. But this, this really took the cake, this was graduate school, and not just any graduate school. I was enrolled at one of the most prestigious universities in the world, I had a full scholarship and I was late.

My feet couldn't move fast enough as I ran down the hall, my legs burned as I pushed passed students and faculty in the old hallway. It was stuffy and somehow full of people, people who all looked at me like I was some form of oddity hurrying as I was. Maybe it was because I was a stranger in a strange land. Or maybe it was because they had the sense I was lacking and actually woke up when their alarm clock went off. Either way, they stared as I multitasked to the upmost, checking the numbers printed above the wooden doors, while running down the hall and sending a quick text to my cousin. I swallowed and let out a sigh as I stopped in front of the door, peering into the room at the twenty or so seated students. The only thought really on my mind was why the fuck couldn't the door have been closer to the back. As it was the heavy wooden door sat at the very front of the room.

Yet, surprisingly enough, there wasn't a professor in sight, which confused me until I turned to look at the clock. That was when I came face to face with—well more like face to chest with—a tall man with mischievous blue eyes. I was a sucker for good eyes and his were amazing; looking at them you could tell he had a great sense of humor. He had the very definition of smiling eyes.

"Looking for someone?" he spoke with a thick British accent and a smirk spreading his surprisingly kissable lips.

"I—" I swallowed. "Well, the professor... I thought I was late but apparently they aren't here yet."

"Ah well, I would suggest going into the classroom then." He reached for the door and grabbed the handle—he actually held the door open for me the simple act made my heart pound. I went in before him and took a seat in the back. He, however, did not follow to the back of the room to take a seat. He didn't take a seat at all. Instead, he set his brown leather messenger bag down behind the lectern and pulled out a flash drive and a folder. And I stared slack-jawed and shocked at the gorgeous man who was...hopefully just a teacher's aid.

"Sorry for being late, I had a bit of row with the department chair." He took a breath and grinned, "Who by the by is a complete idiot. No... that's wrong. He is not an idiot. He's simply not very well versed in how much we will have to cover in this class and how two hours a day three days a week is barely enough time to even scrape the surface of Tudor court life. He's a very nice fellow but knows very little about the Tudor period for an Englishman," he continued speaking about the course and I just stared.

He couldn't be a professor. He was too young, too attractive. Oxford Dons were supposed to be wrinkly old men in jackets with tweed patches who wore glasses, drank port and smoked pipes. The very fact that he was young-ish, attractive, happy, playful and wearing a dark blue sport coat over a black shirt without a tie seemed very... wrong. This was an impossibility. I almost took out my cell phone to text my cousin but I didn't. I just sat still at my seat with my bag on the table in front of me and tried not to look at him. Maybe he was just filling in?

"I know many of you who are new don't know me, but I'm Dr. Ethan Adler. If you haven't taken one of my courses before the name might seem familiar if you have ordered your text books already that is," he laughed and held up the book. "I have two doctorates one in history with a focus on the Tudor Period and one which I will never ever use, in Medieval literature; It has been fifteen years since I received them and I am still confused to this day why I even took the time to go down that dark path," he paused and took a breath and I did math—he couldn't be in his forties. However, he looked directly at me and said: "For those of you wondering I'm only thirty six. And no, I was not the youngest professor ever. I missed that by two years and one hundred and some odd days. I might have been the youngest history professor, but they don't specialize like that or at least they never asked me about such a thing. However, on this campus, yes I am the youngest professor. Yes, I was one of those child prodigies. Also, yes being a child prodigy has buggered me up socially so if you have little prodigies someday I recommend against pushing them," he went on to speak on the syllabus and I turned him out and kind of stared blankly at him. I did, however, pull out my phone and covertly google him with my phone sheltered in my bag. He had a slew of books under his belt, even more articles.