“Did you not see the way he was looking at you?! He wants you, bro.”

“He’s my professor, Knox! My fucking professor.”

“Yeah, yeah. He’ll be fuckin’ you, alright.”

“You sure you’re not burying your nose in the romance books beside Branson? Your mind sure works like one.”

“I’m just calling it like I see it. Sexual tension galore.”

“Where’s Aston?” I ask, changing the subject. Aston is Knox’s boyfriend. They used to hate each other up until a couple of years ago, but then they hate fucked until they fell in love. Now, they’re attached at the hip, which is why it’s weird he isn’t here.

“An art show downtown with his pottery class.”

“Right on. Are we ready to go?”

“For sure. Go pack for your romantic getaway with Professor Hottie.” He slides out of the booth, heading to the cash register. We go to lunch weekly and it’s his turn to pay. “Can’t wait to hear alllll about your raunchy hotel sex when you get back.”

“Fuck off.”

“Don’t forget to pack the condoms!” he yells across the restaurant as I’m walking out the door.

Spinning around to face him, I flip him off with both hands, before pushing the door open with my back.

I fucking wish this weekend would need condoms.

******

Unknown: Hey, Cash. It’s Stone.

Unknown: Hope you don’t mind; I snagged your number from your student bio for my class. Figured communicating via text may be easier than email.

Unknown: Anyway, I’ll be by to get you around nine, as discussed. See you.

Why am I so giddy over the fact that he went out of his way to get my phone number to text me? The wide grin on my face as I stare at those messages for the tenth time is ridiculous. Thank fuck Knox isn’t here to witness it. He’d never let me live it down. Motherfucker always thinks he’s right.

And he’s not right about this.

Stone is a hands-on, dedicated professor. That’s it. It’s why he invited me to go to the convention this weekend; because he knows my plans of becoming an English professor. He’s just being a good instructor. A good role model. That is all.

Plus, he’s married. Even if I wanted to go there—which, obviously, I do—I can’t.

Shoving my hoodie over my head and sliding my arms through, I grab my phone again, thumbing out a response to him. Because it would be rude not to… right?

Me: Hey, Professor Philips. Sounds good. See you in a bit. ;)