Page 8 of Falling for the Quarterback

And with that, I head off to Cameron Hall.

ChapterThree

Charlotte

Nerves have settled in my belly, jostling the three bites of toast I ate earlier for breakfast, as I decide on my first day of class attire. Searching my wardrobe, I begin rifling through all my clothing options, which honestly feel too similar to Queen Elizabeth’s matronly attire. Old and outdated.

I grouse at my decision not to go shopping before I started my position. Although, to be fair, I didn’t have a lot of time because I only had three weeks to move once they made me the offer.

Finally narrowing it down, I select button-down cream top and a pair of high-waisted black pleated trousers with a large black belt. Looking in the full-length mirror, I realize the black bra I’m wearing can clearly be seen through the top’s material, so I exchange it for a white lace one, then fiddle with the buttons on the blouse. I don’t want to look too conservative, so I unbutton the top two pearl buttons and check to make sure neither my cleavage nor my bra can be seen.

Satisfied I look the part, I wrap my long strawberry-blonde hair low against my nape and tie it into a tight bun to keep it from falling into my face. Then I touch up my makeup and add some mascara before I leave the small off-campus bungalow the university has rented me for the academic year.

Although my interview was back in March—during my infamous one-night-stand with Hendy—the university took its sweet time in finally offering me a tenure-track position in the business school just three weeks ago. My teaching and classes are mainly focused on digital marketing and the European markets, and I’ll have three graduate program classes this semester while I also begin my research paper on global marketing management.

There were only a few weeks to get everything in order back in Boston, then drive my belongings out west and get situated in Clearview Falls. I’ve barely had time to acclimate myself to campus since I arrived in town.

The beauty of living so close to this gorgeous university is I can walk the five blocks along tree-lined streets. Sure, Boston had all the seasons, but it didn’t have the lush landscape of trees and mountainous background where fall is just beginning to begin show through the change of colors.

As I make it to the quad on campus, I look around in awe at how vastly my life has changed this past year. Starting today, all my hopes and dreams and everything I’ve worked for all these years have come to fruition.

God, I hope I do well. Ineedthis job. I’ve given everything for this opportunity and want nothing more than to make something of myself without any help from my father.

Inside my purse, my phone pings with an incoming text.

Dean Brian Becker: Good luck today! Not that you need it. Don’t forget the welcome faculty meeting later.

Me: Thank you. I’ll be sure to be there after class.

I smile. The dean wishing me luck is like a good omen, right? I inhale deeply, taking in the scent of freshly cut grass and foliage, and begin to walk toward the student center where I’ll grab a coffee in the café before I head to my office in Cameron Hall. There are students everywhere along the quad, young people milling about, catching up with friends and classmates, sitting on blankets on the grassy lawns or on benches with books. I fight the urge to smile again.

I’m a full-fledged assistant professor now. Bloody hell, I actually did it! On my own, I might add, without the help of my father, Dr. Andrew Phillip Butler.

Entering the commons building, I look down at my phone to find a few other text messages from Ana and a few friends from Boston all wishing me luck today. I begin to type out my response when I bump someone’s shoulder.

An apology is just on my tongue when I look back to see the backs of two female students land their male friend walking out the door, just out of earshot.

A strange sense of déjà vu hits my senses. A memory of the man and the scent of his cologne brings back the reminder of my night spent with Hendy all those months ago. It’s pathetic that I’m still thinking about this man, who is nowhere in the vicinity and has no reason to be on campus. He’d told me he was set to graduate from college last spring, so there’s no way the man in line would’ve been him.

I shake off the ridiculous thought and head toward the very long coffee line.

This daydreaming about a man I had a one-night stand with over six months ago has got to stop. It’s done, over, and I’ll never see him again.

But that’s easier said than done because that night had a searing effect on me. It was the best sex of my life, and despite the fact that we were perfect strangers, I felt a strong connection to him.

Hendy was funny, respectful, and insatiable. And while he was a few years younger than me, the age difference didn’t bother me as much as I thought it would. The endurance and stamina he had from his youthful virility didn’t hurt either.

“That’s right, gorgeous. I’m going to make you come again, and again, and again…”

Someone from afar calls out, “Watch out!” and I duck just in time to avoid being pelted in the head with an incoming Frisbee. Another male voice yells, “Sorry!” and I give them a wave as I continue walking.

Pay attention, Charlotte, I chastise myself. Stop this excessive obsession over Hendy and his great sex skills and focus on the present.

As I walk into Cameron Hall, I click through today’s agenda. I have several lectures to prep for, which means I need to get my head in the game.

Cameron Hall is where most of my lectures will be held and which also houses my office.

My office.

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