Page 9 of Falling for the Quarterback

A jolt of excitement hits me in the gut, sending slivers of nerves through my bloodstream as I review my lecture notes and prepare my first presentation as an assistant professor.

“You can do this,” I quietly encourage myself, with more bravado than I actually feel. I gather up my things, lock my office door, and walk down to the small seminar room where I’ll be teaching my first class of grad students today.

Making my way to the front of the classroom, I set down my laptop bag and coffee and peruse the roster of the fifteen students that are scheduled to be here today. Not nearly as daunting as a lecture hall full of over one hundred students like I used to teach back in my PhD days. Those were extremely nerve-racking, and it makes me even more grateful to be teaching at a small university and not a big one like in Boston.

Extracting my laptop from my bag, I set it on the podium and hook it up to the HDMI cord using the classroom’s technology. With a deep breath, I hit a button and voilà, my slideshow appears on the screen.

Phew. Alright, at least I got that working. I’m concentrating on the curriculum when I hear a soft muffle of voices carrying down the stairs of the room as a few students begin filing in. I soon sense someone standing in front of me, and I look up to find a young man with dark auburn hair and a caterpillar mustache smiling at me.

“Hi, Professor Butler. I’m Chad Watkins,” he greets me congenially. “I checked with the Registrar last week about adding your class and they said it’s full. But would you mind if I audited today on the off-chance someone drops it?” His eyes and voice are full of hope. Poor guy. I’d hate to shatter it. I remember those days trying to play hopscotch in order to get in a class I needed to graduate.

“Sure, Chad. I can reach out to the dean and registrar’s office, too, and see if we can’t get you added. I know they like caps on the classes, but I hardly think sixteen people will break the system. I’m sure we have room,” I say, offering him a warm smile and a gesture toward the room that can hold up to thirty. “But I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks, Professor. I really appreciate it,” he says. “I’ll just take a seat in the back.”

I nod and a glow of pride covers my cheeks at the use of the term Professor as I watch him walk off to find a seat. I glance at the time on the clock and am about to start class and take roll call when my gaze scans over the room of bright-eyed students and lands on a familiar face.

I freeze.

I blink.

I nearly collapse.

Oh, no.

No, no, no.

This can’t be happening.

This must be a hallucination or a figment of my imagination brought on by nerves. What else could explain the reason that Hendy is sitting in my classroom?

My heart hammers wildly in my chest as I stare in confused shock at Hendy, who doesn’t seem to notice me because he’s chatting with a girl sitting next to him.

Why the hell is he here in my class? When we met, he’d told me he would be graduating from college last spring. I never even thought to ask where he went to school, either. It seemed pointless considering I wasn’t there to get to know him. He was simply going to fuck my brains out. And he did just that.

So I’m absolutely gobsmacked by this turn of events. This is madness.

My hot ski-vacation hookup is sitting in my seminar looking even better than he did six months ago.

He wears a black CFU Bears T-shirt that molds over his chest and biceps. A similarly embroidered hat sits low on his head, covering eyes that I know to be a brilliant blue. His square jawline is even more accentuated now with the lack of a beard and it makes him look even younger.

All my efforts to keep those memories of our night together fails and what he did to my body comes rushing back in a flood of senses.

His beard bristle tickles my lips as he presses his hot mouth to mine. Hot damn, this guy can kiss.

Our kiss goes from hot to scorching lava in under twenty seconds and I feel his hardened erection against my stomach when he presses me against the wall. His hand runs a calculated path over my clothed body and I reach up and slip my fingers through his hair.

“Too many clothes,” he mumbles against my lips. I hum my agreement.

I’m not sure how we do it without breaking the kiss, but we each take off single items of clothes until we’re both naked and panting. Then he takes a step back and his eyes drift over my body, devouring me with his hungry gaze.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

The flush that rises over my skin from those three simple words is my undoing. I lay back on the bed, spread my legs, and beckon him to crawl on top of me. His body is taut and firm and my hands roam with abandon, tracing the curves and valleys of this incredibly sexy man.

Not wanting to get too far ahead but knowing where this is going to lead, I manage to let a word escape my addled brain.

“Condom.”

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