Page 24 of Campus Daddies

There’s something to be said about watching your life back.

Because Braxton—Brax… God, that makes me a little bit warmer inside—is the obvious safe choice. Right? Maybe?

Aside from the fact that he’s Dad’s friend. That I’m the babysitter. None of that seems to put a weird lean on the tension between us. It’s not like I’m sixteen.

Even if he’s old enough to be my dad, he’s not. I’m an adult. And God, I bet he would be fun.

I shake myself out of it, close my computer, and pack up my stuff to go set up the Film Club’s movie night.

Collecting the movie from the library is easy, but when I’m back in the department, Professor Knight is hovering. The grin he gives me when he spots me doesn’t get by my notice this time. I’m far,fartoo aware of him now.

“Are you here to help?” My brow raises, already on defense.

“I am.” There is no need for the husk in his voice, especially here.

I roll my eyes. “You know how to set up the projector?”

His laugh is soft as he steps closer. “I do. Will it upset you if I take that on?”

My confusion must be written across my features because his smile is triumphant.

“It’s hard to know how much of my help you want.”

I blow out a breath and roll my eyes. “I’ll take your help with the projector, or I wouldn't have asked.”

“No? I thought you might want to rub it in my face if I didn’t.” Knight isn't offended by this in the least. Not with the way he leans against the counter that leads into the small kitchenette for the department.

“Oh, I definitely would have. But now, I simply get to put you to work.” I hand him the movie, smile, and step around him to the fridge. I stashed a few bottles of soda and juice inside, a bag of ice in the freezer. The cooler is in the supplies closet.

I also pop a few bags of popcorn to go with the chips to create a small spread. If they want anything more, they’ll need to bring it with them.

Outside at the back of the building, Knight has the projector in place, a square of white light blaring against the smooth, bare face of the building. I catch him following my movements as I put the goods I’m carrying down on the grass.

A fold out table is waiting for me, so I set it up, put out the spread, and turn back to Knight. This time, his attention is on the building—on what he’s doing.

Good.

I head back to the department and another closet full of blankets and chairs. I’m nice enough to grab two chairs so that Knight will have someplace to sit, too. He is actually being helpful, after all.

The spark of heat in his eyes when I bit my lip or fussed with my hair flashes through my mind. A reminder of the professional distance I need to maintain between us.

Back outside, Knight is chatting with a few of the students who have arrived. The early birds will pop up slowly, then they’ll all be here at once. It’s the way it always goes at these events. Especially since it’s open to the entire campus.

A great recruitment tool, as I’ve discovered.

I drag my goods up by the projector at the top of the small hill and set myself a little cocoon in my foldout chair with the bulky blanket I brought from the closet.

Professor Knight spots me and slowly makes his way back to our spot. His smile is sweet and playful. “Is that for me?”

He points to the folding chair on the opposite side of the projector. I nod. When he grabs the chair and moves it beside me, he plops down, and the chair’s arm bumps against mine.

At seven thirty sharp, we start the movie, calling for quiet as the beginning credits roll. I enjoyed this movie the first time I saw it.Interstellar.

It opens like a documentary before it devolves into deep-space action. The theories, which I am not equipped to unravel as truth or fiction, are an interesting push forward for the plot and characters.

I settle in a bit further, pulling the blanket higher over my shoulders even though it’s still warm. The chill will set in before too long, and it’ll get cold by the time the movie is over.

Besides, I’m hoarding my sour gummies in my lap. I brought them for me, and everyone else can bug off.

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