Page 51 of The Naughty Professor
My inbox was the same wasteland as always—faculty memos, reminders, committee spam—but one email stood out.
From: Joan Stanwyk.Subject line: Department Meeting—Attendance Required.
No greeting, no smiley-face signature, no clipped witticism about departmental “synergy.”Just two dry lines: Meeting Friday, 2 p.m.Attendance mandatory.
That was… uncharacteristically brief.
Normally, Joan liked to lace her emails with passive-aggressive flair.She could write an entire paragraph that said “You’re incompetent” without using the word once.
I leaned back, smirking.She’d been at Badlands last night—dressed like she’d raided her daughter’s closet, if she had one.
I pulled out my phone and opened the camera roll.There it was: the photo I’d taken just to prove to myself that I wasn’t hallucinating.And for insurance, if she ever tried anything on me.Joan Stanwyk, queen of tailored suits and moral superiority, partying at Badlands in a black mini-skirt and a blouse that looked spray-painted on.
“Good Lord,” I muttered, chuckling under my breath.“She’s probably nursing the hangover of the century.”
I set the phone down but didn’t put it away.My thumb hovered for a moment, then scrolled back through my gallery.No photos of him, but the memory was there anyway—the way Felix had looked in that red glittery thong, the way his hands had trembled when I’d touched him, the way all that nervous energy had melted into something tender and sure.
I glanced at the clock on the wall.Nearly four.
Felix’s last class should be ending soon.
God, why hadn’t I asked for his number?We’d spent the night together, for Christ’s sake, and it never even occurred to me to say, Hey, can I call you sometime?
I shut the monitor off and stood.The idea hit before I could talk myself out of it.
I could just… stop by.Return his belt.There wasn’t anything weird about that.Two colleagues, same campus, one mildly scandalous accessory.After grabbing his belt out of my bottom desk drawer, I walked through the empty classroom, my heart thudding harder than it should have for a man my age.When I reached the door, I froze with my hand on the knob.
What if I’d read it wrong?What if last night had been just a one-time thing for him?
But no.I remembered the way he’d touched me, and the way he’d whispered my name like it meant something.That hadn’t felt like a one-night stand.
* * *
The afternoon sun slanted through the tall windows lining the hallway, painting long golden stripes across the floor.I gripped Felix’s belt in one hand and slipped the other into my pocket, trying to look like a man simply taking a stroll through the building—not one nervously on his way downstairs to return another man’s clothing accessory.
Students streamed past me in clumps, laughing, earbuds in, entirely oblivious to the middle-aged philosophy professor with butterflies in his stomach.I was halfway down the corridor toward the stairwell when someone called my name.
“Thorne!Oh, Thoooorne!”
I turned, startled.
Lorna Hernandez came bustling toward me from the opposite end of the hall like she was making a grand entrance on opening night—heels clicking, red hair bouncing, bangles flashing in the sunlight pouring through the windows.Before I could react, she threw her arms around me.
“Lorna?”I managed, patting her awkwardly on the shoulder.“Are you… hugging me?”
She pulled back and winked.“Oh, honey, we had so much fun last night!”
“Fun?”
“At Badlands!”she gushed.“You, me, Joan, the glitter and the dancers—what a night!”
I blinked at her.“Yes, it was… memorable.”
She laughed brightly.“Memorable!Oh, you are killing me.Have you seen the video yet?”
“What video?”
Lorna’s grin turned conspiratorial.She whipped her phone out of her purse like a magician producing a rabbit.“Don’t tell me you haven’t seen it!”
