Page 7 of Bachelor

“I just want you to know I tried to have you placed with someone else over the weekend to the best of my ability.” He sighed heavily and took his glasses off to pinch the bridge of his nose like the entire situation gave him a serious migraine to even think about. “I couldn’t give a good enough reason for replacing you with someone else without making it sound like you weren’t qualified, which isn’t true—”

“Or that you and I are closer than the average student and professor?” I interrupted.

He eyed me for a moment before nodding. “So we’re stuck together.”

“I think you’ll find I’m perfectly capable of being your TA.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“Then what are you worried about, Rhys?”

His name on my tongue felt right, but the look in his eyes when he heard it threatened to shatter the wall I’d spend weeks building between us.

He didn’t answer my question. I couldn’t imagine what he’d even say. He moved on, handing me the binder that housed his syllabus and the schedule for the class, as well as a USB drive. “All of my presentations for the semester are on that drive. It’s entry-level stuff—definitions, practice quizzes.” He waved a hand in dismissal before leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Nothing you don’t already know by heart. The class list is included, as well. Mostly freshmen in this group, but a few sophomores and wayward juniors.”

“This shouldn’t be too difficult.” I scanned his syllabus, reading the fine print and class expectations. Twice a week, every Tuesday and Thursday, from five to six in the evenings. The class was in one of the newer buildings on campus—Hudson Hall, built roughly ten years ago. I skimmed through his lesson notes, acutely aware of his gaze lingering on my face.

I refused to blush or acknowledge the fact that he was watching me.

“Again, I’m sorry you’re in this situation.”

I looked up at him, more than a little peeved by the look on his face. “Stop apologizing. It’s not like you forced yourself on me.”

His cheeks went ruddy. “Whitney, you know what I mean.”

“What I mean,” I said with a bite to my voice, “is we made our bed, and now we have to sleep in it—together, apparently. I’m your TA, nothing more. I doubt I’ll see you at all other than dropping off their midterm papers. We can communicate over email and keep everything short. I don’t have much to say to you, Professor.” I regretted the last words instantly.

Rhys looked struck but said nothing.

“That’s not—I just meant—”

“I understand,” he cut in, his eyes focusing on a stack of papers on his desk. He absently picked up a pen. “If you don’t have any questions, I’ll reach out over email if anything comes up in regard to the class. Otherwise, that’s all I have.”

I stood, my knees slightly wobbly. He didn’t look up at me as I whipped my head around, my long dark hair flying over my shoulder and onto my back. The tension in the room was so thick I could have cut it with a knife. I felt like if I touched anything, I’d be shocked by static electricity.

I gingerly curled my fingers on the doorknob, expecting a jolt of energy to shoot up my arm, but was met with the cool bite of brass and a sinking sensation in my stomach.

There was so much I wanted to say to him, to ask him, but even after weeks of trying to wrap my head around my feelings for this man, this professor, this person I’d fallen head over heels for in a matter of minutes... I couldn’t form to describe it. Not how I felt, not how he’d totally upended my life and made me question everything I’d ever wanted.

“Whitney,” he said, and I turned around before I could stop myself. He stood, palms pressed against his desk, his muscles straining against his cream-colored flannel. “I’m sorry for everything I put you through.”

“Please don’t say that,” I whispered, finding it impossible to swallow as a lump formed in my throat. “It’s fine. It’s over. There’s nothing more to say.”

I left his office in pieces, unable to stop myself from spiraling into that dark, dismal pool of heartache I’d clawed my way out of over Christmas break. Hollis Hall felt like it was caving in on me as I hurried out, checking my watch to make sure I could make it to the arts building in time for my first class of the semester.

I let the feelings of rejection and heartbreak fester into something new, something dark, something that threatened to eat me alive if I dwelled on it too much. Something I’d honed into a weapon all my life: anger.

I could be angry and function. I’d grown up angry, balking and pushing against my parents’ heavy expectations every chance I got. I’d replaced my grief of the rift in my relationship with them with anger, and it was suiting me just fine. Why not do the same with Rhys?

I didn’t realize I was scowling until my eyebrows started to burn with the strain of keeping them furrowed. I relaxed my expression, hiking my backpack—a present from Jessica’s father, reflecting tape included—over my shoulders and set my sights on the Julian Wallen Department of the Arts building. It was the most beautiful building on campus, in my opinion. In the summer, vines of blooming ivy snaked all the way up to the clock tower, and the stained glass windows on the first and second floors reflected multicolored light all over the pavilion directly in front of the entrance.

It was a beautiful view that was quickly ruined by Christian, who’d been walking in a different direction before spotting me and beelining toward me.

“Damn it,” I hissed, pretending like I hadn’t seen him, but it was too late. He was gaining on me, but I was only twenty yards away from the front entrance of the arts building.

“Whitney, stop,” he growled, pointing his finger at me. His private high school’s class ring glinted on his pinky finger as he closed the distance between us and moved side to side as I tried to walk around him.

“What do you want, Christian?” I snapped, losing my patience entirely.

---