5. Xander

5

Xander

“I’m sorry, Ms. Anderson, but skimming SparkNotes doesn’t qualify as reading the novel.” The start of a semester is always chaotic. During the first few days of classes, students wander the halls, figuring out where classrooms are, picking up new courses or dropping ones they shouldn’t have signed up for in the first place. I seem to have more than my share of those this semester, but that comes with the intro level classes. And as an untenured professor, I still get saddled with them. And students who’ve never had to study before. “It’s up to you to come prepared for class. This isn’t high school. There’s no more coasting to an easy A.”

Kirsten Anderson shuffles her textbooks onto her hip and leans forward, her ample cleavage almost spilling out of her low-cut sweater. “Sorry Dr. Neilsen.” I keep my eyes on hers, not remotely tempted to look elsewhere. “I promise to do better. Is there any way you could tutor me? A one-on-one session?” She bats her eyelashes, and it’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. Just once, I’d appreciate some originality.

“Ms. Anderson, I am not in the habit of tutoring my students, one-on-one or otherwise. If you need extra help, you can see Toby, my TA. That’s why he’s here. And if you still find you’re struggling with something you can schedule an appointment. I have office hours for that.” I turn to my desk and close my laptop, sliding it into my messenger bag. “But I won’t be doing the work for you, or going easy on you. Do the work and you’ll earn the grade.”

Unfortunately, Ms. Anderson doesn’t take the hint. “There’s nothing I can do to get some extra credit? I’d do anything.” She steps close and strokes my arm.

I immediately put distance between us. This is not my first semester of teaching, and I’m well aware of the things some students will resort to for grades. “Ms. Anderson.” I load my voice with all the disdain I’m feeling. “I’m not sure if your innuendo is intentional, or if you really do expect I’ll give you, or any student, extra credit for any reason. I don’t give extra credit. Ever. My students do the work and receive the grades they earn. I’m not swayed by a pretty face or décolletage.” I pull on my coat. “There’s still time to drop the class without penalty, and I suggest you do so. However, if you plan to remain in my class,”—I truly hope she doesn’t choose that option—“I suggest you return to your dorm room, or the library, and begin the next reading assignment.”

As expected, she doesn’t give up that easily. Points to her for tenacity, even if it is futile. She bursts into tears, working up to a good sob, making noises as if she’s actually trying to convey sentences. When that doesn’t sway me, the crying stops. She wipes her face with the back of her hand, spins on her heels, and storms out of the lecture hall, shoving the heavy oak door so hard it sticks in the open position.

With a sigh, I lift my messenger bag and settle the leather strap over my shoulder, following at a more moderate pace. With any luck, she won’t show up to the next class. Pausing as I get to the double doors that open onto the main hallway, I take a moment to glance both ways, watching for an opening in the stream of people, and freeze. My gaze catches on white-blond hair and angular features set off by the high collar of a black peacoat. Kaino. They watch my student storm off and then glance into the lecture hall. Our eyes meet and their frown deepens. “You’re the person from the hospital. Bjorn’s friend.”

Since last week’s visit to the hospital, it’s been a struggle to think of anything else but Bjorn. And now I’m face-to-face with his former lover. An incredibly attractive former lover, with a sexy, deep voice and a very commanding aura. My pulse quickens. I’m not sure if I’m a teeensy bit jealous, or if Kaino is that intriguing. And charismatic. We hold each other’s gaze for a beat too long, and things get awkward. At least for me. Kaino seems in no hurry to speak, so I forge ahead. “Hello.”

They watch me assessingly, and the corner of their mouth quirks into an almost smile. “Hello.” They gesture down the hall. “One of your students?”

“Yes.” I extend my hand to him. “I’m Xander Neilsen.”

Kaino keeps their hands in their coat pockets, their amused expression shuttering to a bland mask. “I don’t shake hands, but it’s nice to meet you.”

“Oh.” I grasp the strap of my bag with my unshook hand. “Fair. The university’s a petri dish. Better safe than sorry, I suppose.”

The stillness of their expression fades, and their lips curve into a genuine smile. “Mmm.” They glance into the lecture hall. “What was your lecture about?”

I can’t keep the disdain from my voice. “Introduction to English Language and Literature. It’s my only 100 level class and the bane of my schedule.”

That earns me a soft chuckle. “So, students from all majors trying to fulfill English requirements?”

I drop my head back in defeat. “Yes. And inevitably, at least one person tries to fly by with last year’s notes from another student, or by reading summaries of the books, and when they get caught, they cry foul.”

Kaino gestures down the hall. “Is that what happened with the student who stormed out?”

“Unfortunately, yes. There was cajoling and eyelash fluttering. Much to her chagrin, I shut her down. That’s when the waterworks began.”

Their expression is not quite a wince. “Does that happen often?”

“More often than you’d think. Definitely more often than I’d like.” They tilt their head, assessing me again. This time it’s thorough, though not in a sexual way. Not really. But I do feel rather exposed afterward. I can’t say I mind. “So, are you a student here?” It seems like a stretch, but it’s the most obvious explanation for why they’d be at the university.

“No. I have a client in one of the master’s programs. Today was an on-campus day.”

I wait for an explanation, but with no more information forthcoming, I ask. As I tell my students, asking intelligent questions is required to learn something of value. And I’m not above a bit of snooping. “Your client?”

“Yes. I’m an interpreter. American Sign Language.”

While not uncommon, I’ve personally never had a student who needed an interpreter. Still, I wonder why I haven’t seen them before. “Are you on campus frequently?”

The smirk has returned, but their gaze never wavers. “Do you mean, do I come here often?”

Embarrassed, because I might have meant that—unintentionally, of course—I raise up to my full six feet four inches, towering over them. “No. Not at all. I only ask because—.” Scrambling for words, which is utterly out of character for me, I fill the gap by adjusting my messenger bag. I do not like how unsettled they make me feel, but I refuse to give them the satisfaction of knowing they’ve flustered me. “I’ve never seen you on campus.” Nor have I heard anyone mention a strikingly attractive interpreter. Though I don’t necessarily gossip with anyone here. We both ignore the fact that this is a very large campus and we could have gone years without running into each other, if their clients weren’t in the humanities department.

“This is my first student client. I don’t normally accept education assignments, but this one’s at the graduate level and within my area of specialization, so I agreed to a trial semester. If it works out, I’ll do more. If not, then I haven’t invested a lot of time in something that’s not for me.”

The casual mention of specialization without clarification piques my interest, as I’m sure was intended. And damn them, now I want to know more. But the middle of a busy hallway is nowhere to have a conversation. Kaino is obviously on their way somewhere, though they don’t seem in a hurry to leave. That’s not at all intriguing. Perhaps I could use the time to find out more about them, and who they currently are to Bjorn. Or who they want to be to him. “I’m sorry. I’m being terribly rude with all my questions. Were you headed somewhere? Am I holding you up?”

“Actually, I’m looking for someplace to grab a coffee. I have a few hours before my next off-campus client, and someone mentioned there is a cafe in this direction.” They tilt their head consideringly. “Care to join me? Or do you have another class?”

In fact, I don’t have another class right now, and my office hours aren’t until two. Do I want to get to know this person? I find that I do. “I have some time before my next class, and I certainly could use another coffee after the hour I’ve just spent. It’s either that or something harder, and since I have another class later this morning, it needs to be coffee.” I gesture vaguely in the direction of the espresso bar in the next building. “There’s a cafe near here, but it’s loaded with students. I’m willing to brave it if you are. Or my office is a few minutes walk in the other direction. There’s comfortable seating and a coffee machine I spent a small fortune on because I’m an unapologetic caffeinated beverage snob. If I’m going to spend ridiculous sums for coffee anyway, I want what I want when I want it, and I prefer not to stand in line with a billion people to get it. Fair warning, I don’t have all the flavorings, and no whipped cream, but I do have several coffee creamer options. Your call.”

Surprisingly, they show no hesitation. “Your office sounds perfect. All I need is black coffee that isn’t burnt. No frills required. A lack of crowds is a bonus.”

“Fantastic. Follow me.” I guide them out the main doors and into the quad. The ground is wet from the misting rain and we dodge puddles as we talk. “What’s your specialization? It doesn’t happen to be English literature, does it?” At his confusion, I clarify. “You mentioned your client’s course is in your specialization.”

“Ah. Art and business. I was going to be a curator before I took an ASL class in college and fell in love with the language and culture. After I got my Master’s in Art History, I pursued my certification as an ASL interpreter.” Perhaps it’s just my imagination eagerly connecting dots, but it’s easy to envision Kaino as an art curator, jet-setting around the world, gathering priceless sculptures and paintings for the Getty or some private collector. They have an air of mystery and culture about them that I find fascinating. And attractive. “Is English literature your specialty?”

Aware that Kaino is probably only asking to be polite, I fight my inclination to wax poetic, keeping my answer short and to the point. “I have a Master’s in Literary Criticism and Analysis, but I have a passion for nineteenth century British Realism. Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, and the like. That’s my specialty.”

Kaino’s eyes brighten. “I love Austen but frequently struggle to get through Dickens. To me, he’s like Shakespeare. His stories are better when performed. Context clues help with the language, and time constraints usually mean an abridged version of the story.” I’m about to object, but they continue. “The stories themselves are enjoyable, but the language is so…” They take a moment, searching for the right word. “...cumbersome. Dickens meanders. There are completely irrelevant passages that go on and on.”

The potential to have an intelligent discussion on the merits of Dickens, even if the offered opinion is utterly incorrect, has my nerves buzzing excitedly and my heart beating rapidly. “But it’s through his language choices that we see what life was like for people from every class of society. It’s a snapshot of the early to mid-nineteenth century.”

The walk across the upper campus to my office flies by, the drizzle completely ignored as we debate the merits of Dickens, and when we reach Padelford Hall, I usher them in. By the time we’re outside my office, I’m practically buzzing with enthusiasm. “It’s nice to meet someone who understands the genre and can discuss the topic intelligently.”

Kaino snorts. “Even if I find Dickens long-winded?”

I unlock my door and step inside, allowing Kaino to enter before I shut it behind us. “At least you can explain your position, have examples to back it up, and don’t use the word ‘like’ seventeen times per sentence.” I pull off my coat, draping it over a hook on the coat rack, and hold out my hand for Kaino’s.

“You know, even though it doesn’t appear in writing, ‘like’ as a filler word dates all the way back to the nineteenth century. So actually, it’s quite appropriate for our topic of conversation.”

As they hand over their coat, Kaino grins mischievously, their eyes sparkling with mirth. It’s far too attractive and has me completely flummoxed. I remind myself I’m interested in Bjorn. I’m trying to rekindle our relationship. That’s why I went to see him in the hospital. So why do I feel this attraction to Kaino? I do my best to ignore the buzzing under my skin, determined to focus on making coffee and not how attractive the stranger in my office is. “I have medium roast or dark roast. And do you want a flavored creamer?”

“Dark roast, please. And black is fine.”

I glance over my shoulder at them. “Are you sure? I have regular milk if you’d prefer that.”

They shake their head. “No, I typically drink it black. But thank you.”

Trying not to judge, I turn back to the machine and prepare the first cup. “Bjorn drinks his coffee black too.” Subtle, Xander. Very subtle. I give up and embrace my overt fishing. “So, you two dated?”

“We did. A handful of years ago.” Okay, confirmation of the timeline Bjorn gave me but not much else. Other than also confirming that they aren’t dating now. I fight the urge to ask them if they’re dating anyone else. It’s none of my business and would seem odd to ask. “How about the two of you? Did you date?”

I suppose turnabout is fair play. “Yes. For about six months.” I press the start button and lean against the credenza. “That was a little over two years ago.”

Kaino hums noncommittally. “He was with SWAT by then.”

“Yes. We met at a career fair here on campus. He was part of the recruiting team from the Seattle Police Department.” I recall Bjorn’s deliciously clingy uniform. It was so form-fitting that I was sure his biceps or thighs were going to burst the seams when he moved. The coffee machine gurgles out the last of the brew, snapping me from the memory. I carefully lift the mug, handing it to Kaino, and willing my half-hard dick to behave.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You’re also welcome to sit.” I gesture to the chairs in front of my desk, then turn and start my own cup. “Back then, Bjorn’s focus was still on keeping his family functioning. And I can’t blame him for that. In fact, I admire him for his dedication. There aren’t many twenty-somethings who would have taken on that responsibility like he did. Or stuck with it for so many years.”

Kaino laughs. “Bjorn lives to mother hen. He used to try that with me, telling me the best method for organizing my apartment, encouraging me to do meal prep for the week instead of eating out.”

Laughing, I turn around. “Did he try to get you to organize your closet by outfit so you could just reach in, pull something out and not have to think about it?” There were a few times we had heated words about that, but now I can see the humor in it.

“No, that must have been something he developed after we broke up, or maybe we hadn’t reached that point in our relationship before we ended things. It certainly sounds like something he’d do, though.”

Once again, the coffee maker gurgles, and I turn, carefully moving my mug to the credenza before adding two teaspoons of sugar and a splash of regular creamer. I carefully take a sip, even though it’s going to be hot, but I don’t want it to spill as I move. “He has the best intentions. Sometimes his execution leaves a lot to be desired.”

Kaino nods in agreement as my phone vibrates, startling me. “Excuse me, please.” I extract my cell from my pocket, and a rush of excitement has me grinning from ear to ear as I swipe open the message.

Unknown number: Hey. It’s Bjorn

Unknown number: Bet you didn’t think you’d hear from me

Unknown number: Sorry. The past week has been chaotic

Unknown number: But I’ve been thinking…

Unknown number: We should get coffee

Unknown number: Or something

I chuckle, because the rambling is so typically him. I glance up at Kaino and wave with my phone. “It’s Bjorn, finally checking in.”

“You still have his number.” It’s a statement, not a question.

I shake my head. “I left my number with him when I visited the hospital. I wasn’t sure he’d reach out. Do you want his number? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” Why am I offering? For all I know, Kaino is competition. I shouldn’t be helping them. I shouldn’t be nice to them. Hell, I shouldn’t have offered them coffee.

Kaino eyes me skeptically. “I’m not sure. That seems a bit presumptuous.”

I fire off a reply text, wondering why I’m compelled to make this happen.

Me: Kaino’s here. Can I give them your phone number?

There’s barely a pause before Bjorn replies with a gif of Milhouse from the Simpsons, waggling his eyebrows over a caption that says “Yea Baby.” I snort and hold my phone out so Kaino can see.

They roll their eyes, but they’re smiling. “That’s so him.”

“It really is.” I gesture to the phone. “He’s obviously fine with you having his number.”

Kaino’s expression is unreadable. Not that I know their expressions well. They swallow another mouthful of coffee before pushing to their feet and reaching for their coat. “Thanks for the coffee. I’ve taken up enough of your time, and I should get going.”

Quickly setting the phone on my desk, I stand. “I’m glad we ran into each other. How often do you interpret for this client?” What am I doing? I should let them go, not try to meet up with them again. They. Are. Competition. At least, I’m pretty sure they are. And if they’re not, they’re certainly not interested in me. And I’m not interested in them. I’m interested in Bjorn.

With deft fingers, Kaino buttons the front of their coat, and my brain helpfully imagines what else those slim, dextrous fingers could do. “It’s a Tuesday morning class.”

Their words snap me out of my thoughts. “Oh. Well, we should do this again next week.” The raised single brow is sexy as hell and does nothing to calm me. “I enjoyed our conversation. I’d like to get to know you better.”

“Really?” It’s said casually, but with a hint of skepticism.

“Really.” Taking a deliberate breath, I settle my agitation. “You’re very different from what I’d expected.”

Kaino’s entire presence stills, their gaze pinning me in place. “You had expectations? Why? And what were they?”

A tingling starts in my gut and radiates up my spine as I’m struck by an image of Kaino as a panther, stalking prey. Somehow, I know I’m the prey, frozen between fight and flight. Under that stare, the truth spills out of my mouth. “Someone less thoughtful. Less independent, and frankly, less reserved. Bjorn is a gregarious goof. He’s smart, but he also needs to be in charge of everything. So I assumed I was the exception to a prior dating pool of individuals who were looking for a…” I struggle to find the right word.

“A daddy.”

There’s a quirk to the corner of their lips, and I nod, grinning. “Exactly. I mean, he is a Daddy , but that’s a completely different thing. He struggled so much trying to keep his siblings on the right track that I assumed he’d look for anyone willing to relinquish decision-making to him.” With a shrug, I lean against my desk, relaxing a bit. “I often wondered if the real reason we broke up was my inability to let him have his way.”

Kaino’s eyes sparkle mischievously. “Well, he certainly never blanketly got his way with me.”

I have the strongest impression that I’m missing context for that statement, and I’d very much like to know about it. “No. You don’t strike me as someone lacking opinions.” In fact, they strike me as someone who is very much in control of themselves and enjoys being in control of others. “If I may ask, is that why you two broke up?”

“No. At the time we were together, I was in my late twenties and focused on my career and financial independence. Bjorn was nearing his mid-thirties and already well into caring for his siblings. We had different priorities, but it was an amicable parting.”

I snort. “Of course it was. As I’ve told Bjorn, I don’t think he’s ever had a bad breakup. The only person I’ve ever seen him fight with is Gunnar.”

“If not giving him his way was the real reason you broke up, I’m assuming that’s not what you told people was the cause. So what was?”

Sighing, I cross my arms and then uncross them when I realize how defensive that makes me look. “Most of why we broke up is my fault. I tend to…” I glance out the window before forcing my eyes back to Kaino’s. “I can be a bit needy when it comes to partners. Not all the time. I enjoy alone time to read, and my job is quite demanding. But when I’m ready to be social, I’m ready. And I’ve never had issues asking for what I want.”

Kaino tilts their head to the side, considering me. “Or demanding it?”

I huff out a laugh. “Possibly.”

A small smile tugs at their lips. “I’ll bet you can be a brat.”

That pulls a full laugh from me. “Absolutely. Someone should probably turn me over their knee.” A deliciously wicked look flashes in Kaino’s eyes, and then it’s gone. I’d swear I imagined it, if not for the residual heat sweeping through me.

“I should get going. You need to prepare for your next class, and I need to get to my next client.”

I push off my desk and extend my hand, but withdraw it almost immediately, remembering that they don’t do that. “Sorry. Habit.” Their gaze is penetrating, and makes me feel all kinds of tingly—and a little afraid—but not in a negative way. It’s more a promise of something I’m not sure I want. But it’s intriguing, nonetheless.

“No problem. Thank you for understanding.”

Before I second guess it or even consider what I’m doing, I snatch my phone from my desk and open a contact. “You should give me your number. We should have coffee again next week after class.”

When I thrust my phone at them, they stare at the screen for a long second before taking it from me. “What about Bjorn?”

Are they asking about my offer to give them Bjorn’s number, or are they asking if Bjorn and I are romantically involved again? Do they want to be romantically involved? And if yes, with which one of us? Confused, I shake my head. “What about Bjorn?”

“You don’t think it’ll be odd that we’re intentionally meeting for coffee without him?” Their thumbs fly over the screen, and then they hand me back my phone.

I glance at the contact entry. Kaino Nieminen. “Nieminen. Is that Scandinavian?” They have the pale hair I’d expect, but their eyes are a bright green and their skin is a warm brown.

“Yes.” They stare at me for several seconds, an enigmatic smile tugging at their lips. “I won’t make you ask. My father was Finnish. I get my hair color from him. My mother was Sámi. Hence the skin tone and eye shape.” They gesture to their face as an absolutely mischievous grin appears. “No one knows where the green eyes came from.”

Their smile is so unexpected, and completely transforms their usual good looks to something absolutely stunning, and it takes a moment to reboot my brain. “Well, all we need is to find someone from Sweden and we’ll have the whole Nordic collection.” Obviously my brain hasn’t completely recovered. “Ignore that.” They snort. “Anyway, to our prior discussion, I don’t think Bjorn would mind at all if you and I met for coffee without him. But if it worries you, we could all meet at some public cafe.” While I talk, I fire off a quick text to the number they’ve programmed into their contact.

Me : This is Xander Neilsen

I follow that brief message with Bjorn’s contact information. Kaino nods slowly. “We could.” Then they abruptly drop the topic. “I should go. I need to get across town, and traffic can be tricky right before lunch.”

“It can be tricky anytime.” Their deep, throaty laugh startles me yet again. First a genuine grin and now a real laugh. God, they’re doing ridiculous things to my body. “Thank you for the coffee and the company. I enjoyed chatting with you, Xander.” Without waiting for any more pleasantries or delays, they turn and open my office door, and then they’re gone, leaving me with a kaleidoscope of butterflies in my stomach and a head full of confusion.