10. Grady

I'd told Cameron ten minutes. Ten minutes had come and gone with no sign of him. He'd seemed uncharacteristically discombobulated when we'd spoken briefly after class, which in turn had discombobulated me, apparently. It wasn't like me to be so focused on whether a student of mine showed up or not, yet there I was, checking my watch for a fifth time. I was rooting for him, invested in him, and reluctantly (or perhaps not so reluctantly) attracted to him. I wouldn't be the first teacher attracted to a student, I was sure. But as long as I kept it to myself and didn't act on it, no harm, no foul. Once the semester was over and I no longer saw him, I was certain the feeling would pass. I assumed his concern was about his essay draft, which had been far from the worst I'd seen in the class, though not up to par with his previous coursework. It'd been a little sloppier than usual. But that was why I requested the drafts in the first place, to give students a chance to improve. I told myself that my anxiety over his arrival was simply because I wanted him to do well, and I suspected a brief conversation between us would help in that regard.

I jerked upright in my office chair, squaring my shoulders, when a knock sounded at my door. "Come in." I ran a hand through my hair, trying to tame any muss in it.

It eased open slowly, and Cameron stepped inside before shutting it gently behind him. "Sir, I mean, Professor—" he started. "Sorry about earlier."

I motioned toward the chairs in front of my desk. Behind those was a raggedy couch where I'd snuck many a nap while working into the night on my book. Cameron dropped his backpack there.

"It's no problem." I offered him what I hoped was a reassuring smile. "How's the whole mastering swallowing thing going?" He still seemed on edge, and I was hoping a little levity would bring him down.

I was almost certain his cheeks pinkened, and then he barked out a laugh. "I haven't choked on my own spit in at least twenty minutes. Actually"—now he was definitely blushing—"I didn't choke on my spit. I lied about that. I got caught off guard and panicked. There's this dumb game my roommates play in class sometimes where we say something completely ridiculous and try to get the other in trouble. Nate got me because I was distracted by—" He rubbed a hand down his face. "I was just distracted. That sounds about as bad as choking on my own spit, doesn't it?"

I chuckled. "It sounds like college days. I won't judge. I think I like that explanation better than the choking on your own spit one. It had me a little concerned." I arched a brow.

"You've never choked on your own spit before? Fallen up the stairs? C'mon." I could tell Cameron meant it as a tease, but it came out a bit strained, and I suddenly felt bad. Maybe I shouldn't have called him out in class that way.

"Okay, fine. I have." I leaned in a bit. "I just don't acknowledge it unless forced. If you'll recall, I sent an entire stack of papers flying off the desk at the beginning of class. However, it's thankfully been many years since I can remember accidentally drooling."

Cameron's smile flagged, and I once again wondered if I'd gone too far.

I straightened in my chair, attempting to get back to business. "I'm sure you've thought of this, but a visit to the student aid office might be helpful if you're struggling to keep up with your course load and work." I hated the idea of him working himself to the bone trying to keep up, only to exhaust himself. "Or if you're taking too many classes and need to drop one?—"

A vigorous shake of his head silenced me. "It's not that. At all. That's not an issue."

"Ahh, good. I'd be sorry to miss out on your theories about human motivation." I hesitated, then, eyeing the way his shoulders tightened and noting the tension pouring off him, added, "You know I was teasing in good fun in class today. And just now." I frowned. It probably bordered on flirting. I wondered if I'd somehow offended him. That hadn't been my intention at all. "Maybe I shouldn't have."

He waved a hand. "Yeah, no. I totally deserved that."

I cocked my head at him appraisingly but still couldn't suss out the reason for his visible agitation. "Sit, sit. Tell me what's up." I was starting to get the idea that maybe he was considering dropping the class after all, and I was more invested in his decision than I should have been.

"Okay." Cameron shifted on his feet, as if debating, before perching on the edge of the chair and rubbing his palms lightly over the top of his jeans. His nervousness fired up a strangely protective instinct in me.

I relaxed deeper into my seat and smiled, hoping the tension in his shoulders would follow suit and melt away, but he continued to sit rigidly as I asked, "I assume you want to talk about your essay draft?"

"Sort of?" He pulled a face. "I mean, yes, I do."

"Lay it on me. Let's figure it out."

Cam dragged a hand down his face, and my attempt at portraying relaxed body language shifted into overt concern. Maybe I had embarrassed him too much. Shit. "Hey," I said gently. "We can get this sorted."

"God," he murmured. "Okay." He stared down at his hands and then lifted his gaze to mine. "I think you're great. I love your class, I like when you come to the cafe. Like waiting on you, joking around, and talking to you. You're cool, you know? Cooler than I thought. I mean, at first, you seemed a little uptight, and I had this impression—" He waved his hand. "That's beside the point."

I nodded slowly, sensing a "but." Christ, I had definitely offended him. "Listen, if this is about today in class, I think I did tease too much. That wasn't fair?—"

He put a hand up. "No, it's not that, I swear. I mean, I was a little embarrassed, but not any worse than…" He shook his head again, then looked directly at me. "It doesn't matter. I need to just tell you this because it's the right thing to do."

The hairs on my forearm lifted, and I straightened in my seat. I'd rarely heard those words before and not been disappointed at what followed. "Go on."

"I sent a text today in class."

"Okay, you and probably three-quarters of the class. I'm not blind." I forced a chuckle. "There's no detention in college for doing that."

"I sent a text to someone I'd been hooking up with. Someone I met at a club. I sent it while I was waiting to talk to you." Cameron paused. His gaze burned steadily into mine as if, now that he'd made the decision to speak, he was daring me to silence him. Irrational jealousy flared to life in my gut, and I had to fight hard to quell it, despite realizing how completely inappropriate it was. Of course he had someone. Why wouldn't he? He was smart, gorgeous, down-to-earth, funny. Exactly the kind of guy I'd have gone for in college if I'd been single.

Cameron exhaled lengthily, drawing me back to the present, and I tried to shake off the jealous fog. "And you responded."

"I…what?" I frowned, perplexed, unable to remember any sort of text exchange between us, email or otherwise, and drawn yet again to the fierceness of his eyes.

The realization dawned on me like a spike to the gut.

Hey, I just wanted to let you know that Saturday works for me.

"Oh Christ," I muttered, and a string of expletives that I managed to keep from leaving my mouth followed, spiraling like Christmas tinsel in my mind. "I?—"

"You sucked me off in a bathroom stall."

I think he meant to shock me, and he did. But beneath that was a gauzy layer of heat evoked by the memory of the noises that had come from the other side of the wall, the desperate moans, hearing nails scrabble against the thin wood barrier that separated us. The man who had made those delicious noises, who'd lapped at my cock like he couldn't get enough, like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted, was the same guy who'd joked with me in the cafe earlier over a goddamn omelet, who'd been sitting in front of me in the lecture hall for weeks. Who sat before me now with an ashen face.

I was fucking around with my own student. A student I was already attracted to.

My chest constricted around my windpipe, and I swallowed hard, trying to rid myself of the sensation.

"Are you sure?" It was possibly the stupidest question I'd asked in my life, a desperate attempt to try to change the answer I already knew.

"It was me the other time, too, obviously," he admitted softly, not that I needed the confession because within it was a lilt I recognized immediately. A certain tone I'd heard before in the throes of getting each other off.

Oh god. I'd sucked this gorgeous man's cock and loved it, had lavished it with my tongue, had been desperate to swallow my own student's cum.

"Fuck." My gut dropped to basement level, and my mouth went bone-dry.

"Yeah." His hollow tone echoed the feeling in my chest.

I'd considered a lot of worst-case scenarios where students were involved, the most obvious being getting involved with a student in the first place. But I'd never even considered that I could accidentally fucking stumble into the worst of the worst scenarios.

I glanced toward my door, assuring it was still shut, before I leaned forward. "What the hell were you doing there anyway?" My tone was more accusing than it should have been.

Cameron's mouth dropped open. "I could ask the same of you. Is that, like, your thing?"

"No!" I barked and then lowered my voice. "No."

"Careful, you sound a little judgmental for a guy who was in the same place doing the same thing I was."

"I'd never done it before in my life."

Cameron folded his arms over his chest. "Me either," he said, expression going stony for the skepticism in my gaze. "Fuck you, that's the truth. I don't lie."

I put a hand up, and Cameron shook his head, voice measured. "I apologize for the ‘fuck you.' It was unwarranted."

"I believe you. I hope you believe me, too. And if I'd had even the smallest suspicion that I was…"

"Getting blown by your student?"

"Yes, thank you, Cameron." I threw my hands up and sighed. Go figure, the one time in my life when I threw caution to the wind, indulged in the impulses I'd always left to fantasy, it came back to bite me in the ass.

"You know what's really messing with me, though? How the fuck did I not figure out it was you sooner?" Cameron's face scrunched in a frown. "It seems so obvious now."

"Contextual expectation, cognitive load, change blindness, source memory error, acoustic differences," I rattled off glumly. "Any or all of these things could have been a factor." It was the easiest question he'd asked me since he'd walked through my door. "Our brains are incredibly efficient at dealing with expected information, but falter in unexpected situations. You didn't connect the dots for the same reason I didn't: it seemed preposterous. We filter information based on relevance and familiarity. When you're out of your usual context, the cues that normally alert us don't line up the same way. What seems obvious in hindsight was obscured by our psychological blindspots at the time."

Cameron made a disgruntled noise. "It's honestly kind of scary when I think too hard about it."

"Stranger than fiction, to be sure," I agreed.

A long silence stretched between us after that. I had no idea what the fuck to say next, how to proceed. Cameron fiddled with the seam of his jeans, looked out the window over the quad, and finally back at me. Turned out my glory hole partner and I were destined for an awkward face-to-face conversation after all.

"Should I drop the class? I mean, I need this credit hour, but I could find an equivalent class and try to rework my work schedule to make it happen." His voice was muted and careful, his eyes similarly guarded now when they lifted to mine. "I don't want to, though. I really don't."

I pinched the knot of tension that had formed beneath my brows. "I'm not even sure what protocol is in this situation."

"You mean there's not a paragraph in the professor handbook about accidentally hooking up with a student?"

"I'm pretty sure they considered it covered by forbidding involvement with students in the first place." The tinge of sarcastic humor that'd returned to his eyes extinguished at my response, and I regretted it immediately.

"You didn't know, though."

"I didn't."

Cameron sucked his lower lip between his teeth, then let it pop free. "In fact, you might never have known if I hadn't said anything."

"Cameron…" Oh boy. I kept quiet, waiting to see where he'd go with this, suspecting I knew already.

"I've given this a lot of thought. That's why I was late. I almost didn't come, but I didn't… I really like the class, okay? And then after class, I spent the next fifteen minutes going around in mental circles, trying to decide whether or not I should say anything."

"You did the right thing by telling me." So why did I wish he hadn't?

"Funny how the right thing sucks so bad sometimes."

"A known hazard, yes." I considered for a moment, drumming my fingers on the desk, then decided. "There's no need to drop the class. We're both adults here. I think we can navigate around this by simply moving on. It won't happen again; we won't speak about it. It was clearly an unfortunate accident. As for your essay and any other coursework, I'm going to have my TA, Paul, help you from here on out. He'll be your primary point of contact."

Cameron's expression dimmed. "I thought you might say that."

"You disagree?"

"No, but…fuck, I know I'm not supposed to say this, but I don't want to move on." His voice rose with agitation again. "I liked what we had going. Like, really fucking liked it. It was sexy, it was hot. I can't remember ever getting off so hard, and you kind of seemed like?—"

"Cameron…"

One corner of his mouth tilted up. That smile on him arrested me. "No one ever calls me Cameron. I like it when you do."

I shook my head. "There will be plenty of other opportunities for you to…revisit that club and meet others keen to take you up on?—"

The glare he turned on me took me aback. "Oh my god, do you really think I'd go back and sit at that glory hole waiting to suck some other stranger's dick?"

"I didn't say that." I'd sure as hell been curious, though.

"Wow," he breathed out. "You do. Alright, that's fair, I guess. Which means I might assume you'd do the same."

"No." My tone was sharper than intended, and a shadow passed over his expression as I lifted my hand placatingly. "I told you already I've never done that before. Thought about it? Sure. Fantasized about it, absolutely. But I did it on a whim. I can't imagine doing it again now." Why was I fucking telling him this?

"So why won't you believe me when I tell you the same thing? You were…are the only person I've ever done that to. With. Whatever."

"What a fucking mess." We were both quiet for a stretch, and then he drew in another breath.

"So can you let me finish?" Cameron quirked a brow. "Although finishing each other is sorta how we got into this pickle, huh?" His laughter bordered on hysterical, and for some reason, that made my heart seize up. I wished, in that moment, that I could have been in any other position than the one I was currently in.

"And a very poor judgment call on my part."

"Trust me, I know about poor judgment calls," he muttered, a hint of bitterness in his voice that made me want to ask more, but I pushed it back. I needed to keep things professional.

"Then I'm sure you understand."

He met my gaze, and once again, the paradox of his mannerisms and the piercing directness of his eyes caught me off-guard.

"I do and I don't because, see, I'm not your average college student. I don't give a shit about drama, or partying, or—" Cameron waved the paper in his hand through the air vaguely. "I don't stir the pot. That's not my style. I'm low-key. Discreet." He cut a glance toward the darkening window to the left of my desk, then back to me. "Like I said, I've been thinking this over, weighing it out in my mind, and I have a proposal."

I forced a light chuckle. "I've already been married once. I'm not inclined to do it again."

He dropped off and chewed on his lower lip. I knew I should've cut him short there, but I didn't. "I want you, and I'm pretty sure you want me. Or you did. I know what you're gonna say—you already said it," he forestalled me when I opened my mouth to say what I should've seconds before, "but I don't want what's around me. I want what we've been doing. I don't want to have to worry about strings or relationships or getting attached or whatever. I want someone…" He sucked in another breath. "I want someone who will experiment with me, do the dirty shit we've been doing, be into it the way we both are, because I know you are. I won't ever make a fucking peep, and you can trust me on that. I don't want anything more than physical release, and I haven't met anyone I feel comfortable being like that with until you."

The fierce resolution in his eyes was beguiling. I turned away to stare out the darkened window and met my reflection with the hazy rendition of him nearby.

"Cameron," I said, finally, and knew the regret in my voice was a mistake.

"You're better than that spiel you're about to give me on guys my age. I'm twenty-three, not twelve. I pay my own bills, pay my own tuition. I work hard to pay that tuition, along with my rent. I'm not some ignorant college kid just fucking around."

I jerked my head back in his direction at his perspicacity. "Maybe I was about to give that spiel in regard to myself."

He shrugged. "Then you would've already told me to go."

"You're frustrating."

"I'm direct. Sometimes to a fault, I'm starting to think." Cameron licked his plump lips, and I caught a glimpse of hesitation in his eyes before he came around the desk to stand beside my chair. Having him tower over me was unnerving and riveting at once. He was such an odd combination of vulnerability and brashness. "What do you want right now? If you tell me to go, I'll take you at your word and do it, and I'll never bring it up again."

I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my hands over my face. What I wanted was to touch him again, without a wall between us, wanted to revel in the strange chemistry of him: the bold and the tentative. I sighed, considering every decision I'd made that led me to this office, and then I let them fall away as I swiveled in my chair to look up at him.

"I want you," he repeated. "I'm done playing the games most people do when it comes to all that shit. It seems pointless."

Where had that self-awareness come from? What was his story that he could stand there in front of me the way he was and speak so plainly, eyes blazing with such earnest intention that I could easily project him a decade forward in a boardroom, a classroom, a courtroom. But more than any of those, in an office much like mine, helping people figure out what they truly desired out of life, just like he said he wanted to. My heart ached and burned at the same time.

Beneath the miasmic swirl of my thoughts was the irrefutable fact that I wanted Cameron, too. Badly. And I knew he knew it.

But I couldn't have him.

I met his eyes evenly, absorbing the heat in them, the war of certainty and uncertainty, and how they dimmed as I picked up a pen off my desk and turned away. "You need to go, Cameron. That's my answer."

He didn't leave immediately. His gaze fell on the side of my face like the crack of a palm, and somehow, the sting felt deserved. How many things had I wanted in my life and denied myself for one reason or another? Add Cameron Taylor to the list.

Then he picked up his backpack and left without a word or a backward glance.

Once the door closed behind him, I tossed the pen onto the desk and sank back into my chair, rubbing the center of my forehead where a headache was gathering steam.

The scent of his detergent lingered in the air until I snapped out the desk light and went home.