Free Her Dirty Professor by Penny Wylder Page A

looking for a place to eat on my way home from a teaching conference. It’s hidden from the road, cozy, and the food is delicious. We’re seated in the back per my request, at a table in the corner. The dim lighting gives her skin a soft glow.
    “What’s good here?” she asks when we get our menus.
    “What kind of food do you like?”
    “Burgers.”
    I raise my eyebrows. Maybe I didn’t quite think this through. It’s been some time since I was a struggling student myself on a burger budget. Since then my tastes have become a bit more refined.
    Looking at the menu, I realize nothing is in English. There are no burgers.
    “The oysters here are great,” I say. Her face twists comically and I fight the urge to laugh. “What, you don’t like them?”
    “I’ve never had them, but I’ve seen people eat raw oyster shooters, and, ew.”
    “These aren’t raw. They’re fried, and they’re fantastic. Haven’t you ever heard that they’re an aphrodisiac?”
    “Really?” she says, looking skeptical.
    “How about I order the oysters, you order the steak, and we’ll share.”
    “Sounds like a deal.”
    After we order, the waiter brings out a bottle of wine. “So, how the hell are you still single?” she asks after she’s a glass in. I pour another for her. I take slow sips of mine since I’m driving.
    “Just never met the right girl, I guess.”
    “How is that even possible? You’re sweet, kind, and arguably the most intelligent person I’ve ever met, and definitely the most attractive.”
    I can already tell the wine is loosening her up. When we first walked in, she was on edge, peering around the room as if to case the joint. Now she’s molded herself into a comfortable position in the booth, and her gaze rarely leaves my face. Her cheeks are flushed from the alcohol, and she seems to be letting down her guard a bit.
    I blush at the compliment. Other women have told me I was attractive plenty of times, but there’s something humbling about the way Georgia says it. Feels more genuine when it comes from her versus others.
    “I don’t know. There’s never been a connection before,” I say.
    Until now. I want so badly to say it to her, but I’m not sure how. If this is just some casual fling for her, I don’t want to hear it. I’m not ready. All my other relationships have all been physical, but it’s different with Georgia. I can’t tell her that, though. Men aren’t supposed to feel vulnerable and afraid. Except that’s exactly how I feel when I start to open up to this girl. If she said it first, that’s one thing, but I have a feeling her walls are up as well.
    “What about you, why don’t you have a boyfriend? You’re brilliant and sexy.”
    She looks down at her wine glass with the most beautiful, shy smile and fingers the stem. “I guess I have the same reasons as you. I’ve never connected with anyone, until—” she starts to say, before being cut off by the waiter.
    Until what?!
    I want to yell at the waiter, tell him to go away. Was she about to say something about me? About us?
    Goddamnit.
    By the time he leaves, the moment has passed. She’s all but forgotten what she was about to say.
    Instead, she pokes at the fried oysters with her fork as if they are about to jump off the plate and attack her.
    “I’m afraid to try one.”
    “Be brave,” I say.
    She looks at me with an eyebrow raised and a hint of a smile. “You first.”
    I have a feeling none of us are talking about the food.
    I’m not quite ready for that, so I take an oyster and pop it in mouth to get away from the subject. She tries one next.
    “It’s good,” she says, nodding her head.
    “I told you.”
    Our conversation picks up again. This time we talk about easier things. Our favorite foods, TV shows, movies, and anything else we can think of to learn more about each other. Spending time with her is easy. There’s never any uncomfortable lulls in the conversation, and even when neither of us are