Read Online Teach Me by Lola Darling - Free Book Online

Rome—or
Oxford, as the case may be). But he asked me to stop by his desk for
a moment to discuss the research aid position, and I sure as hell am
not missing this, elective course be damned.
    “So—”
I start at the same time he says, “We’ll
have to—”
    We
both pause, glance at each other. I’m
tempted to laugh, except he doesn’t
look amused. He looks downright furious.
    At
me?
    My
teeth edge around my lower lip, an old, bad habit that I really need
to work on breaking. His eyes follow the motion, linger on my lips
for a split second, before he stares pointedly at the door behind me.
    “You
will report to my office tomorrow morning at 6:00 a.m. sharp. I
assume your schedule is free then?”
He still doesn’t
look at me, but he must be able to see me in his peripheral vision,
because when I nod, he continues. “Bring
a laptop, a notebook, and coffee.”
    The
last word makes me sputter, anger sparking in my chest. “Ja—
Professor, if you just want someone to fetch you drinks—”
    “The
coffee will be for you. I’m
a morning person; most of the students I’ve
worked with in the past tend to not be. And I’ll
need you sharp tomorrow, if we’re
going to do this. Be prepared.”
    Presuming
he knows me. Acting like he’s
stuck with me. Maybe he won’t
have anything to worry about after all, I tell myself. This side of
Jack Kingston is not a side I enjoy. “Thanks,
but I’ll be fine. I
prefer mornings, too.”
    His
eyes flicker to mine for a split second, finally meeting my gaze as
if I’m an actual
human being. There’s
something more than just anger in his voice, something almost like
regret.
    I
don’t stick around
to find out. I whip around on my heel and march out of the office,
hands clenched at my sides. By the time I make it to my history
class, I’m still
fuming. To make matters worse, I’m
ten minutes late, and Professor Butler, the petite blonde woman who
runs this classroom the way some dictators run small countries,
shoots a glare so fierce in my direction that I can practically feel
the points she’s
docking from my grade spiraling down the drain.
    It’s
only an elective, yes, but it can still totally crash my GPA if I’m
not careful.
    I
sigh under my breath, flip open my textbook, and try to pay attention
to the intricacies of thirteenth-century British politics.

 

Jack
     
    At
least she wasn’t
lying about being a morning girl. I’m
starting to wonder if I spoke too soon, bragging about how much
better I work in the a.m., when here’s
Harper, looking the very picture of bright-eyed and bushy-tailed
(complete with messy auburn ponytail that looks just the right size
to grab in my fist . . . ),
already pointing out discrepancies I missed.
    She
leans closer to me—I
pulled my chair around thinking it would be less awkward for us to
work side-by-side, both of us on the same side of the desk, reading
the same copy of the poem. But the end of her ponytail brushes my
shoulder, and I can already tell this was a bad decision. I should’ve
left the desk between us, some sort of barrier.
    I
don’t know if I can
trust myself to stay in control like this. She even smells good, for fuck’s
sake.
    It
makes me want to devour her.
    “This
stanza.” She taps on
it with the end of her pencil, and I’m
yanked back to attention. We’re
only a couple stanzas into the first of the sheaf of twenty poems
we’ve got to work
with. There’s no
time to space out yet. “Really
reminds me of the kind of fragmentation Eliot uses in other poems.
Only I’m not sure
what it would be referencing. It sounds like a partial, distorted
quote of something, I just can’t . . . ”
    “ Canterbury
Tales , I’d
guess, based on the way the author alludes to courtly love. He talks
about being unable to eat, sleep, think straight, because of the
feelings the object of his desire arouses in him.”
My eyes meet hers, possibly for the first time since she strode into
my office this morning at 6:00