"And so what Shakespeare is trying to say here is . . ."
But Josh wasn't interested in Shakespeare. Who cared about Shakespeare when your professor was a red-haired, smooth-skinned, hourglass-shaped goddess who had surrendered her virginity to you just the day before?
He had to give her credit. She was composed, business-like, lecturing away as if nothing had happened. But there were clues—subtle clues, if you knew how to look for them. She was avoiding eye contact with him, for one. Normally during class, she made it a point to look at all of her students. Also, she seemed a little disoriented. A couple of times, she had stumbled over her words and had to start over. Again, nothing too obvious. No one would have suspected what the two of them had shared in her office yesterday.
Speaking of which . . . what about their "appointment"? They had left it that he'd pay her another visit this afternoon. He wondered. Would she change her mind? Was she still up for it? He would need to ask her after class.
She turned to write something on the blackboard, and Josh watched her with hunger in his eyes. That soft, round butt of hers was concealed under the loose-fitting slacks, but he had touched it, kissed it, caressed it yesterday. He couldn't get her naked body out of his mind all last night or this morning. He kept seeing her long red hair flowing loose, cascading over her shoulders like flowing lava. It was such a shame the way she always kept it primly pinned up the way she did. He was hoping their encounter yesterday would help to loosen her up in front of the class, but no such luck.
"And for Friday, please read Acts II and III," she said, turning back around to face the class. "Okay, I guess it's about that time, isn't it?"
The students shuffled their papers and books, and got up. They wasted little time leaving the room. Why linger, after all? There were more classes to attend, homework to get a head start on, lunch to eat. But Josh stayed at his desk, arranging papers that didn't need to be arranged.
When everyone else had left, when it was it was just Sister Monica and himself in the classroom, he approached her desk.
"So," he said, "I'll be seeing you later, right?" He smiled, winked.
She took a deep breath. "I don't think so, Josh," she said. She glanced out the open door, into the hallway. Students rushed past, darting this way and that. "Yesterday was . . ."
"Amazing? Incredible? Sexy beyond belief? Hot? Awesome?"
She let out a little chuckle. "All of those and then some," she admitted. "I'll never forget it. But it was wrong, Josh. I can't do that again. I—"
He kissed her. She gasped, but his mouth quickly locked onto hers, shutting it. She tried to pull away, but he held her there.
"You're crazy!" she said once he let her go. "What if someone saw us?"
Ignoring her, he pulled a folded, wrinkled grocery sack from his pocket and tossed it onto her desk. "There," he said. "A gift."
"Josh . . ."
"I'll be up to see you at your office at four o'clock," he said. "You be there, Sister Monica. And you put those on for me." He pointed to the grocery sack. "And don't worry, you'll like what I bought you. You'll love what I bought you. Because you're a sexy girl at heart, aren't you?"
He looked out the door, into the hallway. It was nearly empty now, by the sound of it. The rush of underclassmen, the buzz of voices and laughter had been replaced by silence.
He swooped in and kissed her again. This time he was more forceful, his mouth more persuasive. He kissed her upper lip, then ran his tongue across her lower lip. Her mouth gave way, opened. He put his arms around her, and she reciprocated. Their tongues danced and wrestled, exploring, thrusting, parrying.
"Mmm," she said.
He pulled away, and immediately she looked at the open door.
"Don't worry, no one's out there anymore," he said. "Believe me, I wouldn't do anything to get you into trouble, sexy Monica. I wouldn't want them to fire you. How would I occupy myself this semester without my favorite nun on campus?"
She was breathing hard, in quick gasps. Her face was red. He wanted her, here, now, this second. But he could wait. The anticipation would only make what came later that much sweeter.
"Remember, I'll be at your office by four," he said. "The rest is up to you. If you want this to stop, don't be there. But you will be, won't you, sexy Monica? Because you know how much you want me again. And if you're there at four—and you will be—you make sure to wear the things I bought you." He again pointed at the grocery sack. "Sorry I couldn't have them gift-wrapped. Pressed for time, you know?" He smiled. "See you later, sexy."
And he left. He turned back once, when he reached the doorway. Sister Monica was just standing there, mouth agape, her hand over her chest.
♣
Her office door was closed when he got there. He had little doubt that she was inside, though. He knocked.
There was a pause, then a small voice said, "Come in."
He grinned, opened the door, stepped into her oak-paneled office with the volumes of the great classics lining her shelves, then reclosed the door. She was sitting primly in her chair, behind her desk, hands folded in front of her. Her hair, he was dismayed to see, was still pinned up. He wondered if she was wearing his gifts, but he'd find out soon enough.
He sat in the other chair, facing her. Through the window, behind her, a cold, meager winter sun was offering its last light of the day. Late-afternoon shadows spread along the pavement of the parking lot like two-dimensional silhouettes seeking a warm place of refuge.
He reached into his winter coat pocket. He had a surprise in store for Sister Monica. Feeling around, he made sure the items he needed were in there. Of course they were there. Why wouldn't they be?
"Glad you decided to show up, sexy Monica," he said. She took a breath, said nothing. "You probably thought about this all day, didn't you?" She swallowed, bit her lip (she looked so sexy when she did that), nodded. "I did, too, Sister Monica. We're gonna have fun, don't you worry. I'll rock your world like you can't imagine."
