NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
Hi! Yes, I know it's been a long time since I have published anything. The last three years were very trying for me personally. But I have come through and found that authoring this story was just what I needed. FULL DISCLAIMER: This is quite a long one! I considered dividing it into two chapters but felt that it would take away from it. As is customary in my writing, my focus is on the story, and this is a love story! So, the development of the characters as their feelings and their romance slowly culminate into their sexual passion is critical. Those of you that read my work often know that this is my bread and butter. I am an utterly hopeless romantic! But like always, I will provide you with hot and passionate sex, drowning you with intimate and explicit details. It just takes time to get to it. So, if you're willing to invest that time, then please enjoy. Thank you!
***
The amphitheater lecture hall at the large state university had a maximum capacity of one hundred and fifty people. But the attendance of the class occupying the space on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons from one to three was just half that at seventy-five. The course was ECON-400; lectured by forty-five-year-old tenured Professor of Economics, Dr. Vanessa Ruelle, PhD.
Deemed one of the most astute and proficient economic minds in the financial world, Vanessa Ruelle was also one of the most highly esteemed and distinguished professors of the global academic fraternity in her field of study. Conversely, the woman's reputation among her students was that of being exceedingly frigid. So much so in fact that the air temperature in the lecture hall symbolically plummeted upon Professor Ruelle's arrival. Comparably, students regarded her as stoic, impersonal, unapproachable, animatronic, and intimidating. Born and raised in France, Vanessa Ruelle had never lost her native accent despite having lived abroad for over twenty years and with her mastery of the English language being impeccable. Notwithstanding the charismatic accent and her exceptionally articulate diction; students, colleagues and staff alike regarded her lectures remarkably monotonous.
Acutely conservative, both in appearance and attire, Vanessa Ruelle was nevertheless a striking woman. Tall and slender with tempting feminine curves, a slim waist, ample breasts, and exemplary legs. Her arms were long and willowy, capped by lithe hands with pristinely manicured fingers on one end and beguilingly tone shoulders on the other. Her skin was a pure and lovely alabaster yet periodically gave the appearance of being ashen and faintly malnourished.
Her professional attire could be considered a uniform, consisting of two-inch heels, nylon stockings, a pencil skirt that extended just above her knees paired with a matching blazer, and a long-sleeved silk blouse underneath. Her dark raven hair was efficiently styled into a signature bun, accentuating the length of her inviting neck and she wore a thick, navy blue rimmed cat-eye style pair of glasses on her diamond-shaped face, which magnified her salient eyes. The only thing that altered in her day-to-day attire were the colors of the heels, skirt, blazer and blouse. But that color range was somberly limited. When it came to wardrobe, the woman was harrowingly consistent.
When the lecture concluded punctually at three, Doctor Ruelle hastily exited like a top-billed performer from the Broadway stage. She engaged the services of her Graduate assistant and two Undergraduate aides to manage all lecture attendee comments, questions and concerns. It was rumored that she never engaged with students directly.
And with Professor Ruelle's departure, the room temperature symbolically rose just as promptly and inexplicably as it had fallen.
***
Muldoon's Irish Pub was eerily quiet for a Thursday night. Even though it was already past ten, it was still early by the bar and nightclub clock. But the actual reason for such a slow night was what they referred to as the eye of the storm effect; that period of calm between the two waves of a tropical cyclone. As St. Patrick's Day had been the previous Saturday and Spring Break was set to kickoff tomorrow evening after classes concluded at the state university across the river, they were now in the eye of the storm.
Kayla Courrier was alone behind the bar and had been shaking a stainless-steel mixing tin for so long that it was crystallizing with frost and on the verge of freezing solidly to her palm. Yet Kayla was utterly oblivious to it as her mind was light years away. With her normally shrill and vigilant emerald-green eyes staring vacantly into the abyss, the twenty-two-year-old senior at the university hardly registered the presence of her friends, twenty-eight-year-old Tyler Quinn and twenty-seven-year-old Cody McGinty. They were seated on side-by-side barstools directly across the bar top from Kayla and inquisitively observing the seemingly absentminded barmaid prepare their cocktails.
"Ahh, you know Kayla, if we'd wanted smoothies, we'd have gone to the Smoothie King down the street," Tyler said.
Kayla gave no indication that she had heard her friend. The aimless, empty stare into the void remained constant without so much as a blink.
"Earth to Kayla," Cody snapped. Again, Kayla remained in the dead zone. Cody glanced at Tyler and asked, "What do you think?"
"What else could it be?"
"Who else could it be, you mean."
The two young men shared a mischievous grin before turning their gazes back to the daydreaming young woman, and said together, "Professor Ruelle, I presume!"
"Huh?" Kayla mumbled, snapping back to reality. "Professor Ruelle? Oh, you mean Mrs. Freeze?"
"As in the wife of Batman's nemesis, Mr. Freeze?" Tyler questioned.
"I believe her name was Nora," Cody interjected.
"Oh," Kayla snapped. "Okay. Then does Jack Frost have a wife then? If he doesn't, I know who to set him up with."
"Still letting that woman live rent free in your head I see," remarked Tyler.
"Hardly free, for Christ's sake," Kayla growled. "The bitch is only ruining my life! Not to mention my future."
"Kind of like you're ruining our Appletini's," Tyler noted.
"Shit," Kayla snarled as she suddenly took notice of how cold her hand was and set the tin down on the bar.
"You may want to stick that in the microwave before you try and pour it," Cody offered as Kayla pulled two martini glasses from the cooler.
"I think we can make do with non-chilled glasses on this round," said Tyler.
"Definitely," Cody agreed.
"Fine," Kayla snapped, her voice brimming with irritation. She returned the chilled glasses to the cooler.
"So, just how is she ruining your life this week?" Tyler asked.
"Who?" Kayla asked as she pulled two martini glasses from the rack above the bar.
"Who? The Bride of Frankenstein, who!" Tyler prodded. "Ruella de Ville, that's who!"
"This week?" Kayla babbled confusedly.
"You've only been bitching about that woman every week since the semester began," Cody remarked.
"I'm flunking her course," Kayla snapped.
"No kidding," Tyler said, "And that is Ruelle's fault how exactly?"
"If I don't pass, I don't graduate," Kayla retorted.
"And I ask again, that's her fault how?" Tyler reiterated.
"You guys want me to spit in these?" Kayla barked as she strained the contents of the tin into the two martini glasses she had set on the bar. She then added, "Cuz I will."
"Not especially," Cody replied. "You're sweet, but you're not that sweet."
"How do you know," Kayla asked as she served the drinks. "You've never sampled my flavor."
"I've never sampled any woman's flavor," Cody replied. "Not my cup of tea."
"Amen to that my love," Tyler said with a smile. The two young men picked up their freshly made Appletini's and toasted.
"Love you babe," Cody said.
"Love you too," Tyler replied.
The two young men kissed softly on the lips and then sipped their drinks.
"So, how are the wedding plans coming?" Kayla asked as she rinsed the tin and strainer in the sink.
"Don't change the subject," Cody told her.
"What subject were we on?" Kayla asked, now drying her hands.
"Professor Ruelle! And how she's ruining your life," Tyler reminded her.
"Well, she is."
"Kayla, it isn't the professor's fault if a student doesn't grasp the material," Cody stated.
"The hell it isn't," Kayla roared. "She's a teacher! She's supposed to teach!"
