Imani had been taking this college course for two weeks now and had to admit she still felt a little out of place, being twenty-eight years old in a sea of students in their early twenties. She was sure many of the other students in her class weren’t even of legal drinking age. But the benefits of being here outweighed her comfort issues, especially on days like today, when she was able to come early enough to claim what had become her seat of choice near the door. In a sea of seats in the stadium seating classroom, this one seat was in the perfect position. It wasn’t too close to the front of the classroom, where it felt like she was under the glare of everyone in the room. The seat was also near one of the left exit doors, and served as a quick getaway when class was done. But the best benefit was that if she came early enough, it was a perfect spot for stealing some secret glances at the gorgeous Professor Khalfani Walker before class. 
     Every day, the Professor unknowingly taunted her and several others with his dark skin, low-cut fade, and trimmed beard. Watching the way his body moved across the floor when he entered the room cast a fantastic image of his physique in his khaki slacks, light blue shirt, and dark brown plaid blazer. Today was especially tantalizing. Since it was a little warm in the room, he flung his leather case into his chair next to the podium so he could remove his blazer. It felt as if time slowed when he unbuttoned the one button and turned back his lapels. The blazer leisurely glided down his arms to his wrist before he removed his sleeves one by one and hung his jacket over the back of his chair. Imani could hear a couple of soft sighs, which she was sure were attributed to him giving them a better look at the broad outline of his chest. She did her best not to be so blatantly thirsty by biting her lip and instead looked down and pulled out her spiral notebook and four colored Bic pen, which she used for notetaking. At the same time, she couldn’t help imagining him suited up as a Marine, so severe and unyielding as he took his usual purposeful steps, rolling his chair closer to the podium. A stark contrast to the passionate demeanor he projected as he delved deeper into a topic. At times, he would even crack his hard exterior with a sexy smile, even if only temporarily.

     Imani wasn’t known to have a talent for flirting, but for that smile, she would work on mastering it. When she first started attending, she couldn’t help but feel like she belonged in a nursing home, sitting close to these young-bodied teenage girls. Some of the girls came to the class dressed as if their five o’clock class was one of the many packed parties they had in this college town, attracting attention from various young men in the room, though their target was the professor. In a small effort to at least not be undone, she decided to go for a fresher but classy look. 

     I may not be as young as these girls, but I’m not old either. Yesterday, she bought a few outfits to up her game. Not thinking she could be this bold, she wore one today that paired well against her pecan-colored skin. It was a simple outfit, an all-white chiffon mini dress with a V-neck and short, loose sleeves. It was slightly shorter than what she usually wore, showcasing her toned legs down to her freshly done toenails. Her one flaw was her updo, which she must have pinned too tightly with a hair stick, causing her only a slight annoyance when she left the house, but was now starting to torture her. Imani pulled the long offending hair stick from her head, releasing her long, kinky, twisted hair, allowing it to breathe as it flowed down her back past her shoulders. Maybe she wasn’t a club-ready teenager, but she felt glorious. She glanced over at the professor, who quickly shifted his eyes to his bag. 
     Imani dragged the charm hanging on the end of her gold chain necklace back and forth from its diamond as she covertly glanced at the Professor, waiting for class to begin. One of the female students broke her gaze as she walked up to the Professor, wearing form-fitted, shredded jeans and a tight white buttoned-up shirt that was barely holding her cleavage. Imani was surprised that her breasts didn’t spill out when the girl leaned on the table in front of the Professor.
     “Mr. Walker,” she said sweetly. “I’m still having a hard time finding the right books to support my topic for my paper. Can I come by your office after class to go over it?”

     Without even turning to her, Professor Walker continued to shuffle through his leather case, unpacking for class. 
     “If you still lack the proper resources to complete your paper by now, having met twice already this week, changing your topic to one you are more comfortable with will be the best solution. The paper is due in two weeks. That would be the quickest route to get it done. I won’t have office hours again until next week. However, my TA will be available in my office next week after class to assist you.”

     After taking out his last book and placing it on the table in front of him, he finally glanced over at her. Now that he was facing her, she had a glimmer in her eyes, confident that she would garner his special attention. 

     “Did you need anything else?” he asked patiently. 

     “Ah, I’m, actually, no,” she stammered. Her eyes, drained of her earlier confidence, turned to the student seating area. She quickly moved on from the Professor to take a seat a couple of rows behind Imani with her friends. Imani could hear them softly chuckling as she plopped down in her chair.

​     ​“Girl, stop. You’re looking thirsty,” the first friend whispered.

​     “He has to be gay,” the girl whispered back.

     “He’s not gay. He’s married. Don’t you see the ring on his finger?” 

     “When has that stopped a guy before?” the girl answered back. 

     “Today, apparently,” her other friend laughed. “And when you went to his office last Monday and Wednesday.”
     “You forgot last Friday in class with the cheerleader uniform,” her first friend chimed in. Imani had to stifle her chuckle on that one.      She hadn’t seen a girl in her cheerleading uniform in a classroom since high school. 
     “I tried to figure out his likes, but I can’t find him on Facebook, Instagram, or even Snapchat,” the girl whined. Imani nodded to herself in agreement with that one. She couldn’t find anything about him online either.
     “He probably has a private account to keep students like you out of his business. Just let it go before it gets more embarrassing.” 

     A small smile formed on Imani’s lips. The girl wasn’t the first student she’d seen try and fail at garnering his attention, and she surely wouldn’t be the last. It was probably the reason so many female students were determined to get into his class. It wasn’t just Professor Walker’s good looks he was known for on campus, but his lack of interest in tinkering around with his more than willing female students, making him a challenge. 

     Either way, he was an excellent African Literature teacher who took his job maybe a little too seriously, considering the amount of work he assigned. But the info she was gaining was fast-tracking her background research for an art commission she was hired to do. He was practically doing the work for her, considering the ideas she was able to write in her notes from his lectures. 
     “Let’s begin,” he said. It was 5:00 p.m. on the dot. Turning to the board, he began scribbling with his dry-erase marker, followed by the collective sound of students quickly jotting down or typing what he wrote on the board. That was the Professor’s typical way of beginning class. There were about ten minutes of note-taking and speaking on content before he put down his marker and moved on to relevant examples or open discussion. 
     It was essential to get it down as quickly as you could because five minutes into his explaining what he wrote, he started erasing some of it and writing something else. Sometimes he pulled down the screen to use the projector, which covered up what he’d written entirely. 

     Ten minutes later, just as Mr. Walker began to speak, in walked a habitually late student, Trevor Spencer. Trevor was one of the university’s star basketball athletes, which was a big deal since they were a D1 team and slotted to go all the way. On its own, that already made him catnip for the ladies, but Imani had to admit he was good-looking in his own right. Trevor had shoulder-length locs that were kept well-groomed and braided back. His skin was the color of coffee after adding milk, and he had gorgeous hazel eyes. She figured Trevor was at least six feet five inches. Next to her, he probably looked like a walking tree. 
     “Mr. Walker,” Trevor said, casually giving the Professor a nod without a care in the world, like he didn’t just irritate the hell out of him. The Professor continued his lecture as Trevor scanned for a seat. Imani was confused when he looked in her direction with a grin. She turned to her right and noticed the empty seat next to her. Her eyes then quickly took note that there were almost no empty seats that were easily accessible. As he walked her way, she struggled not to roll her eyes at him as she moved her legs back so he could pass in front of her and take the available seat. Imani could hear the huffed chagrin of the ladies behind her, who always held a place for him. 
Keeping her eyes steady on the Professor, Imani did her best to ignore all the sounds of shuffling papers and books in his bag as he took out his tablet, preparing to take notes.

     “Hey,” Trevor repeatedly whispered to someone. Imani was irritated that he was distracting her and hoped that he would get the person’s attention soon so she could listen in peace. Imani tried to tune him out when, suddenly, he started tapping on her desk lightly with the end of his stylus pen.
     “Yes?” she whispered back as she glowered at him. 
     “Can I see your notes?” Trevor whispered. Imani didn’t like the idea of sharing her notes during class. She often jotted her thoughts down as the Professor spoke so she wouldn’t forget them. 
     “I’m still writing them,” she said, turning back to the Professor.
     “By the way, my name is Trevor,” he whispered. 
     “What?” she asked, turning her head to glare at him again.
     “Trevor. That’s my name,” he said.
     “Imani,” she offered, turning her focus back to the Professor.
     “Imani, can I borrow your notes after class then? I’ll even treat you to dinner while I write them down.” 
     Did he just ask me out? She looked at him, her mouth slightly open, and her eyebrows furrowed. Maintaining a low voice, she answered, “Trevor, I’ll just email you a copy. Okay? Dinner isn’t necessary.”
     “And what if I want to have dinner with you?” 
     “You’re seriously asking me out now?” she whispered, turning to him once more.
     “What choice have you left me? I come late here from practice almost every day, and you blast out of here the moment he’s finished.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a lopsided grin.

     “Cough, cough.” They both looked up to the front of the room to find Professor Walker glaring at her with his smoldering dark eyes. 
She sat back, refusing to back down from what felt like his silent admonishment when he finally continued teaching the class. She could hear the soft chuckles of a couple of students, especially the girl he rejected behind them. She turned her head, pursing her lips and scowled at the object of her irritation, but found his eyes glued to the Professor as if he was intently listening to him the whole time. Just as she was about to turn away, Trevor turned to her, giving her a sly smile. 

     Insufferable. Imani rolled her eyes, determined to ignore him. She continued taking notes as the Professor spoke and showed a PowerPoint, she couldn’t help feeling that Trevor was continuously taking glances at her. Thankfully, he made no further attempts to talk to her for the rest of the class. With the professor's signature move of packing his leather case as he wrapped up, she realized that class was ending a little earlier today. She quickly packed up her things in her bag, so when Professor Walker dismissed the class, she could do as Trevor said she usually did and blast off. The Professor gave her and Trevor a final glance as she rubbed her stomach, now hungry, having missed lunch. 

     “Have a good weekend.” The scraping of seats filled the air before he continued, “Mr. Spencer. Can you come here for a minute?” 
Imani watched as Trevor gave the Professor a Cheshire cat smile and leisurely rose from his seat to meet him. As she walked towards the door, she looked back and could have sworn she caught Professor Walker peering ever so slightly at her legs, before Trevor stepped up to him. 

     Gazing up at the sky as she walked out of the building, she noticed that it was darker than usual, even for 7:00 p.m. The air felt wet and heavy as dark clouds loomed over her path. It would probably be a good idea to leave, but the pain of hunger hit her stomach even harder. She had at least an hour to kill before she had planned to go to the library to kill time, but with her stomach actively complaining, she decided to grab something quickly from the school food court. Her steps hadn’t gotten too far before she started to feel drops of rain tapping at her arms and legs, warning of what was to come. She started picking up her pace when the sky broke loose, pouring out its vengeance. 

     Only in Florida will it rain like this when, before the class, there’s barely a cloud in the sky.
In full stride, she maintained her path to the food court, splashing in the small puddles along the way, when suddenly she felt someone next to her blocking the rain above. Looking to her side, she saw Trevor. He had taken off his jacket and was using it to shield her from the rain.

     “Come on. I got you,” he said, maintaining her coverage until they reached the food court. It took a couple of seconds for them to get inside, with so many students hitting the cafeteria for coverage. Once they got through the door, Trevor removed his jacket from her head. Suddenly, chill shivers ran over her as the AC blew cold air on the wet clothes that now clung slightly to her curves.
     “I’d give you my jacket, but it’s soaked,” Trevor said. “Why don’t you sit in the outdoor patio? It’s probably warmer. I’ll get us some food. What do you feel like eating?” Just as she was about to refuse, he added, “It’s the least I can do for embarrassing you in class.”
     Imani thought it over and figured, what the hell? Eating shouldn’t take too long. “I’ll have a ginger tea and turkey sandwich. Joe’s Sandwich Shop, but I can pay for mine,” she said as she rubbed her arms for warmth. She started to reach into her purse for her card, but he waved her away.
     “As you wish.”