they talk amongst themselves waiting for class to begin.
At least I got to my second and third classes early. There’s nothing worse than walking into a class late and having everyone stare at you as the professor gives you a dirty look. Worse than that is when they lock the doors so everyone who’s tardy can’t get in. Been there, done that.
I start pulling out a scrap piece of paper I scrounge from the bottom of my purse along with a pen when quiet murmurs from the front of the room dull down. My eyes cast upward to see a tall man with dark hair walking in from the side door at the front of the classroom over to the table and podium in the center of the room. The brown leather messenger bag over his shoulder is peeled off and set on the table with his back to us.
There’s no question that the quiet is from every straight woman and gay man busying themselves with a close analysis of muscles clearly showcased in the tight blue button down wrapped around the mountainous man. Granted, most men are taller than my short five-two stature. He just has the added bonus of being well built on top of his impressive height.
Shaking my head, I begin writing the date in the top righthand corner of my paper when a husky voice cuts through my concentration. “I would like anyone sitting in the back to move forward so the seats in the front are filled first. Thank you.”
There aren’t many of us in the last few rows, but I notice a few girls move from where they are in middle up to the second row for a closer look at the professor.
Stifling my laugh, I collect my things and move. When a boy cuts me off by shouldering past me to take the last seat in the row I was clearly moving to, I hold back the death glare I want to give him and straighten my spine to examine the next available spot.
“There’s one right here in the front,” the same gravelly voice calls out. Looking around, I realize I’m the only one standing. Ignoring the faint heat that’s settled into the back of my neck, I walk down the wide steps until I’m in the seat directly across from the podium.
Papers get patted against the wood table in front of me before a stack appears in my line of vision. Sitting back, I look up to see the professor holding out the syllabus. When we lock eyes, I notice a familiarity in the sharp, aged features staring back at me.
Is that…?
“Take one, pass it down,” he instructs, moving the papers closer like I’m a moron for not knowing what he expects.
Clearly he isn’t who I think, even though the dark espresso tone of his almond shaped eyes is one I swear I’ve seen in the past. This man looks like the fine wine Mom always talks about with her favorite actors from the 80’s.
Some men get better with age, Piper.
If this man is who I think, then I can’t argue with her. Though I wouldn’t call him a silver fox, he certainly will be in another few years or so. Tall, built, yet lean in all the ways that count, he’s dressed professionally with a plain button down tucked into the tapered waist of his pressed black slacks. His muscles are on display which I’m sure he hadn’t meant to extenuate by wearing what he is, and I’m certainly not the only one who’s noticed his long legs and stocky figure.
It isn’t like I haven’t seen plenty of men like him, just not so closely. Not to mention the fair skin wrapped around a square jaw, envious cheekbones, and full lips make him look wholesome in a way that’s familiar to me. Familiar in an eerie I know you but don’t want to say I know you sort of way.
The blast from the past I’m thinking of would be at least thirty-nine, maybe forty by now. I haven’t seen him in a long time. If it’s really him, I have a lot of reasons to be weary. Like the fact that he didn’t show up to Danny’s funeral despite them being friends. When was the last time I would have seen Carter Ford? He grew up a few houses down from both Danny and me and was also good friends with my older half-brother Jesse. The three of them constantly got