Page 6 of Teaching Roman

She screwed up her face and shook her head. “I’m not wasting any more time on him, but I do need a new screensaver.”

She pulled out her iPhone and held it out in front of us as I leaned in for the obligatory selfie. A few seconds later she flashed the screen at me. Beside her olive skin and raven hair, I looked more pale and blonde than ever.

“We’re going to get you some goddamn sun,” she said with a sigh.

I wasn't the type that tanned, and Cassie knew it. “Good, I’ll look like a lobster.”

“I’ll look like caramel,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“I’m not sure how I feel about us both being edible.”

Two waters appeared before us without a word from the bartender and I threw down my AmEx on the counter as Cassie lifted her glass and clinked it against mine. “To sand, tequila, and bad decisions in the making.”

“Famous last words,” I muttered.

Cassie gulped down half her glass before she froze in place, her attention pinned on something behind me. “Is that Markson?”

Her timing was impeccable, because I was taking a sip of water, which wound up spluttered across my chin and chest. She was right. Roman Markson, communications prof and undeniable hottie, was here. At the airport. In the Mile High Club. Right now. I couldn't quite ignore the burst of excitement that jolted through me and landed in my treasure chest.

“If he didn’t see you before,” she continued with a giggle, “he has now.”

Fantastic. Of all the people to run into on vacation—a professor—and, of course, it happened while it looked like I was having a one girl wet T-shirt contest. I wiped at the drops on my top and tried to look anywhere but at him.

That proved impossible though, because Roman was clearly on vacation as well and looking more like a Hollister ad than a communications instructor. Right down to the tribal tattoo twisting around his bicep. It was the first time I’d ever seen it. Probably, because at school, he tried to cover up his looks with his professor uniform: button down, blazer or sweater vest, laced up oxfords. Today he wore a thin, fitted T-shirt and jeans that displayed his impressively muscular frame and that mysterious tattoo. This outfit only blurred the all-too-important teacher-student line in new and interesting ways. Plus, his five o'clock shadow was more pronounced than normal and he wasn't trying to tame his silky, black hair. He didn’t look like my teacher. He didn’t look like anyone’s teacher. He looked like God’s gift to women everywhere.

“Jessica!” Roman called my name with surprise as he approached us.

“Ro—Professor Markson,” I corrected myself immediately while a litany of curse words bounced around in my head. He’d already caught me staring at him. I didn’t need to embarrass myself even further by acting like we were on a first name basis. “I didn’t recognize you.”

“I’m not dressed for class.”

That was a perfectly rational excuse and I nodded emphatically as though it was the reason I’d pretended not to recognize him.

It so was not.

I’d only seen Roman outside of class on a handful of occasions. Not that I was meeting up with him or anything. We just bumped into each other every once in a while. I didn’t mind those chance encounters. But they’d been nothing like this.

“Vacationing?” Cassie asked, finally coming to my rescue.

“Off for the holidays. And you girls? Getting into trouble?” He winked at me, and my stomach flipped over.

“If I can help it,” Cassie promised him.

“Can I buy you two a drink?” he asked, placing his bag on the stool next to mine.

I tried to look casual and failed miserably as heat rose to my cheeks. “We’ve moved on to water. It’s best to stay hydrated on long flights.”

Oh my god, was I giving him health advice? I sounded like the information video they played on the plane prior to take-off.

“Good tip.” Roman shifted on his heels and glanced at his phone. “I hate how early you have to be here for international flights.”

“Going somewhere exotic?” Cassie twirled her stir stick before popping it into her mouth. Was she flirting with him? I couldn’t exactly blame her, but I envied how easily it came to her. She could make even a simple question sound sexy while I sounded like a nut-job.

“Puerto Vallarta,” he said without skipping a beat.

Cassie’s elbow found my rib cage in an unfortunate twist since his answer had knocked the wind out of me. “No fucking way! We’re headed there, too. Planning to hit the bars?”

“His family lives in Puerto Vallarta,” I butted in before I could think.