Chapter 3: Making the Call

"Well," she began, lifting her laptop from her messy bag. "I'm struggling with my paper. I'm not sure what sources are best." It wasn't a total lie. She wanted this paper to be outstanding and he was an expert, after all.

When he came around to the other side of the desk next to her, she had a view between his legs.

From what she could tell, she was not lacking. She felt faint for a moment and then embarrassed. Thankfully, he sat down beside her in a second chair. She tried to calm her thumping heart.

"What is your paper about?" he asked her. When he glanced at her and touched the edge of her laptop, she felt her stomach flip. He was so gorgeous. Whoever he wanted to be with he could get, easily.

"It's about PTSD," she said. He backed up for a moment studying her.

"You seem interested in that topic based on your answers in class."

"Well, yeah," she said. It was all she could think of as he was studying her.

"I've done a fair amount of work on that subject. You've certainly come to the right place."

"I was hoping you'd feel that way," she said, trying to sound surprised and relieved. She already had her next paper mapped about bipolar disorder, another topic he focused on. What would he think when they supposedly had so much in common? Maybe by that time, she wouldn't need to use a ploy like that.

She smiled at him, and he returned it. His eyes scanned her face, down to her chest, then he averted his eyes. It would be her pleasure if he liked what he saw, half as much as she did with him. If only she could speak these thoughts out loud.

***

They didn't need to spend a great deal of time on the subject of the paper. Straight away, he pointed her to some reliable sources online and in their on-campus library. Researching would be the first thing she did when she got home. Along the way she made sure to write down every single word he said.

"So, Chloé, is there anything else I can help you with?" As he kept his eyes on her, it was like he could see into her soul.

"I–I don't think so," she stammered. Suddenly, she was frozen, imagining what other things she'd love his help with. He nodded and smiled, springing up from the chair. When he got behind his desk, he began writing on a spare piece of paper. Chloé stood up and unzipped her bag.

As she stored her laptop, she glanced to see what he was jotting down but then politely looked away. Apparently, that note was important since he didn't notice she was about to leave. When she said goodbye, he hopped up, quickly.

"Hang on," he said. She could see him rip the section he had scribbled on. As Chloé paused for him, he handed her the torn piece of paper. "It's my personal cell number. If you ever want to discuss this topic outside of class."

Chloé gently tugged it out of his hand. When he gazed down at her she couldn't stop staring at his lips.

"I'll use it. If–If I need to, of course."

"Of course," he said, with a smile. She could swear he winked at her.

When she turned to leave, she wanted to skip down the hall in excitement. Then in classic Chloé style, she was bombarded by her internal debate.

What should she say to him over the phone? What would they do? Would they go out? And if so, was there any chance they'd end up back at his place?

***

The rest of that Thursday Chloé continued ruminating about Kemal. She tried to imagine what he was doing, what was on his mind, if he was thinking about her. Did he wonder about her half as much as she thought about him? He must have been a little curious about her if he gave her his number.

She didn't call him that night, though she wanted to. She argued between her choices. Would using the guise of making plans be acceptable or should she leave him alone to avoid appearing desperate? She settled on the latter.

The following day couldn't come fast enough.

***

That Friday, in the early afternoon she presumed she was safe from being considered desperate if she called. If he rejected her invitation to go out, then she would drop it. She was praying he wouldn't, though.

His number was already memorized and saved in her phone. After she punched it in she tried to steady her voice. When he answered, he sounded a little tired.

"Hi, Professor Hakkan?"

"Yes?" He promptly cleared his throat and then repeated his answer.

"It's Chloé. Chloé Masters."

"Oh, hello, Chloé Masters."

She could hear the smile on his face. It made her grin, almost tittering. After a deep breath, she continued.

"So, you know how you gave me this number … to talk about class? Well, I'm using it."

"I see, I see," he said, with a chuckle.

"Yes, I'm wondering if we could go over a few things, like sources and stuff?" She had to lean her elbows on her counter to brace for the answer.

"Oh, of course! Of course. Would you like to meet now?" he asked. She gulped.

"Now?"

"Yes. There's a little coffee shop nearby. It's called Brewing To–"

"I know it, yes," she blurted. "That would be great."

"Perfect! Do you live close to town?"

"I do."

"Let's meet there in, say, ten minutes. Sound good?"

"Mm-hmm," she could barely muster. He gave her the directions to the place and then they hung up.

"Oh ... my ... god," she said aloud and then frantically began to rotate through various outfits.

She decided on a pair of jeans, a khaki-colored long-sleeved shirt, and some heels. She put on a slightly darker shade of red lipstick but then immediately wiped it off and opted for a lighter shade of pink.

When she finished getting herself together, she realized it had been ten minutes. She sent him a text saying she was almost ready, and he messaged back saying it was fine. Anxiety filled her as she wondered if she had already upset him. He was probably on time for everything and now he was going to think she was a disorganized child.

"Happy to wait :)" he replied.

After seeing that message she told herself to stop overthinking everything and just go. In a flash, she lifted her bag from her chair and then headed down the street.

She had never been to this coffee shop. Maybe only worldly people went to it. When she entered, a jingling bell on the door surprised her since the furniture and decor inside seemed so modern. It was quaint but cozy.

Scanning the high-topped black and cedar-colored tables in the middle of the room, she finally noticed him.

He had his back to her but when he glanced over his shoulder and saw her, his face lit up. She watched him wave her on, which made her feel weak in the knees. This time he was wearing a short-sleeved black polo shirt and dark blue jeans. Of course, he also had his cute Converse on.

She tried not to trip in her heels. It had been a while since she wore anything like that. Perhaps she had overdressed. Was it obvious how hard she was trying?

When she arrived at the table, he pointed to the other chair across from him. She wasn't sure if that was something a controlling person would do or not. It didn't deter her interest. She merely made a mental note.

'You're doing it again. Just let things unfold.'

She set her bag down and took her seat, cracking a smile. He smiled back and asked her what she liked. When she told him a latte, he glanced at the worker behind him.

"Guess you were right!" said the barista as she began to make Chloé's coffee. When the professor turned back his face was slightly pink.

"Wow, I'm that easy to read, huh?" Chloé said, with a laugh. He chuckled.

"It's a safe bet. With a young woman like you, it's enough to give you the zing you crave but it's not too bitter."

"That's right," she said with a grin. When he smiled back, she could see that he had a shadow of black hair on his face. She wondered how often he needed to shave. It was probably onyx-colored like his other body hair.

When she glanced at his shirt, it was slightly open as he leaned over the coffee table. Chloé had to wonder if he was doing it on purpose but that wasn't likely. She would bet he was oblivious to how sexy he was.

She wondered how many people had given him their opinions about his looks or personality. Had anyone been cruel? Some probably told him his body hair was ugly. How utterly mistaken they were.

"So, Chloé Masters, what would you like to discuss?" He opened his arms. "I am here at your disposal."

As usual, Chloé couldn't speak. The thought of that being true in every way led her to suggestive thoughts muddying up her cognition.

"Uh," she began. She stared at his hands as they returned to the table. They seemed strong and capable. It was hard not to imagine the alluring contrast of his bronzed-toned skin upon her ample pale breasts.

"Let me help you out," he said, leaning forward. "You found the sources, but you want to ask me more personal questions."

"Um, yeah, professor," she said and nodded sipping from her cup. Then she set the coffee down.

"Oh, please call me by my first name," he insisted.

"Sorry. What is it again?" she asked, feigning ignorance.

"You don't know?" he asked. He was half smiling as he took a sip and then studied her.

"From the articles but sometimes there was only a K in the citation–."

"It's Kemal."

"Right ... Kemal," she said, trying to keep herself from blushing.

"Now Chloé, please ask me your questions."

"But I have so many."

"Then I'll start. You've seen my articles, right? Just about everyone who reads them wants to know if I suffer from either of the subjects I focus on. Are you one of those people?"

Chloé picked up her coffee again, took a sip, and nodded.

"Is that bad? It sounds like I'm the same as everyone else. It must get old."

"Not at all."

"Which part?"

"To either. For one, it's a valid question but for your information, I don't suffer from them. Secondly, and believe me when I say this, you are not like everyone else."

Chloé felt her heart jump up in her throat. She almost couldn't swallow the drink she had taken. Instead of moving the cup down, she kept it close to her face, using it as a shield. She'd be so embarrassed if he saw how pleased she was.

Once composed, Chloé placed her coffee on the table, deciding to ask, "What do you mean by that?" Her voice sounded as unconfident as she felt.

"You're unique."