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    Just Between Us: Student-Teacher Romance
    Just Between Us: Student-Teacher Romance
    Just Between Us: Student-Teacher Romance
    Ebook196 pages2 hours

    Just Between Us: Student-Teacher Romance

    By Suzanne D. Williams

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    About this ebook

    He shouldn't feel anything for her. He shouldn't have let them get so close. He shouldn't have kissed her and made any sort of admission. He shouldn't call her or text her or make promises. He shouldn't want to feel her all around him either. Spiritually, mentally, morally, he was wrong.

    When did they become more than a professor and his student?

    Former hockey star, Andrew Jai, fell into teaching after an injury cut his promising sports career short. Being the youngest professor on the college campus is nothing new to him. A child genius, who graduated high school in his mid-teens, he's used to always being in the wrong age group.

    There was only one direction to fall.

    Leah Richmond fought dyslexia to win a full-tuition scholarship to the college of her choice. But when her English literature professor asks for late-night help rewriting ancient curriculum, it isn't the schoolwork that causes trouble. He's only nine years older than her and kind and gentle, not to mention handsome. Their personalities click, and soon, late nights and time together blossom into a love affair.

    Yet feeling anything is off limits and requires a heartbreaking choice. Something's got to give, his job and reputation or her college degree, or maybe, worst of all, any possible future together. Unless God mends hearts and works a miracle.

    A Christian romance by author, SUZANNE D. WILLIAMS. Included, sneak peaks from her other books!

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSuzanne D. Williams
    Release dateFeb 18, 2019
    ISBN9781386335610
    Just Between Us: Student-Teacher Romance
    Author

    Suzanne D. Williams

    Best-selling author, Suzanne D. Williams, is a native Floridian, wife, mother, and photographer. She is the author of both nonfiction and fiction books. She writes a monthly column for Steves-Digicams.com on the subject of digital photography, as well as devotionals and instructional articles for various blogs. She also does graphic design for self-publishing authors. She is co-founder of THE EDGE. To learn more about what she’s doing and check out her extensive catalogue of stories, visit http://suzanne-williams-photography.blogspot.com/ or link with her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/suzannedwilliamsauthor.

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      Book preview

      Just Between Us - Suzanne D. Williams

      CHAPTER 1

      A stack of paperwork landed atop his desk, the thick bundle making a loud snap, and the rumble of student voices fell to a few hushed whispers. Folding his arms across his chest, he cleared his throat. If you can all take a seat ...

      The handful still milling in the aisle scrambled into place, and the class turned their curious gazes forward. Scanning the new group, his gaze lit on a girl on the front row. Her eyes widened, and a girl on her left jabbed one elbow into her side. He refocused.

      My name is Andrew Jai. That’s J-a-i, like the letter ‘j’. You can call me Professor if you want to, but that makes me feel old. He unfolded his arms, lowering them. Mr. Jai is fine, he continued. Since you’re all asking each other the same questions, I’ll help you out. I’m thirty-one, and I got this job because the administration thought sticking an ex-hockey player in front of the class would make a boring subject more interesting.

      A chorus of laughter whisked around the room.

      I will also settle another rumor. I am indeed smarter than you. Although ... He sought the girl’s gaze again. I understand we have the Joan C. Harding scholarship winner in this class. Miss Richmond, welcome.

      The girl blushed, and he held her gaze, for a moment. If there were rumors about him, then he’d heard a few about her. Word had it, she was dyslexic, which made her win over one thousand other applicants even bigger. It showed she had the courage lacking in a lot of kids her age.

      Now, having made the introductions, he said, I have papers for you.

      Andrew revolved and lifted the papers from his desk. Handing them to the first student on the front row, he motioned right. Please pass those down and back.

      The crinkle of the pages sifting through many hands took over, and he shook out his copy of the sheet, waiting for the noise to subside.

      Rule number one, he began. Listening. The most important skill you will learn in this class is hearing and understanding what is said. I do not write things down, and I do not repeat myself. Rule number two ... He paused. "Reading. This is a literature class. If you are taking this class but you hate reading, you are doomed. It is, after all, the purpose of your being here. You are not here to socialize, meet girls, or hit on the teacher."

      More laughter spread around the room. He smiled.

      Rule number three. Have fun. Nothing makes a subject more mundane than your attitude. Much of literature is about putting yourself in the shoes of the writer. What was he or she doing at that point in their life? What times did they live in that inspired it? I am less concerned with the interpretation of what you read as much as your understanding of what made the author write it. Sometimes a red door is just a red door and not symbolic of anything at all, so don’t overthink it.

      He turned the paper over. If you’ll turn to page two.

      Papers flipped, the sound filling the air.

      "This is the list of what we’ll read. It will not change. And don’t lose this list. You won’t get another. Now ... He paused. Today is your chance to tell me about you. I am teaching people with lives, families, and dreams ... not wallflowers. Write me a page or two about who you are. I don’t care if it involves this class or not. Bring them to my desk when you’re finished, then you’re free to go."

      With that, he hushed.

      After a rustle of movement, heads bent to the task. Circling behind his desk, he leaned back in his chair, his thoughts wandering. The strongest one, strangely, his father’s reaction to his son teaching. It hadn’t been the joyful, proud father-son moment he’d wanted to have. But then, his dad had never really understood him, something he’d only reconciled in his mid-twenties.

      It had to have been hard raising a genius son, and Andrew didn’t say that too loudly. He knew what he was and liked to think he was humble enough about it. He hadn’t seen his father’s distorted view until he’d gotten older, and then, he’d struggled with his dad’s need to bury it. At least, that’s what it’d felt like.

      A few students wandered forward, dropping their pages on his desk. His gaze strayed to Leah, the pucker of her lips, the curl of her fingers around her pen. She wrote longer than most, not rising until two-thirds of the class had cleared out.

      He met her gaze from the opposite side of the desk, and silent, she stood there, her lip tucked in her teeth. He stretched out one hand. Thank you, Miss Richmond.

      Placing the pages in his palm, she turned.

      If I could speak with you after everyone’s finished.

      She glanced behind. Sir?

      I have a proposal for you, a little project I’m undertaking. I’d appreciate a moment of your time.

      She gave a short nod and returned to her seat. An additional fifteen minutes passed before the classroom emptied. He tapped the papers into a stack and walked toward her.

      I read your essay for the scholarship, he said, taking a seat at her side. Amazing work.

      She flashed him a nervous smile.

      It inspired me to include you in a group I’m forming. If you’re not interested, simply say so because it means considerable time after school collaborating with me.

      With you? Her gaze widening her mouth parting the slightest bit.

      He dipped his chin. Me and a couple other students. He made a shallow breath. The curriculum this class has used for the last twenty years is woefully out of date. I’ve been given permission to update it and already have some ideas of the direction I want to go, but I’d like to get the input of some of those taking the course as well. I’ve picked out three students, you and two others, from another class, who I feel will understand my thought pattern and contribute to it in several brainstorming sessions. Plus ... I have a confession to make. I write nothing down because it’s painful.

      He held out one hand, exposing the scar in the center of his palm. He meant it only as an example. However, on apparent impulse, she reached out and traced the line with her thumb. The tickle of her fingernail spread outward.

      It hurts? she asked.

      He nodded. Sometimes. Hockey injury.

      And the reason his dad couldn’t accept teaching. Andrew, the genius, with an IQ of 159, he’d acknowledged. He’d had no choice. Andrew, the hockey star, he’d adored and bragged about. Hockey had been his father’s dream, although he’d embraced the sport. Andrew, the college professor, was, somehow, a step down from either one of those.

      Leah looked up.

      I need others to put down what I can’t, he spoke frank. I usually manage. I can teach, type with my left, but writing requires me to bend my fingers where they won’t go.

      Why me? she asked, quietly. I know nothing about teaching.

      I value your input and believe your thoughts will give me a clearer head. He retracted his hand. Assembling the final presentation is on my shoulders, but with the help of you, students, it’ll go much faster ... and because you need to know, I’ve spoken with the dean. He’s given his permission, so it’s all above board. I’ve also suggested I make it part of your grade. That’ll relieve all three of you from having to keep up with everyone else in class.

      She seemed to think about that, her brow furrowed. I can’t speak for them, but I don’t want any favors. I can do whatever you assign.

      He smiled. I wondered if you’d say that, and I won’t argue. But if it’s too much, please let me know.

      She nodded.

      So, you’ll do it?

      She pulled in a breath.

      He understood her hesitation. Her first semester at a new college and her younger-than-usual professor had asked for her help. Sitting in class, observing, she probably fought her doubts enough, but to be approached more personally, though over something as normal as curriculum, would require consideration.

      Yes, sir, she said. When will we start?

      Andrew nodded toward her notebook. Write down your schedule and a number I can reach you at. I don’t want to get in the way of your other classes. That came foremost.

      Leah obeyed, scribbling her cell phone number on the top of the sheet. She folded it and handed it to him.

      He rose. Thank you, Miss Richmond.

      Leah, she said. Call me Leah.

      He nodded. Leah.

      A half-empty glass of iced tea at his fingertips, his feet propped on the padded footstool, Andrew settled the stack of papers in his lap, his gaze on the top sheet. The name in the corner was barely legible. Jackson ... something. Penmanship was evidently not Jackson’s talent.

      Concentrating on the illegible scrawl, he made out about half of what was written before giving up. He shifted the page to the bottom of the stack and lifted the next one.

      Amy Wilson. Twenty. Likes dogs. Wants to become a veterinarian.

      This exercise always weeded out the serious students. Most, as he expected, took the class for the college credit, but there were always a few with a head for writing. Those made it worthwhile.

      Sifting through the stack, he searched for Leah Richmond’s paper, but hesitated to read it.

      She was uncommonly lovely—clear skin, rich dark eyes, caramel-colored hair that fell over her shoulders. He couldn’t help but notice. He was a single man. A lonely one, something largely caused by his change in professions.

      He had to keep his head on straight. His age had caused enough problems in being hired. People doubted his fitness as a teacher, and frankly, he didn’t understand that. This small community college had been the first to not find issue, though he’d had to argue long and hard for the right to form this group. The more conservative faculty members didn’t see a need to alter how things had always been done.

      He’d listened, then given the speech he’d prepared. The college should project a forward-thinking image, and this would put them ahead of other larger schools. Plus, he had to have someone to physically write down his thoughts.

      Rolling his hand over, he stared at his scar, the injury that had ended his sports career and caused the distance with his father. Back before hockey took over his days, he’d intended to teach. His dad had had other ideas. Years of doctors and hours of therapy later, his fingers still wouldn’t bend and sometimes ached so strongly they took his breath.

      He’d taught himself not to complain. But some days, he felt the pain of both the injury and his dad’s rejection more than on others, and his old fears would return. Mostly, fear of failure. Being labeled smarter than other kids had introduced him to that at a young age. Where other kids didn’t have to measure up, he had to excel. Their great was his less-than-normal.

      His return to teaching became his salvation. His brain could work where his hand couldn’t. Eventually, he’d figured out how to exercise without use of his hand, but thinking and reading, and having students like Leah Richmond, proved far greater medicine.

      He wished his dad had realized that before he’d passed. That was his worst failure. He’d let him down and couldn’t do anything about it.

      Andrew dropped his gaze to the first words on her paper.

      Who am I? Some days, I’m the girl who couldn’t read.

      His interest perked. He swigged his tea and returned it to the coaster.

      Some days, I’m the girl who learned it was okay to be different. Just because the words didn’t look the same for me didn’t mean I was less than anyone else, and it didn’t mean I couldn’t become someone. In fact, it pushed me to become more than I would have been. I can overcome the disability that would have held me back and find success.

      Who am I? A twenty-two-year-old woman sitting in the front row of an English lit class, perhaps, older than other freshmen, but for that reason, more determined to succeed. After all, I’m here because I accomplished something I previously couldn’t.

      Overwhelmed, Andrew tightened his grip on the page, the edges curling in his fingers. After what she’d written to win the scholarship, to admit how far she’d come was brave, and gave him a new light on her. Like himself, she faced her future with determination to overcome the odds.

      He switched his gaze to his hand again and felt her fingers there, and a kinship he probably shouldn’t.

      In order to understand reading, you need to understand writing.

      Professor Jai’s gaze swept the class, settling on hers. Not the first time, and the warmth in her cheeks rose. Embarrassed, but unsure why, Leah sank down in her seat.

      I’m aware this is not a writing class, he continued, but after reading Tuesday’s assignment, I’ve decided to approach literature from a new angle.

      He waved toward the overhead screen, depressing the button on a small, gray remote. On the screen, you see an image. Lots going on there ... a woman buying groceries, a boy crossing the street, a policeman chasing someone at the corner. I chose this picture because, with all that’s going on, there will be something for everyone to focus on.

      He set the remote down on his podium. I want each of you to pick a piece of the scene and tell me the story behind it. What do you think happened to put that person in that location at that moment in time? These don’t have to be perfect. Your random thoughts will work. He paused. You have from now until the end of class to complete it.

      With that, he turned his back and headed for his desk.

      Leah stared at him for a minute, noticing the stretch of his shirt across the thick muscles of his back, then, rattled, dug her notebook from her bag. Flipping to a blank page, she set to work, not looking up until he rose at the front of the class again.

      You can leave your papers in my inbox as you go, he said.

      Students filed

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