Chapter 46
**Sara**
I flopped onto my couch, remote in hand, determined to distract myself from thoughts of Tom. Flicking through channels, I landed on a sappy romance series. Perfect. Nothing like watching other people's relationship drama to forget your own.
"Oh, come on," I groaned at the screen. "He's clearly not into you, girl. Move on!"
The protagonist, a wide-eyed brunette with impossibly perfect hair, was pining after some brooding, chiseled-jaw type. Because, of course, she was.
I reached for my bowl of popcorn, shoving a handful into my mouth. "Mmph, at least I'm not that pathetic," I mumbled, kernels flying everywhere.
On-screen, the couple was now having an intense staring contest.
"Just kiss already!" I yelled at the TV, then immediately regretted it as the image of Tom's lips flashed through my mind.
I groaned and buried my face in a throw pillow. "Stupid, sexy professor," I muttered into the fabric.
When I looked up again, the couple was finally locking lips in what was supposed to be a passionate embrace but looked more like they were trying to eat each other's faces.
"Is that how Tom and I looked?" I wondered aloud, then immediately shook my head. "Nope, not going there, Sara. Focus on the terrible acting."
It was as if, on cue, the male lead delivered a line so cheesy that it could've been a dairy commercial. I burst out laughing, nearly choking on my popcorn.
My phone buzzed, vibrating against the coffee table and making me jump. Mom's face popped up on the screen, grinning at me like she'd just won the lottery or found out her favorite soap opera was getting another season. I sighed, contemplating whether to answer or let it go to voicemail. Guilt won out, as it always did when it came to Mom. I mean, how could I ignore that beaming smile, even if it was just a photo?
"Here we go," I muttered, reaching for the phone with resignation. My finger hovered over the green answer button for a moment before I tapped it, bracing myself for whatever exciting news or random gossip she was bursting to share.
"Hey, Mom," I said, trying to sound chipper.
"Sara! How's my little graduate student?" Her voice was way too perky for... I glanced at the clock. Yep, 9 PM on a weeknight.
"I'm good, Mom. Just watching some mind-numbing TV."
"Oh, honey, shouldn't you be studying? Your MBA won't earn itself, you know."
"Thanks for the reminder, Mom. I've been hitting the books all day. Just taking a break."
"Well, that's good. How are your classes going? Are you eating enough? You're not living off ramen noodles, are you?"
I glanced at the empty popcorn bowl and a half-eaten bag of chips on my coffee table. "Nope, no ramen here. I'm eating like a queen."
"That's my girl. You know, your father and I worry about you living all alone in the big city."
"Mom, I'm fine. I'm a grown woman, remember?"
"I know, I know. But you'll always be my baby. Are you sure you're eating enough vegetables?"
I stifled a groan. "Yes, Mom. I had a salad for lunch." It was true if you counted the lettuce and tomato on my burger.
"Good, good. And how about your love life? Any nice young men catching your eye?"
My mind immediately flashed to Tom. His intense gaze, those strong hands, the way he—
"Sara? Are you still there?"
I shook my head, clearing the mental image. "Yeah, sorry. Just... static. And no, Mom, no men to report."
"Well, don't work too hard. Make sure you're getting out there and meeting people. You never know when Mr. Right might come along!"
If only she knew. "Sure, Mom. I'll keep an eye out for Prince Charming between corporate finance lectures."
After a few more minutes of motherly advice and thinly veiled worry, I finally managed to end the call. I tossed my phone aside and slumped back into the couch cushions, Mom's words echoing in my head. "Mr. Right," she'd said. Ha! More like Mr. Oh-So-Wrong-But-Oh-So-Right.
My eyes drifted back to the TV, where the impossibly attractive couple was now having a dramatic fight about something ridiculous. But my mind wandered elsewhere. What was Tom doing right now?
"Stop it, Sara," I muttered, reaching for the chips. "He's probably grading papers or something equally boring and professorial."
But my traitorous brain had other ideas. Images of Tom flooded my mind – his strong hands gripping a red pen, his brow furrowed in concentration, those full lips pursed as he read...
"Ugh!" I groaned, shoving a handful of chips into my mouth. "Why am I thinking about him? He's off-limits, remember?"
On-screen, the couple was now making up with a steamy reconciliation scene. Great, just what I needed – more fuel for my Tom-filled fantasies.
I tried to focus on the terrible dialogue, but my mind kept drifting. Was Tom thinking about me, too? Was he sitting in his fancy apartment, grading papers and remembering our night together?
"Maybe he's in the shower," my brain helpfully supplied.
"Nope, not going there," I said aloud, as if that would stop the mental image of water cascading down Tom's chiseled chest.
I grabbed the remote and started flipping through channels frantically, desperate for a distraction. News? Too depressing. Cooking show? Too many phallic vegetables. Nature documentary? Oh great, animals mating.
"Universe, you're not helping!" I yelled at my ceiling.
I finally settled on a mindless action movie, hoping explosions and car chases would drown out thoughts of Tom. It worked for about five minutes before my brain decided to imagine Tom as the action hero, saving the day in a tight t-shirt.
"This is ridiculous," I grumbled, reaching for my phone. Maybe a little social media scrolling would help.
Big mistake. The first post I saw was from Jessica, a selfie from class earlier that day. And there, in the background, was Tom. Looking unfairly handsome in his professor getup.
"Oh, come on!" I groaned, tossing my phone aside again. "Can't a girl get a break?"
I flopped back onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. Why couldn't I stop thinking about him? It was just one night. One incredibly hot, mind-blowing night...
"No, bad, Sara," I scolded myself. "He's your professor now. Think unsexy thoughts. Think... think about that time you walked in on your parents. Ew, gross."
But even that horror couldn't completely erase the memory of Tom's touch, his kisses, how he'd made me feel...
I grabbed a pillow and screamed into it, muffling my frustration. When I emerged, hair mussed and cheeks flushed, the action movie had somehow morphed into a steamy love scene.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," I muttered, fumbling for the remote. But my finger hesitated over the channel button. The couple on screen was locked in a passionate embrace, clothes flying everywhere.
I bit my lip, torn between changing the channel and... not. It had been a while since that night with Tom, and my body was very aware of that.
"This is a bad idea," I told myself, even as my hand drifted lower. "A very, very bad idea."
But as the on-screen couple got more heated, so did I. My eyes closed, and suddenly, it wasn't the actors I was seeing, but Tom and me. His hands on my body, his lips on my neck...
"Tom," I breathed, lost in the fantasy.
A loud explosion from the TV jolted me back to reality. The love scene had apparently ended, and we were back to car chases and gunfights.
I blinked, disoriented and frustrated. "Seriously?" I growled at the TV. "You couldn't have waited five more minutes?"
Sighing, I readjusted my clothes and ran a hand through my hair. This was getting out of control. I needed to get Tom out of my system and fast.
"Cold shower it is," I decided, pushing myself off the couch. As I headed for the bathroom, I wondered if Tom was having similar problems. Was he lying awake at night, thinking about me?
I shook my head, trying to dislodge the thought. It didn't matter. We couldn't be together, no matter how much my body disagreed with that decision.
As I turned on the shower, letting the cool water wash over me, I made a resolution. Tomorrow, I'd focus on my studies. No more Tom fantasies, no more what-ifs. I was Sara Parker, a future MBA student, and I had bigger things to worry about than my sexy professor.
But as I closed my eyes, letting the water soothe my overheated skin, I couldn't quite shake the image of Tom's smile from my mind.
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