Now, all these years later, she could add experience to her unfortunately long unused skills and knew she could suck Tristan’s dick far better than any of the little tarts he’d been with.
“You okay, Professor?”
“Oh, sorry” Miranda blinked. She’d been having a damn moment right in front of him, her mind once again making it clear which direction she wanted this to go. “I’ve been working late.”
She continued as she sat down across from him, leaning back in the chair so he’d still have a good view of her chest.
“I wanted the class to have their exams early. That way if anyone has any questions or concerns, we have some time to discuss it.”
“Perfect,” he gave her a nervous smile. “Because I’d like to discuss mine.”
This would be exactly what the depraved part of her had hoped would be the case. Tristan had been hovering around a high C all semester and needed to score in the mid-eighties on the final to get a B one for his final grade.
Unfortunately, his grade came out to 78, but she bumped him three points to an 81 so he could have a B for the test. He did seem to work hard and try; English just wasn’t his thing as from what she heard from other professors he was a solid B occasional A student.
He was never late, never a problem in class except for the occasional texting which they all did, and always polite and respectful to her and the other students. Miranda was impressed by that, in her experience the good looking frat kid athlete tended to be an arrogant jerk.
It also made her recall Susan’s remark that the fact he wasn’t an asshole made her want him even more. However, regardless of all that, and him being her waking fantasy, she’d graded fairly, given him a slight bump, but she couldn’t justify anything higher.
“I recall I gave you a low B so I don’t know what the issue is,” she replied.
“Right, thing is I’m on a scholarship.”
“Athletic?”
“Yes, but because URI doesn’t have a great baseball program the scholarship does focus heavy on my grades because its not like a lot of scouts come running here, and honestly I know I’m not good enough to play ball for a living.”
“It should always be that way. These big money schools that give scholarships to kids for sports then let them half ass their classes and have people take their tests aren’t helping these kids. Sports is no guarantee for a life skill.”
“I agree,” he nodded. “I have to maintain a 3. 5 and I only managed a C in one of my majors, so I need an A in this class to make up for it.”
“Tristan, I’m sure you know that even an A on this test would only give you a B for the semester,” Miranda pointed out.
“I know, but I did the math and figured it would be a high B, and then maybe if you could kind of,” he rolled his hand. “Round it up, I’d get an A.”
“So, you’re asking me to give you an A on the test and on top of that still bump your semester average up a few points for an A for a final grade?”
“I know it’s a lot, but could you?”
“I’ve already helped you out, Tristan. Your score was lower, but I think you’re a good young man and have always conducted yourself properly and respectfully in the classroom. So, I gave you a few more points on your essay to get you that B.”
“I didn’t know that,” he admitted. “And I really appreciate that, and the nice things you just said, but Professor Willow, I really need that A. My parents split a couple of years ago.
“My father’s a damn deadbeat who doesn’t pay towards my school or anything else, and my mom already works two jobs just to keep the house up and food on the table.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, I really am, but…”
“If I lose the scholarship, I can’t pay for next year and I have to quit a handful of credits short of a degree. I’m not going to get a good job without one, and my mom’s killing herself for me and she deserves me to be able to make her life easier.”
‘I’m sure she does, and you’re an amazing young man for thinking that way.” God, sexy, sweet, and cares about his mom? Tristan was doing what she thought was impossible and making her want him even more.
“But I can’t do that,” she continued. Hear that? You can’t, so stop this sick game, right now. “You’re asking me to jump you two grades.”
“I was close to a B, and you gave me that. I figure that’s half a grade, so the A makes it more like a grade and a half.” He snapped his fingers. “Or just ten or so points. That’s a better way to look at it.”
“How is that fair to other students, Tristan?” Another good point to take the high road.
“It’s not.” He lowered his head. “And I know that, but I’m desperate. The C was in Professor Richards class and he’s… well, you know.”
“A pretentious petty asshole.” Miranda nodded, then grinned at the look on his face. “I’m a short timer, I can say that now.”
“He is, and you’re leaving? Like for good?”
“Yes, I accepted an offer at Florida University. Time for a change.”
“Oh, well good luck,” he extended his hand, and she took it.
His hand was hard and calloused, and even though he barely squeezed her much smaller hand, she could feel the restrained strength in his grip, and it sent an unwanted thrill through her as she imagined him grabbing her hard, squeezing her, pinning her down.
“Some rough hands,” she joked and opening her top drawer which she hadn’t cleaned out yet removed the small bottle of lotion she kept there and handed it to him. “Feel free.”
“It’s lavender.” He frowned. “Kind of girlie.”
“Hey, no judgment.” She laughed. “Besides, girls like soft hands.”
“Some girls like rough hands too.” He noted, then his eyes widened. “I’m sorry, that didn’t sound right.”
“It’s okay,” Miranda told him, thinking she’d pretty much just proved that with her previous thought. “I don’t mind them myself.” Okay, it was her turn to regret saying it, but of course she didn’t.
“Well, hopefully your husband has them,” he pushed on the top of the bottle squirting some in his palm.
“I’m divorced. That’s why I’m moving, need a change of scenery.”
“Damn, what fool would divorce a woman like you?” He rubbed the lotion between his hands.
“I’m sorry?”
“My bad. I’m kind of nervous and saying dumb things. I just mean you’re pretty and you have a good job, and you seem really nice.”
“Tristan, girls your age are pretty. I’m in my mid-forties, I’m sure I’m your mom’s age.”
“She’s only 40.”
“You need to work on knowing what to say to women, don’t you?” she rolled her eyes.