Three rows back, first seat in. Close to the door for leaving, but back far enough that every person who walks through the door in the next ten minutes won’t walk right past me. No awkward smiles or forced conversation. No latecomers accidentally brushing against me as they rush to a seat. Safe.To kill some time, I decide to keep reading Crime and Punishment. Before I can even pull my Kindle out of my purse, though, my gaze is drawn to the center of the classroom. I briefly register the sight of my professor’s mouth moving as he gives some quick information to, presumably, tonight’s speaker.Tonight’s speaker. He has his back to me. As usual.Fitted black pants. Long-sleeved white shirt. Strong, toned arms underneath. Tousled dark, dark hair. Him.{Cue Damien Rice with “The Blower’s Daughter.”}His body remains rigid, statuesque, as Dr. Harper flails his arms around, explaining something about the class.Why him? Why this class, my class?And can he really talk for three hours?
