What Are The Odds?

What Are The Odds?
The silence of the office had long grown heavy and charged. Professor Gabriel Whitefield sat at his desk with his gaze fixed on the same paragraph for what must have been ten minutes now, the words refused to settle in his mind no matter how hard he tried.

He inhaled sharply, closing the MacBook almost irritatedly.

Across the room, Yaren was kneeling by the shelf tidying the last pile of books on the lower shelf. She moved carefully, as if afraid of making noise as she brushed dust off the worn covers before setting them into perfect alignment. It was such a simple act, and yet it continued to unsettled him.

He forced his gaze away again. This was absurd, and absurdity of it all was sickening him. Each time she shifted in the corner of his eye, his irritation grew sharper.

It wasn’t her fault, he knew that. But he couldn't help how irritated he felt towards her and himself.

But then a thought occured to him; what if it was her fault? What if this was all a game or something? She'd started off as a nerd always dressed in unappealing baggy outfits which stood out amongst the other students and had somehow gotten his attention, and now that she had gotten close to him she was suddenly dressing nicely and revealing herself.

What if she was just like the other female students who'd tried their luck with him in the past? What if she'd just taken a different approach? What if her shyness and clumsiness were all an act?

His irritation flared as he thought it true. If that was the case, he had fallen right into her trap and he hated to think that he'd been played by a student, by someone so young.

'Get a grip, Gabriel.'

Perhaps he was overthinking the whole thing now. She'd gotten into his head so deeply that he'd began having such thoughts about her.

He straightened and adjusted his glasses as he forced himself to look out the window. The sky was darkening already and he could see dark clouds gathering, it was about to rain. How long had they been here? How had he not notice time speed by?

She'd once again stayed so late, what were the odds that it was a mistake? That she truly hadn't noticed like she had claimed the other time?

He was almost angry at this point. But was he angry at her? No, not exactly. He was angry with himself for letting things get so far. All he'd done was help a student he'd thought was in need, but yet here he was, unable to think about anything and anyone else except her.

It made no sense at all; he was married, settled, and rational. So why had he let a young student get to him so much? Why hadn't he seen this coming?

He exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You should have been done by now,” he said, his tone was more clipped than he intended.

She flinched, startled . “I’m sorry, sir. I'm almost...."

"Didn't I tell you to leave once it starts getting late?" He asked her. She should have left by now, unless she was staying deliberately.

She looked out the window and her eyes widened behind her glasses in shock like she was only just noticing how late it was.

"I...I didn't realize it's gotten so late." She stuttered quietly. And she seemed so genuine, so honest, and he just couldn't tell if she was putting on a show or not. And it managed to upset him even more.

Lightening flashed outside and the clouds rumbled loudly, she opened her mouth to speak but stopped when it started raining outside.

He glanced at his watch. It was 7:03 p.m and a student was in his office while it was raining outside. It was too late for her to be here, and also too late for her to walk back to the dorms alone, especially when it was raining.

The whole thing seemed scripted to him, too scripted, and he was being forced to play a part. He'd have to drive her back to the dorms because he couldn't let her go on her own and it's was the right thing to do.

"Do you expect me to keep track of time for you then?" He asked her, his voice was low and his tone was cold as he spoke. He was truly upset now.

She began shaking her head but he didn't give her a chance to speak.

"If the little tasks I assign to you are going to be a problem then maybe you should tell me now."

Her eyes widened once more and he saw horror flash in them. He knew she needed the job, or at least that's what he'd been made to believe. But the look in her eyes told him that she really did need it.

"It won't, professor. I promise." She said quickly. "I swear I didn't notice it was getting late. I... just wanted to finish up today's task so I'd do....something else tomorrow."

She was rambling now, and she was stuttering and stumbling over her words pitifully. He shook his head, she was getting to him again, she was affecting him so much that he couldn't even think straight at the moment. And to make it worse, seeing her kneeling like that has his erection stirring.

His mind pictures her kneeling between his legs instead. He stood abruptly, reaching for his coat. “Get your things. I’ll drop you off,” he said.

She blinked at him, surprised. “Sir, that’s not necessary...."

"I said get your things!" He snapped, startling her.

He hadn't intended for his tone to be so sharp but he couldn't help it. He didn’t wait for her reply, he simply moved past her and made his way out of the office he needed to put as much space between them as he could else he'd lose his mind completely.