When graduate student Katherine Brenner walked into my
class, I couldn't stand her -- all perfect skin and big,
blue eyes -- just like the woman who broke my heart.
If it wasn't for that blizzard, if her car hadn't broken
down outside my house, if she hadn't looked amazing by the
firelight, I never would have kissed her. No matter how hard
I try, every excuse I make not to see her comes up flat.
I can't stop thinking of her lips. Or the way her curves fit
perfectly in my hands. There's a million reasons why this
won't work. I'm her professor. It's against university policy.