Bruce pulled her onto his lap. He was thinner than he looked. Liza wasn’t fat, though she’d been referred to as “sturdy” or “strong” more than once. She was having visions of his lean leg snapping under the weight of her mammoth ass. Then she wondered if this was against some kind of University rule. It probably wasn’t okay for a professor to be making out with a student in his office. Probably he would be fired and she would be expelled. She needed a cigarette. But then, his soap-and-books smell had her floating off into a dream world. This wasn’t weird. The worries faded away until nothing but happiness was left. Liza never felt like that.
Unfortunately, like all good moments, this one passed too quickly. There was a sharp knock on the door and they snapped back to his office. Liza jumped up and backed away as if Bruce had burst into flames. He raised his eyebrows and called out, “Come in, Janice.”
Janice was in her early to mid-sixties. She was dressed in dark jeans, a purple button- down shirt, and black hooker heels. Her smooth, snowy white hair was wrapped up in a French twist. Tortoise shell glasses rested on top of her head, keeping some loose strands at bay. Janice bustled toward Bruce’s desk with a stack of manila folders, but veered off when she noticed Liza. “You must be Liza!” she said, extending her hand.
“Liza, this is Janice, my assistant. Janice, this is Liza,” said Bruce.
“Nice to meet you,” said Liza, shaking Janice’s hand. She was one of those warm, enthusiastic people who automatically felt like an old friend. Liza liked her instantly.
“Nice to meet you too,” said Janice, “The picture that you drew of the Dean is beautiful. You’re very talented.”
“Dean?” Liza was confused and apparently so was Janice. She was frowning at Bruce. Then it clicked. “Holy shit, you’re Dean Wells!”