Busted by the Professor

The familiar buzz of my phone on silent continues a few more times, but I can't be bothered to look at it. I'll deal with Ann's wrath later, and anyway she should know better than to call me at this hour. What am I, her boyfriend or a doormat? My eyes meanwhile are firmly fixed a few rows below me and the mesmerising form walking back to her desk to put her book down and end her lecture.

"So, if you could all read the first chapter by next week, and identify which of the discussed artists speaks to you the most and why..." Professor Liliana Troy looks at the class expectantly, her hand still resting on her copy of the textbook on the wooden table.

The lecture hall is large enough, currently seating at least a hundred of us, if not more. For some reason it seems like she's mainly staring at me though. It felt like that throughout her presentation on early 20th century painters. Her gaze hits me in my core and tickles the hairs at the back of my neck, and more.

It had been a shock, sitting down for the first Modern Art lecture of the first semester of college, and seeing her walk into the room. There's a familiarity about her which I can't place; it's making my fingers itch at the thought of getting the chance to draw her later. It had been a while since I've done a portrait, lately focusing on futuristic landscapes instead. They do say inspiration hits in the most unlikely of places.

She doesn't look like a professor, rather, she could pass for a student if she changed out of that pencil skirt and blouse and into something more easygoing. More so if she let her bright red hair down. It would be such a trip to see her in another outfit, or none at all... Either way, she's smokin'.

That hair, those eyes, those lips, and especially the promise of what remains hidden underneath her outfit is enough to inspire all sorts of imagery. I best get my mind under control quick.

In the background my mobile buzzes again. Jesus Christ, not now!