“I came to see …” Music, and a girl’s laugh stole her words. She always thought of him as living alone. Really. What was she thinking?

“Come in, come in,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” she rushed. “I’m interrupting.” She looked up at him. His eyes had left her and were focused behind her, narrowed. “Maybe some other …”

“No, no.” His huge hand took hers and his other hand went behind her arm to raise her over the threshold and into his house. The Atlanta humidity had made her palm sloppy wet. “I should have offered a ride,” his voice rumbled. “This isn’t the best area.”

She looked back at the street. A man leaned against a streetlight, playing with a cell phone. He’d stared at her at the bus stop; he put the phone in his jeans and walked quickly away. What’s with that? Her professor’s arm circled her shoulders and moved her toward the stairs. Music – some pre-war singer – and a woman’s voice filtered down to them. It could have been a TV.

Prof London was one of those men who looked about average size behind the desk in seminar, but next to him … he was just huge, and in the entryway he was surprisingly close. His body, his warmth, a giddy male thing felt like he was about to envelop her. “Please. Come in.” Her bare neck felt his warm breath in her little hairs and she almost shivered, certainly not from cold.

“Stop it, Lily,” she said to herself. He’d invited her to see artifacts he’d returned with from Australia. “You’re just here to see a frigging statue,” she thought, “and get some brownie points.”

“I think he’s really good-looking,” she had told Annie. Annie had been skeptical. “Yeh, if your taste runs to old dudes that look a little geeky.”

“He’s not that old,” Lily had fired back. Annie’s eyebrow had raised. Lily led him up the stairs. She wondered how much of her he could see. At the landing she saw his living room, bright and white and modern and … three real, non-TV people, two women and a man.

The young blonde leaned into a tall, cinnamon-skinned man with short hair. He looked flustered and yanked the blonde’s hand from behind him. She giggled and didn’t look at Lily. A pale brunette, maybe Lily’s age, sprawled like a man on the sofa, arms and legs spread wide. She had large boobs, big cleavage, and an attitude. She was too comfortable and wasn’t ready to like Lily.

Lily felt out-classed. Again. She spun to face Dr. London. “I’m sorry, I came at a bad time.”

“No you didn’t,” he said, firmly. “They’re leaving soon. My nephew wanted his girlfriend to meet me.” He had Lily’s arm again and turned her toward the people. She smelled his cologne and felt his leg behind her thigh. “Meet Fred and Missy. And this lovely lady is Candy. “And,” he said to them, “this is Lily. She’s going to be my Teaching Assistant next year.”

She gasped with surprise, blood rushing to her head and face, and her head began to spin. “Oh my God,” she gasped. “My God. That’s great.” She felt dizzy. His arm gathered her in.

“Sit,” he ordered.

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If you're not confused, you're misinformed.