Hot for Teacher: Shakespeare Made Us Fall in Love

By Felicia Carparelli

Jim Sanders - ex-marine, widower and construction company owner is looking for a little culture. Juliet West - English professor, divorcee, yoga and gardening hobbyist is skeptical that love at first sight is real. The sparks certainly fly during and after class, but will Juliet allow Jim to be her real-life Romeo?

• Language: English
• Publisher: 5 Prince Publishing
• Release date: Nov 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781631122903

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

To be or not to be, that is the question, quoted a tall, skinny man in Juliet West’s adult Intro to Literature class. But what is it really? What does Hamlet mean? What is the question? He was so serious and so young; his bowtie quivered as he spoke. His voice cracked a little on the syllable ques before it dropped dramatically on the tion.

A deep voice guffawed in the back of the classroom. Yeah, what is the question, teacher?

Juliet sighed and put down her glasses. She knew that deep voice, she knew it well, after only thirty minutes. It belonged to the blond, muscular hunk in the back of the class. The older guy with the tight jeans, cowboy boots and tiny gold earring.

Ah, Mr… she looked at her class list, Sanders. What is so funny? And may I remind you, class, that it is polite to wait until one student has finished with a question before we—

Butt in? he asked innocently, with a smile like a choirboy.

She frowned and bit her lip.

Peter, the question that Hamlet is presenting is a rhetorical one, she said. There is no real answer. It demands, here she looked pointedly at the big blond jock, thought and reflection.

Ouch, the big one said and wrote something in his notebook.

"Tonight, I am going to pass out our first play, Romeo and Juliet, by William Shakespeare. Does everyone know a little bit about the story?" She looked around her class of twenty students.

A hand shot up, lean and tanned.

I don’t know the story, he said. Can you teach it to me?

A ripple of laughter ran around the room. Oh, she would teach him a thing or two, all right, before the summer was over.

Certainly, Mr. Sanders, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To learn something about literature and culture and life?

Jim, he said.

What? she said, noticing the ice blue glints in his eyes.

Jim, call me Jim. That’s my name, he said, and smiled again.

All right, Jim, and everyone else in the class, here’s what I would like you to do. Read the first forty-three pages of the play before we meet next week. That will take us up through the famous balcony scene. Then I want you to write down five questions you have about the play and five facts you learned or liked about it. Then we will pool our questions and focus on concepts.

Heads were bent, fingers grasped pens, and papers shuffled. The room was silent except for the sounds of students writing down the assignment and looking through their copy of the play. One golden head was not bent in writing, it was aimed directly at her. She put on her glasses, ran her hands through her chin-length wavy brown hair and without realizing it, stood up a little straighter. Chest out, tummy in, as Mother used to say. For this display of femininity, she got a big wink. Juliet felt a little trickle of moisture slipping between her breasts. Damn.

Now before you go, I’d like you to write down what you personally would like to learn in this class. If you have taken any previous college-level literature courses, please let me know. If you have a word processing program on your phones or devices, please tell me that, too. Please hand in your comments before you leave.

This time everyone settled down to write, including the blond giant.

At the end of class, you-know-who was the last to leave.

Here’s my paper, Mrs. West, he said, like a good schoolboy. He towered over her sitting at the desk. She was a tall woman, five feet ten without shoes, but this man was huge, probably six feet, six inches of lean, tanned muscles. He had chiseled cheekbones, and honey-colored brows framing the bluest eyes she had ever seen on a human.

Thank you, she said, giving him a glance.

Can I walk you to your car? he asked. It’s late and dark and the parking lot is isolated.

Thank you, but I’m not leaving yet.

I wouldn’t want you to get mugged, he said pleasantly.

By whom? she asked. She couldn’t resist it.

Ouch, he said again. I deserved that, I guess, for acting up in class. Sorry. I’ve never been to college and I don’t know how to act.

She felt a moment of remorse. Not everyone has had your opportunities, Juliet.

You’re doing fine, she said. "I’m sorry to be so cross with you, but when you started laughing at Peter quoting Hamlet I was ready to ask you to leave."

Or make me sit in a corner? A time out? he smiled.

Something like that, she said, smiling back, in spite of the warning bells in her head.

I’ll behave better next time, I promise, he said. He leaned down and put his hands on the desk. She could see the strength in his long fingers and stared at the golden hairs that sprang out of his knuckles. She exhaled a long breath.

Are you sure you won’t let me walk you outta here? It seems a little warm in this classroom tonight, too much humidity outside, I guess.

Maybe it’s so warm because you’re standing so close to me, she said sweetly. And no, thank you, I can have the security guard see me to my car.

I’m invading your personal space? he smiled. I usually don’t get that complaint.

I’m sure you don’t, she agreed. She stared up at him innocently.

All right, then, he said, I get the hint. I’ll catch you later, Miss teacher lady, and with a devilish smile sauntered out of the room, giving her a good view of his firm backside encased in tight jeans. The silver heels of his boots glinted provocatively.

A dude, she thought to herself and took off her glasses. When have you ever gotten close to a dude, Juliet? You only know teachers and college kids.

She looked through her students’ papers. She became fascinated with their personal goals and dreams, and lost track of the time. One paper had fringed edges and purple ink.

---

Dear Teacher, I’m sorry I acted up in class tonight. I didn’t mean to laugh, but when that kid started quoting to be or not to be, that is the question, I couldn’t help myself. Some of these college kids are so serious. I never been to college and I never been serious. Well, maybe once or twice. I don’t know how to act in school anymore, it’s been so long. But I’m gonna try, because you seem like a really nice lady. I wanna tell you I think you’re a great teacher. I really liked it tonight when you were talking about Romeo and Juliet and how there are sometimes so many obstacles in the course of true love. And how wealth and social class can ruin a relationship. Or the lack of it. I know what that means. I always had to work for whatever I wanted. I grew up poor, and when I was a kid we slept three in a bed, so I know what it was like to have nothing. Now I’m grown and I ain’t—I mean, I’m not poor anymore and I wanna improve myself. I wanna learn things, like how to buy good wine and take a woman to a French restaurant and know what the hell they’re talking about on the menu. That’s why I’m taking this class. I need culture. I was a Marine, I run my own construction company, I been married and have kids, but I’m not a classy guy. You’re gonna help me. Hey, this is only the first class and I feel smarter and more refined already. I’m going home and I’m going to read Romeo and Juliet tonight, the whole play.

Anyway, I wanted to let you know, since you asked us to write about our goals, and Shakespeare, and I know that you are going to be a dynamite teacher this summer.

So, thanks, and you know, and I don’t mean to disrespect you, but you’re the prettiest teacher I’ve ever seen.

---

Juliet West wrinkled her nose. She looked at the essay sitting on top of her laptop and frowned. What the heck was this? Was she going to have another year of strange students with behavioral disorders in her class? She was teaching literature at Thomas Jefferson College, she wasn’t a therapist. So why did she get these students who bared their souls to her? She just wanted to teach literature, not be a life coach.

Why was he taking her class? Why would a man with big biceps and a big smile and spiky honey blond hair sit in the back of the class wanting to hear her go on about Shakespeare? With his feet propped up on the chair in front of him wearing macho boots and the rest of him packed into tight jeans and a t-shirt that said Sanders Construction he looked like he could be working for the World Wrestling Federation. She wasn’t used to Stone Cold types in her classes. He was attractive and he set her pulses racing. Just when she had embraced her celibacy. This kind of distraction she didn’t need during class time.

She looked at her watch. She had been sitting reading their essays for an hour. It was getting late. Time to head home. Sometimes she went to her yoga studio after class or went to the corner pub to have a glass of wine and talk to her neighbors but tonight she didn’t feel like it. She felt too restless, it was better to go home and write to her daughter.

Her daughter, named after the French writer Colette, was in London on vacation with her family.

Why don’t you come to Europe with us? her daughter had asked.

I promised to work this summer and besides, the house is going to need a new roof, she had said, with genuine regret.

I wish Daddy hadn’t left you with so many debts, Colette said, and I hate to think of you here all alone.

I’m not alone, she had laughed. She liked to keep up the illusion that she had a social life. After her divorce five years ago, she had dated a lot of men, she had been the proverbial kid in the candy shop, sampling a little bit of everything. But no one had really made her feel special or alive and she had declined all offers of lovemaking. But now her dating life was on hold while she got her head together. No more did she go out with just anyone that looked good to her.

She used to meet men at the yoga studio or church and at the park with her granddaughter. She often attracted much younger single men who told her about their lives, bought her dinner and then tried to take her to bed. She had allowed herself to go to dinner and be kissed on the doorstep a couple of times, but she really was the kind of woman who wanted to be in love with a man before she slept with him. She had been faithful to only one partner for twenty-five years and now she was waiting for someone special. But she had been waiting a long time.

For whom she wasn’t sure. But she had felt it for a moment tonight. A whisper of interest and desire. How could she feel an attraction to a complete stranger? A cute man, sitting at the back of the class, smiling at all the women and especially at her. She hated this kind of student and this kind of man. He was so secure. She could tell he thought it was funny having a woman tell him what to do.

Oh, he wasn’t disrespectful, she could tell that right away. But he bothered her.

"Yes, ma’am I know how to use a dictionary and no, ma’am, I don’t have a red pencil and I’ll try not to chew my gum so hard, ma’am, right in front of your face," he had said, smiling, tonight in class. Why was he always smiling? He couldn’t be happy, could he? When he had asked her tonight if she thought it was possible to fall in love at first sight, like Romeo did with Juliet, she felt her cheeks grow warm.

Anything is possible, she had said primly. Particularly when it concerns the human heart. He had just leaned back in his chair and smiled some more.

Her life had never lived up to her literary name. No man had scrambled up her balcony to profess undying love. No man had said to her, It is the east and Juliet is the sun. No man had ever defied the stars just to be with her. She was such a romantic.

She believed the stuff she taught her students.

She was shaking her head as she arrived home, pulling up in her battered but solid VW Beetle to her Victorian frame house, painted in pastel shades of lilac, tan and sage. Her young neighbor Beatrice was sitting on the front porch, painting her nails purple.

How was school today? Juliet asked her.

It was all right. But this college might be too hard for me. They look so serious. She was an artist and had magenta hair, toe rings and a pierced navel. She was majoring in art therapy and loved kids.

Nonsense, you’ll do fine. You couldn’t stay at the junior college forever. Is your mom back?

Tomorrow night. I wish she didn’t have to travel for a living.

I know, Juliet agreed, but it’s a great job and she’s so good at training. If you get lonely, dear, come over and talk to me, you know that, anytime.

Thanks, Juliet, Beatrice laughed. I like having two Moms. How are your summer classes going?

Okay, I think a few of the students might get what I’m talking about right away. And the others are going to have to concentrate, she told her.

Any cute guys?

A few, she said, but she was thinking of one perpetually smiling student who was the most intriguing in her class. What was he up to?

I should take your class, then, Beatrice said. No one is interesting in my school.

Then you can concentrate better and get good grades, Juliet said with a smile. You have plenty of time for boys later.

Beatrice groaned. You sound like my mother. I know, guys can be trouble.

How true, Juliet agreed.

Have you seen Charles lately?

No, I wonder where he’s gone off to? Juliet replied, frowning.

Last semester she had taken a class to the library and a rare book had gone missing. Charles, had been a suspect but it turned out Juliet had been his alibi, as she was giving him a make-up exam. Still, even though the police had cleared him, she had always wondered. There was something a bit odd about Charles.

You don’t really trust him, do you?

I wanted to, but his story seemed so rehearsed.

Let’s hope he doesn’t come back to school. Beatrice said.

I know, Juliet agreed. No more drama, please. I need students who will behave. But would they all behave themselves?

---

Juliet took a shower after writing her daughter a lengthy text about the day. She made a cup of chamomile tea and lay on the floor to do her yoga stretches in her studio. The phone rang. Darn! she said. Juliet was in the middle of a spinal twist, a yoga exercise that promoted a supple back and no lower back pain, and she had to push herself up from the floor without spilling her tea and reach over to the table. She dropped her cell phone under a stack of yoga mats.

Hello? she said, a little out of breath from the stretch and the scramble.

Mrs. West?

Yes? Who is this? she said, looking at her dark tangle of hair in the mirror.

It’s James Sanders, I’m one of your students. I saw you tonight, remember?

Her stomach tied up into an instant knot. Of course, she knew that voice. Hot dripping honey. What was the matter with her? Too much ginseng and St. John’s Wort? Too much natural estrogen?

Yes, I remember, how can I help you?

"I hope I’m not bothering you, ‘cause you gave us your e-mail address and phone and said to text you at any time, but I didn’t know how long it would take for