It's the first thing they tell us in Teaching Assistant training: don't have sex with your students. It's one of those rules that shouldn't even have to be stated. It's just basic logic. Have sex with your student, give up all the respect you could have had in the classroom. It makes perfect sense. But when I look at her, I don't care about breaking the rules or losing respect. Seeing her walk into my seminar room twice a week is the thing I look forward to most. Penelope Garcia. Even her name is beautiful. Everything about her makes me want to take her into the nearest supply closet, and, well, that's where the trouble comes in. Get it together, Hotchner. You have to teach the girl English, not ravish her in the nearest empty room. Plus, she deserves more than just smoking hot sex. Dinner, dancing, then smoking hot sex.

Before my thoughts can get me into trouble, she comes waltzing into the classroom. Her eyes meet mine and her smile eases the ache in my chest I didn't even realize was there. Oh, I've got it bad.

"Hey, Mr. Hotchner!" she says to me, and I realize that I've never liked the sound of my name so much before.

"Hi, Penelope. Having a good day?"

"It's much better now," she replies, sitting down across the table from me, giving me her best debonair smile before dedicating herself to fishing out today's readings from her backpack.

I am so engrossed by her every movement. The way her hair falls into her face when she leans over her backpack. The way her eyes light up when she finds what she's looking for. The way she delicately places her notebook on the desk and uses an elaborate pen with a flower wrapped around it to write today's date down. Three years of TAing and I've never felt anything like this for a student. Now I can't even get her off my mind.

It's not until Penelope's eyes lock with mine that I realize how much I've been staring at her. I look away quickly and realize that everyone has arrived for class. I allow myself a moment of shame for how much attention I had been paying her and internally repeat my constant mantra since she first walked into my classroom three weeks ago: She's my student. She's my student. She's my student.

"Good afternoon, class," I say, finally having regained my nerve. "Let's jump in."

As everyone is packing up at the end of class, I hear some students begin to discuss their plans for the weekend.

"Hey, Mr. Hotchner," one of them calls, "want to grab drinks with us Saturday night?"

I smirk before looking up and responding, "Sorry, guys. That's against university policy. And I have plans."

"What are you up to, Mr. H? Going to see your girlfriend?" Against my better judgment, I look to gauge Penelope's reaction and see her looking away dejectedly, pretending not to be paying attention to the conversation.

"Nope. Don't have one of those," I say, watching as hope is rekindled in Penelope's eyes and her gaze finds mine. After a few seconds, I break eye contact and continue. "I'm going to be hanging out with some of my fellow doctoral students on Saturday. We're going to the basketball game."

I hear a choking cough come from across the table and notice Penelope looking startled. "Are you okay, Penelope?" I ask in concern.

"I'm fine, Mr. Hotchner…just something in my throat. See you later!" she calls as she exits the room.

I try to not think about that odd interaction, especially since I'm trying to avoid thinking about her. Although, that's proving to be futile. She seems to be all I think about that Saturday. Even though I'm supposed to be working on grading and writing, I can't seem to focus on anything. Anything but Penelope. I've only known her for a few weeks, but I like everything about her. The way she smirks when I make a joke in class. The way she smiles when I call on her to answer a question. The elegant grace she uses to answer questions, always right, always finding the best way to state the answer. It's been very distracting. I need to get away from her and escape my thoughts. That's why I agreed to tonight in the first place.

Hanging out with the history and political science doctoral students wasn't exactly what I imagined myself doing on a Saturday night, but it hopefully will be exactly what I need to clear my head. Drink some beer, watch some basketball, and probably get into a heated discussion about which of our fields is the most important. Pretty typical conversation with these people.

I head to the arena and find my seat in the second row. As the others start to come in, we strike up casual conversation generally revolving around how teaching has been going, how writing has been, and general problems we've been having. I mostly keep quiet during this conversation, and only my friend David Rossi, a doctoral student in history who is sitting next to me, seems to notice.

He leans over to me and strikes up a quiet conversation. "What's going on, Aaron?"

"Nothing, Dave, just the usual."

"And what usual would that be? Writer's block? Troublesome students?"

"More the latter than the former, although the former has become a problem because of the latter."

"Ah. Falling for a student?"

"How-"

"I've been there, my friend. It is not a pretty place to be. One of the hardest things I've been through in my life. Pun intended."

"What happened?" I ask. But before Dave can respond, the cheerleaders enter the arena and my attention is drawn away quickly as recognition comes to me. That's why she started coughing when I said I was coming to this game. Standing before me, leading the crowd in a pregame cheer is none other than Penelope Garcia, wearing a very short shirt and very revealing top. Oh fuck.