The Professor Who Shouldn't Want Me

Same Place, Same Time, Part III

POV: Isadora

My heart was racing, and my brain was still trying to process what I’d just heard. I turned toward him slowly. Ryan was staring at me with a serious expression, laced with a hint of hurt. How had he found out? Was it the way I acted in class? Sometimes I really did let a little smile or a lingering look slip at Henry. Crap. I was dead.

Growing impatient, he stepped closer to me.

“It’s Kyle, isn't it?”, he asked, sounding annoyed. My eyes widened in surprise.

Kyle? He suspected Kyle? My god, I wanted to scream at him for nearly giving me a heart attack over nothing.

“There’s no way you’d know I was talking about you unless someone told you. And that person would only tell you if they really wanted to screw me over!”

“Of all the guys I hung out with that day, Kyle is the closest to you. You’re even in the same study group now! I bet he’s the one who asked you to join, right?”

I seriously debated whether to let him keep believing that. Maybe it wasn't a bad idea; if he thought I was seeing Kyle, he wouldn't go looking for anyone else.

“I know it’s him! Don’t even try to deny it!”

“I’m not denying it.”

“So you’re admitting it?”

“Ryan, I’ve already told you, who I go out with is none of your business! I can’t believe you’re making me waste my time on this.”, I turned to leave, but he grabbed me again.

“Wait! I didn't mean any of that stuff I said about you, I was just... I was angry and drunk. I don’t know what that prick Kyle told you, but right after I said all those stupid things, I took them all back, I swear!”, I rolled my eyes.

“Ryan, you’re just wasting your breath.”, I wrenched my arm free.

“You’re really going to trade me for that loser Kyle?! I’m way better than him!”, he shouted, grabbing me once more.

I tried to pull away, but his grip was tight. Losing the last shred of my patience and fueled by pure irritation, I slapped him across the face.

“I’m only going to say this once, Ryan! Leave me alone!”, I yelled, drawing stares from everyone around us. He let go, and I stormed off, absolutely pissed that I’d wasted precious time arguing with that i***t.

I got to the restaurant and looked around, no sign of Thomas. He hadn't replied to my text either. My god, where did he go? I didn't have much more time as "Isadora"; soon I’d have to go back to being Anne. I felt my phone vibrate and snatched it up.

Carol: [Where are you?]

Carol: [Vivian is already looking for you]

Carol: [She’s heading toward the restaurant]

Shit! My time as Isadora was officially up. I ran to the restaurant bathroom and changed. I texted Carol that I’d left the bag with my clothes there and hurried out, eyes scanning for Vivian. I had to intercept her before she reached Henry.

“Vivian!”, I called out the moment I saw her entering the restaurant. “I went to talk to some of the players and ended up losing you back at the courts.”, I forced a smile.

“Oh, right! It was getting pretty crowded over there.”, she smiled back. “But I’m glad you got to talk to some players. Sorry, that woman appeared out of nowhere and started grilling me with questions...”

“It’s okay!”

“Well, let’s go find our men then. They should be on the second floor.”, we headed up the stairs. “Oh, there they are!”, she said, gesturing with her eyes.

They were standing with two other men, one of whom was my father. My blood ran cold. My god, I just wanted this day to be over, either the day ended, or it was going to be the end of me. Vivian started walking toward them. I couldn't risk being face-to-face with my father, even in this disguise.

“Vivian!”, I called, smiling to mask my nerves. “How about we grab a table and just order now? I’m starving.”

“Sure! And I bet they’re talking about super boring stuff anyway, we wouldn't want to join in.”, she smiled, and I nearly let out a sigh of relief.

We picked a table for four, ordered our food, and soon the men joined us. After lunch, we went back to the courts. Thomas still hadn't answered my text, which was making me extremely worried.

The second half of the tournament was the semifinals. Four players remained in both the men’s and women’s brackets. Since there were two courts, the matches were happening simultaneously. Thomas had qualified for the semis and was playing against Ryan; their match was the first on the men's side.

It didn't take long for him to appear on the court. He looked tense, and seeing that made me nervous. What’s going on, Thomas? Ryan came out right after him, looking serious and moody. The two players took opposite sides of the court, and the match began.

Ryan served first. A powerful, wide serve, nearly impossible to reach. Ace. He didn't celebrate; he just turned his back and walked to the baseline as if he’d expected nothing less. His plays felt like an assault, every ball was an attempt to end it, to dominate, to crush any resistance. Heavy forehands, aggressive returns, strides that were a bit too wide.

Was all of this because of our argument? Was he really trying to take out the slap I gave him on my brother?

Normally, Thomas wouldn't have any trouble with that style of play. I’ve seen him dismantle players much better than Ryan, but something was off. He was reaching some balls, returning others, but he was constantly scrambling. His timing was off by inches, by fractions of a second. Balls that would usually land in were clipping the line or flying out. Safe shots were going long. He kept his composure, showing no frustration, but his game just wasn't responding.

Ryan knew how to capitalize on that, quickly building a huge lead. The first set ended fast, Ryan on top. During the changeover, Thomas sat down, leaning his elbows on his knees for a moment. His face remained calm, almost impassive. To a stranger, nothing looked wrong. But I was paying attention, and my brother was definitely not okay.

The second set started differently. Ryan was still playing with intensity, but errors started creeping in. Unforced errors. He was in a rush, as if he wanted to win immediately, and it was costing him. But Thomas still wasn't playing like himself either. The match continued that way: Ryan alternating between brilliant shots and impulsive mistakes, and Thomas trying to stabilize the rhythm but failing at key moments. Neither of them was playing their best, but only one of them was managing to turn that into momentum.

And then, it was over. Victory for Ryan. He celebrated enthusiastically, glancing at the stands, looking for someone. He probably wanted to see my face after beating my brother.

“That’s a shame, I was rooting for the other guy.”, Henry said, and I nodded with a forced smile.

The two left the court. Ryan headed to the VIP area, while Thomas quickly slipped away from the tournament area. I knew I had to follow him before he disappeared again.

“I’m going to the restroom.”, I told Henry and headed out.

I followed from a distance so he wouldn't notice me while I texted Carol my location. But near the clubhouse, I lost him. Dammit! I needed to talk to him; I needed to know what was happening. I went into the locker rooms, he wasn't there, so I grabbed my phone and called him. It went straight to voicemail.

“Thomas, where are you? I’m worried! Call me back as soon as you get this, okay?”

“Isadora?”

I spun around. It was him. On one hand, I was relieved to find my brother, but on the other... I wasn't dressed as Isadora.