“Ultimately, I find that affirmative action should be banned in the U.S because it continues to victimize minorities, having them believe that they were accepted simply because of their skin color rather than their intellectual merit. This mindset furthers the socio-economic gaps between blacks and whites in the U.S rather than close them…”

Professor Wilson re-read the final sentence again before she scrawled a sloppy red C on top of Pierce Grady's midterm paper. The idea alone could have bumped him up to a B+/A- had the execution been on par.

But she wasn't surprised.

He was smart. One of her brightest students she could argue, but his head was too far up his ass to do the work. Classic gorgeous rich boy syndrome, she thought as Pierce Grady, once again, invaded her thoughts.

She could hear his velvety baritone now in one of her class discussions, playing devil's advocate for fuck's sake.

"Scholars, today's discussion topic is about reparations. You had some time last night to reflect on your reading. Let's hear some thoughts."

Hands shot up in the air. "Susan."

The light-skinned female with blonde hair and large hooped earrings cleared her throat and spoke passionately, "Professor Wilson, I agreed with everything Robinson argued in his article. Blacks in this country should receive reparations for the hundreds of years taken away from their legacies. It's no secret that the large socio-economic gaps between blacks and whites in this country today are due to the ways blacks were held back in the past..."

Professor Wilson heard a scoff and her head turned sharply in the direction of the sound. Her eyes landed on Pierce who was twirling his pen around his index and middle finger eyeing the girl with a smirk.

"Care to add to the discussion, Mr. Grady?" Professor Wilson asked.

His large hand dove quickly into inky hair loosening the hair tie holding it together at the end. He stretched a bit flexing his muscles against his shirt.

"Well..." he almost yawned, "it's just that the reparations argument seems futile to me. I mean really, Susie is it?" he motioned toward the girl with his pen, "How would the government be able to account for who should get the money? After all, there are blacks in this country that have no ties to American slavery. That's the first point I'd like to make. The second is this: When will black Americans stop the blame game? Sure, there's institutional racism... in ancient old companies whose beliefs are just as archaic as their institution! However, as we become a global economy, with an ever-increasing diverse population, those institutions will fade away and then who will be left to blame for the fact that blacks still remain behind in this country? Hmm? Let's think about all the great blacks in this country today...Colin Powell, Condoleezza Rice, Barack Obama - our president! All of these black Americans made it through hard work and dedication...why can't..."

Professor Wilson could see the few black students in the classroom shift uncomfortably in their seats. Their eyes drilling holes into Pierce's skull and he seeming not to care at all about the racial scripts spewing from his mouth.

"I'm going to stop you there, Mr. Grady." Professor Wilson interjected. "While you have certainly given us a lot to think about I'd like to you be wary of generalizations made to describe an entire group of people. The fact that there are successful black people in the United States does not negate the fact that there are systems in place that suppress black Americans who did not grow up with privileged backgrounds. Just like having a black friend doesn't mean you aren't a racist..."

And she didn't stop there. She didn't take a stance for or against reparations but she'd made it clear to Pierce that before you open your mouth you need to think about all sides of the argument first. But it was like talking to a rock with that one. The very next session he was back to stating his misguided opinions like they were law not caring what lines he crossed while he did it.

She sighed. He was infuriating and it made her uncomfortable how often she thought of him. Secretly, his challenges and quick digs thrilled her. She loved arguing with him, not because she knew she could prove him wrong in the end, but because he had the audacity to say what was really on his mind. She was tired of reading papers that said what students thought she wanted to hear. She was tired of re-reading regurgitated text.  He was something altogether different.

It couldn't be that she thought he was original or by far the best in her class. No, there was something more there. Something she couldn't quite place her finger on...

Attraction?

Could she truly be attracted to one of her students? She'd heard of male professors having affairs with their female students. But she wasn't dumb enough to think there wasn't a double standard involved in these cases. She, a female professor, would probably be stoned for sleeping with one of her students especially since she was the youngest one of three female professors in the entire university.

Plus, the boy was a natural flirt; he had a reputation, one that extended to his brothers and father before him. But that was typical for a young handsome legacy like him. Still, Professor Wilson tried to put her finger on it.

It wasn't like she hadn't had other attractive students in the many classes she taught over the years. There was Jeremiah Dandridge, the cute sophomore who looked like Eric Benet, Joseph Page, the quarterback she'd met her third year in, and Kamaal Wasalu the African exchange student and diplomat's son who looked like he'd stepped out of GQ. They were all cutie pies and loved to shower her with compliments. But she'd never been tempted to do anything with them.

And that was what Pierce was: walking temptation; the apple on the tree with a serpent wrapped around it.  There were times when Professor Wilson was around Pierce Grady (like when she ran into him at the Whole Foods in town) where she felt like she was just a young girl looking for a good time.

It was supposed to be a quick run. Grab the coffee ice cream and go. The Bourne Legacy was coming on in 30 minutes. So, Amiya Wilson left her hair up in a messy bun, pulled on a ripped college sweatshirt over her neon yellow sports bra and yoga pants and rode her bike 10 minutes to the local Whole Foods. But as it turned out, everybody and their mama wanted to go shopping that day.

She was in the refrigerated dairy section reaching for the coffee flavor when she felt his presence.

"Coffee? I would have figured you a Moose Tracks kinda girl."

Professor Wilson couldn't help but smile. Moose Tracks was her second favorite ice cream, but there was no way she'd tell him that.

"Mr. Grady." She turned and nearly choked on the drool about to fall from her mouth. He wore a light grey cashmere sweater that matched his eyes, dark blue fitted jeans and pair of grey Sperries. "How nice to run into you here. Don't usually see college students on this side of town. You all remain relegated to Target or the liquor store."

He smiled revealing a dimpled cheek. Ugh, shoot me now, she thought.

"I'm actually here getting a few things for dinner. I live in an apartment off campus with a couple of friends and tonight's my night to cook. I'm thinking...Avocado egg rolls to start, braised lamp over saffron rice and Tiramisu for desert. What do you think?"

"To be honest that sounds mouth watering," she replied. Then she did something she hadn't done since high school. She took a loose tendril hanging at side of her face and began playing with it, wrapping it around her finger unconsciously.

His smile grew wider. "Do you cook?"

"No, not really. I'm more of an on the go kind of girl."

His eyes fell upon her person and roamed unhurriedly. He examined her. "With your body? You don't say."

Professor Wilson's face flushed and she laughed nervously, "I uh...dance."

He nodded his head appreciatively and then cocked it to the side curiously.

"Would you care to join me for dinner, Professor Wilson?"

"You? Aren't you supposed to be cooking for your roommates?"

"They can easily disappear." He stepped closer.

She laughed again. "Thanks for the invite, really. But I gotta hot date with an assassin who doesn't know his identity waiting for me at home."

He cocked his eyebrow clearly not catching onto the joke.

"I mean a movie. I'm going home to watch a movie. You know...Bourne Legacy...assassin who doesn...you know what forget about it."

Professor Wilson, embarrassed, brushed past him and walked away but not before she heard him say, with laughter in his voice, "See you around, pretty lady."

She pretended not to hear the last part and she didn't look back. She even kept her eyes forward at the check out line. Once she paid for her ice cream she made a beeline for the parking lot and was gone.

"Professor Wilson?" A familiar voice snapped her back to reality. A head full of inky hair poked its way through the doorway of her office, hair that fell past a strong jawline and full pink lips. Stormy grey eyes flashed and goosebumps rose on her flesh.

"Pierce, to what do I owe the pleasure?" She gave him what she hoped was a bored look and not a "I was just thinking about you" look.

"I wanted to talk to you about my last paper and my grade for this semester."

She looked beautiful today, he thought. But then again, he thought she looked beautiful everyday in everything she wore. But today, she wore that color that made his insides flutter. Red. And fuck...her hair was down. He'd never ever seen her like this before.

"What a coincidence. I was just grading the class's latest paper - the midterm assignment."

"May I ask how I did?" Pierce inquired. He stepped into the dim office and shut the door behind him. The atmosphere of the office was cozy and quiet. The quietness due to the fact that Professor Wilson was the only Professor at Caldwell who kept such late office hours. It was because she was young, students and professors alike conjectured. As the youngest tenured professor with no family to run home to, she could afford to meet up with students beyond the early afternoon hours most professors kept.

They didn't know that Professor Wilson simply thought better at night and preferred to be in her office where she had access to all of her work in case inspiration struck.

Her late hours proved to be one of the reasons why she was also one of the more popular professors across disciplines. She was the reason why many students from different majors flocked to African American studies, a major once on the verge of being disbanded, that and how exciting and eccentric she was in the classroom.

The young thirty five year old brought vibrancy to the icy, staunch campus of polo shirts and Nantucket Reds. She was the hip professor with the bright head wraps to contain her unruly locks and long flowy clothing that still managed to accentuate her delicate curves. She was the professor who spoke with a voice like grounded cinnamon and walked with the grace of a dancer. She was walking inspiration. An artist’s wet dream. The perfect muse.  

Yet, Pierce's proximity unnerved her. Was it the casual way he walked about her office as if he'd been there before, fingering objects on her desk? Or could it be the fact that he'd just come in from the rain, hair and shirt slicked wet?

Oh how she loved warm spring showers.

He was wearing a white t-shirt and no jacket. She could clearly see the outline of his hard chest; she could just make out the dark coral of his taut nipples and, with her eyes traveling downwards, the faint lines of a six-pack.

Jesus, she nearly cursed under her breath.

"Sure, have a seat." Professor Wilson motioned towards the chair, tucking a curly lock behind her ear. She rarely let her hair down in front of the students or around campus. It was usually tied up in a wrap or bun. But since she was sure that no one would be coming in tonight she'd taken her hair down and let her locks fall long and curly around her shoulders and down her back. Now she seemed to regret it as Pierce looked her over, his mouth unmoving, but his eyes ever so penetrative, expressive and probing.

She coughed and said a light, "Excuse me" to break eye contact. 

She sifted briefly through the pile of papers and found his. Placing it on the desk, she slid it towards him.  Pierce's fingers quickly found themselves tangled with hers as he purposely overreached to slide his paper down the rest of the way.

Professor Wilson snatched her hand away quickly. "I'm sorry," she heard him mutter. But she couldn't look him in the eye; she was mentally chastising herself in that moment.

 You're a grown ass woman, Amiya. Control yourself! Stop acting like some horny teenage girl around this little boy who's your damn student for goodness sakes!

Pierce's long fingers lightly drumming on the wooden surface of her desk caused her to look up.

"Please see my comments in the back and let me know if you have any questions. I'll give you a second to read over them."

Thirty seconds seemed like hours. Amiya busied herself with arranging things on her desk.

Pens go here, let's put this in the drawer, this paper goes in this pile...there.

A timer went off in her mind.

"Any questions," she paused to look at him. 

"Yes." He cleared his throat and settled more comfortably in the chair. "Do you hate me or something?"

Well, that wasn't what she expected. "No, of course not. Why would you say that?"

"Because...I'm pretty sure I'm the only student in your class that keeps getting below a C on all of your assignments. Plus you're always calling on me in class and..."

"Pierce, you don't know that you're the only one getting below a C and I call on you because you never have your hand raised. You hardly seem like you're paying attention. It's the only way I can keep you accountable for the material we're learning."

Professor Wilson rose from her desk and headed towards the massive bookshelves mounted on her walls.

"Now the issue with your papers and why you keep getting low scores is that they lack structure...your arguments are sound, but..." she rambled on as she tried to reach for the Zinser's Essay Writing Book for College Students she usually recommended to all of her students.

Where the hell was her step stool?

"I have here...somewhere...a resource that you can use if I could just re-"

"Here, let me help." She felt his warm breath tickling her ear before she felt the heat of his body press against her backside. It took all of her will power not to push back.

"Which one?" Pierce's deep voice reverberated in her ear. From her periphery she saw him extend an arm up to caress the spine of the books high above their heads. She started sweating like a pig.

Pierce, on the other hand, was enjoying the way her body responded to him at the moment. He could hear her shallow breathing and see the slight tremor in her hands as she directed him where to go.

"The yellow one," she said. 

Pierce grabbed the book and handed it to her. He took a step back but only enough room for her to turn around. Professor Wilson, nerves rattled, practically used the book as her shield.

Interesting.

This wasn't the feisty Professor he'd come to admire in class. The one who could destroy the most eloquent arguments with just a few words. The one whose eyes came alive whenever she spoke about injustice, poverty, and privilege in this country. He'd often fantasized about what it would feel like to have her hands...those delicate hands that moved about in fluid motion when excited...wrapped around his...

"Here," she stated cutting into his thoughts. "Read this book and it'll change your life...or rather your writing, drastically. I read it in college and it helped me then. I still refer to it when I’m writing my books or journal articles."

She intended for him to take the book, but he simply stared at the book and then looked back at her.

"So you do hate me?" He countered, steel eyes twinkling.

What? Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "No, that's not-" Pierce took a step closer. Too close for comfort.

"Why don't you tell me how you really feel about me...Amiya?" Paper long forgotten, Pierce leaned forward. His face hovered dangerously close to hers. She couldn't explain it, but sure enough a distinct pulse flared deep between her thighs as her name dripped from his lips.

"How do you? W-what do you mean?" She attempted to take a guarded step back but only met the bookshelf. She crossed her arms over her breasts. She cleared her throat. "It's Professor Wilson to you. Show me some respect and move out of my way." That didn't come off nearly as commanding or forceful as she'd liked.

"Cut the bullshit, Professor. There's something here between us and you know it. Just spit it out." Like a child, Professor Wilson stared at him with a frown on her face. She tapped her foot, waiting for him to move.

"Fine then. I'll go first." Pierce was hoping to get some reaction from her. Get her to reveal something...anything...about the electricity that seemed to surge through the room whenever they were near each other. He couldn't be in this alone.

"I think you're weak." He lied. "I think you're probably the most brilliant professor on this campus, but you don't show it because you hide behind these men...white men..." he spat.

"Oh that's rich coming from you!" she said hurriedly. "You think you can just waltz up into my office and tell me about myself. Well aren't you behaving just like those white men you accuse me of hiding behind? That's your problem, Pierce. You walk around this campus with your daddy’s last name stamped on your forehead and you think that gives you license to say whatever is on your mind!" She sucked her teeth. "When you grow up, live a little bit, come back and talk to me about what you know of the world, little boy!"

She pushed past him only to whirled back around by a strong grip on her forearm. She stared at his hand incredulously. "Are you out of you-"

"Oh trust me, Professor. I know more about the world than you think. For instance, I know when a woman has been without a man. A woman..." his eyes, the color of smoking guns, were practically black with the desire he felt for her. Those eyes immobilized her while he spoke, "...a beautiful woman...who finds herself grading papers at night when she should be home being rubbed down by a man who's so deliriously happy she chose him, a woman who goes grocery shopping in ripped pajamas because she feels like there's no one to impress..."

And while he ticked off his observations of her pathetic life she didn't know if they were insults or praises, come-ons or rebukes, whether she was turned on or revolted. But there was one emotion underneath her confusion that was unmistakable. Hurt.

"Fuck you," she said slowly, enunciating every word in a deadly whisper.

It didn’t take Pierce time to think at all about what he would do next.

"With pleasure," he replied and promptly pulled her roughly into his chest before claiming her lips. He didn't care that this could be sexual harassment, that he could potentially be kicked out of school for his actions. He had to taste her.

His tongue searched the firm line of her pouty lips for a second willing them to open. He couldn't bear rejection. And to his surprise they did in a sigh of protest. 

Professor Wilson, on the other hand, was lost. She knew as much when his tongue entered her mouth. The worst part was she didn't even put up a fight. Sure, she was annoyed at the things he'd said, but could she honestly say that she didn’t want this?

This was risky she knew. Not just the fact that she was being tongued down by one of her students, but that they were about to get busy in her office, the easiest place to get caught. Still, Amiya threw caution to the wind and mentally shouted to the high heavens, Fuck it!

Amiya felt her backside brush against the edge of her desk and heard things being swept onto the floor.  She was barely conscious while his tongue loved every part of her mouth. His kisses were slow and deliberate. She couldn't remember the last time she was kissed this way.  He used her long locks to his advantage by tugging backwards to gain access to her neck.

Oh God, this feels so good...

Pierce laved her neck like a man dying from thirst. His fingers traced and caressed the skin around her thighs all the while his mind unbelieving. How many times had he dreamt of this moment; to be alone with this woman, just the two of them; to be inside her?

He needed her. And by the way her hands slid greedily underneath his shirt he knew she needed him just as much. Amiya gave a tug at the hem of Pierce's sticky shirt. Roughly, she rolled it up over taut abs that clenched beneath her touch. He lifted his arms while she tugged the shirt from around his head all the while raining soft kisses on his chest. She tossed the shirt aside and reached up to pull him down.

Amiya felt reckless, so reckless that she bit his bottom lip and he groaned into her mouth. "Mmm, baby...let me return the favor." A few buttons popped here and there but Pierce didn't care. He wanted to get the damn shirt off of her. Finally, the shirt parted giving way to a flat quivering belly and, good God, a red lace bra.

This woman is trying to kill me...

He stared down at her and gave thanks for finally being able to be with a woman, not a bumbling girl who didn't know her body or what she wanted- a trait he found common in most college girls.

Large hands slid up her warm back to unhook her bra. Amiya shrugged both the shirt and bra off of her shoulders.

If Pierce thought her breasts were a sight to behold sheathed in red lace, they were a wonder without it. Dark brown mounds of rich chocolate dotted with Hershey kisses. Pierce pushed Amiyah back onto her forearms. Then, his hands and mouth immediately went to work sucking and massaging, nibbling and clenching the brown globes until he felt Amiya's hand tug his hair forcefully from all of the pleasure.

"Pierce..." he heard her call, begging.

Pierce's hands slid down Amiya's body until they reached the end of her skirt. He pushed the cotton material up her thighs eliciting soft mewling sounds from Amiya. The fabric tickled her. He didn't stop until the skirt bunched around her waist and he caught sight of black bikini underwear.

Amiya didn't have time to be self-conscious. The boy knew what we he wanted and didn't waste anytime at all. Besides her mind was a big ball of mush and she felt like everything was on fire, especially his mouth. It was like stamp branding her.

She felt the cool air hitting the exposed flesh of her nether regions and lace sliding down her legs. He disposed of her panties and kissed back up her legs.

His fingers grazed her slit, felt her legs tremble and he smiled appreciatively. "You're so wet for me. Good girl."

Tugging her closer to the edge of the desk, he settled on his knees and got comfortable between her legs. For a brief second, Amiya had a moment of clarity; an outer body experience where she stood on the outside watching the events unfold and what she saw scared her. Yet, she couldn't tear her eyes away.

There, in a room surrounded by vestiges of blackness from artifacts she'd gotten on her trips to Africa to large photographs of famous blacks like Martin Luther, Malcolm X and Billie Holiday, was a beautiful black woman sprawled on an old wooden desk. Her body was bared, simmering in the dim lighting, and her legs were spread wide as her lover feasted on her flesh. The woman threw her head back brazenly, her long locks spilling over the other side. She watched as the woman couldn't help but touch herself, her sensitive breasts. 

Oh Lord have Mercy! Amiya grabbed at the material of her skirt and stuffed it in her mouth biting down hard. It was the only thing she could think of that could somehow muffle the incredibly loud moans coming out of her mouth while Pierce wrote his name in cursive with his tongue. Soon two fingers joined in and Amiya knew that she'd detonate.

"Mmmm..."

"Ahhhhhhhhh!"

“Oh fuck!”

Her moans were music to his ears. Inside Pierce swelled with pride. He wanted to put it down so that she'd never forget. He wanted her to get wet every time she heard his name. He wanted to her to come undone the next time they were in class together.

He wanted to make her his.

Feeling her clinch around his fingers, he knew she was close. Applying pressure to the bundle of nerves nestled there, he sent her careening over the edge and she rewarded with him with extra caramel on his tongue.

Amiya saw stars and, by golly, unicorns. That's how hard she came. She could barely hold herself up anymore so she laid back and watched the dancing babies riding unicorns beneath her eyelids. That is...until she felt warm lips make their way up her body and finally hover above her lips.

"Amiya..." he called softly. She loved the way he said her name. "Are you still with me?"

"Mmmhmm," she murmured opening her eyes just a smidgen to see his beautiful smile. He kissed her then, just as slow and deliberate as before. She could taste herself on his lips. Exhilarating. He controlled her mouth, pushing and pulling tongues in an erotic game of tug o' war. He playfully sucked her tongue back in his mouth when she tried to leave. He kissed her like he had all the time in the world. He kissed her like he'd known her mouth since the beginning of time. And that alone re-ignited the flame.

Spent and sweaty, Amiya needed more than what his fingers and tongue could give.

She whispered into his mouth. "I need you, Pierce..."

He stood and fingers fumbled against fabric. Her fingertips brushed against the cool surface of a belt buckle. It hissed free.  There was no turning back now.

Hands and arms tangled, together they pushed down his wet jeans and boxer briefs, stealing kisses wherever lips could reach. Once released, Amiya had to take a moment to admire Pierce’s length. It stood proudly, weeping and she too could almost cry.

Her hands, her glorious hands, wrapped around him and stroked from base to tip. Pierce’s hips involuntarily jerked into her hands and he groaned. Before he lost it, he pushed her hands away and kissed her quickly, “Wait.”

He then reached down and retrieved a foil packet from his back pocket. Holding up to his teeth to tear, he smiled and shrugged at Amiya’s cocked eyebrow.

She was glad he had protection, but had he planned this or was he that much a G to be having condoms on hand?

“Here, let me,” Amiya stated when he began to settle the cap on the tip. Placing the rolled condom in her hand Pierce watched as she placed it in her mouth and knelt before him.

No fucking way, he thought in awe. His hands unconsciously slid into her hair as her warm mouth descended on him. Expertly, Amiya unrolled the condom onto his length with her mouth relaxing her throat to take him all the way in.

Her hands slid up to his buttocks and caressed gently. She then placed them on his hips to steady herself as she reared back and took him her mouth again. Back and forth her mouth went, tongue swirling around the head, back down to show love to his two little friends below. She used her hands to apply pressure as she stroked up and down and over and over Pierce grunted his approval.

The sight of her bobbing, lips wrapped so tightly around his cock, was nearly his undoing. He forcefully gripped her hair and pulled her away, panting.

“Enough of this!” he said through gritted teeth. Pierce lifted Amiya and settled her back on the desk. Cock in hand, he looked her squarely in the eye and asked, “Do you want this?”

Her body was a livewire ready to combust. All she need was Pierce to blow the fuse. She didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Nudging her legs wider apart, he grabbed and hooked them over his forearms. “Don’t close your eyes,” he commanded. Then, he twisted his hips and rammed into her causing the desk to shake. They both let out strangled moans. "Amiya..."Her name was like a prayer on his lips. He fisted his hands her hair and drew her in for an aggressive kiss. He could feel her hips undulating with need. She wanted him to move. He wanted to torture her. He felt her fingernails dig into his upper back as she bit down on his neck. He withdrew to the tip and she whimpered...

"Please..." she murmured against his chin.

"Unh!" She grunted as the force of his body slammed into hers.

"Amiya you feel so good..."

He withdrew to tip and assaulted her body once more. Amiya nearly screamed. She tightened her legs around his waist so he wouldn't slide out again. "Please! Don't stop! Don't...Ever...Stop..." she panted.

"Tell me what you want,” he whispered fervently.  

"Harder...faster...deeper...give me everything..."

Raising her legs even higher, he angled her body so that her bottom barely rested on the desk. And then he went to work, gloriously punishing Amiya’s body with hard, quick thrusts.

He watched her breasts bounce unmercifully as he pounded into her again and again and again. Freeing one hand, he slid it up her tight abdomen, grabbed and squeezed one. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head. "Oh fuck, Pierce! I'm.About.To.Cum." Her words punctuated by every thrust.

That was his cue to seal the deal. Picking up his pace, Pierce continued to ram into Amiya’s body while his fingers rubbed and squeezed her sensitive bud. The sounds of skin slapping and strangled moans filled the office space as Pierce sent Amiya soaring. He followed soon after emptying what he felt was his soul into the plastic contraception.

Before he completely passed out, he grabbed her and brought their sweaty bodies down to the carpeted floor of her office. They lay together, with tangled limbs, and heaving chests on the floor of her office, basking in the afterglow of their frenzied lovemaking. There was so much left between them, so much to discuss. Things were so complicated now.

"Not so little, am I?" She heard him whisper between pants.

Those other thoughts could wait.

And she couldn't help the laughter that bubbled deep in her chest and spilled forth.

God was he right, she thought. But she wouldn't dignify him with a confirmation. So she slapped his chest playfully as she turned toward him, her brown eyes crackling like embers, "Shut up and let's do it again..."

The lovers rolled over and into on another too engrossed to notice Pierce’s cell phone lying haphazardly on the ground by the door. Numbers on the screen ticked away indicating an open line…