2. Discipline

AU. In which Amélie is an Econometrics professor and Lena is probably a naughty girl.


"—otherwise known as the Augmented Dickey Fuller test, in the sense that it's the OLS regression of Yt-minus-one on Yt, augmented by lagged values of—"

That's the tenth time now. That's the tenth time my eyes have wandered far lower than they should.

It's not appropriate and I ought to stop, I ought to keep my eyes properly glued to my lecture notes but—blimey—it's so bloody hard! It's so bloody hard, now that Ms Lacroix has taken to pacing up and down the room as she speaks.

The sangria-hued pencil skirt she's wearing hugs her curves in the most tantalizing manner, and a part of me wonders if she's not fully aware of how distracting her hips are every time she moves to take a step.

Surely—surely I can't be the only one finding it hard to concentrate? Sitting up just a notch straighter, I give the room a quick once-over.

Nope, no lustful ogling or slack-jawed gazes to be found. My academically hardwired peers are all but nose deep in their notes, pens scribbling away with much fervor. How they're accomplishing this feat, is utterly mind-boggling to me.

Honestly, did no one else notice the way Ms Lacroix's blouse is just 'bout two buttons shy of a downright inappropriate cleavage?

No?

Ok. Just me then.

"—in practice, T is not infinite, and so we need to choose a value of k for our regression. Typically, we can make use of information criteria such as the Akaike or the Bayesian—"

Oh gosh. Only the woman can make something as dry as time series analysis sound so goshdarn sexy.

The way she talks—it's bloody delicious—how her tongue rolls out her sentences with this alluring cadence; how she speaks as though it's such an exertion for the words to even pass through her lips.

Does it actually take as much effort as it sounds? I begin to wonder, and then not long after, find myself thinking what my name would sound like coming from those lips. I wonder if she'll mispronounce it (not that there's much to mispronounce), or if she'll simply mess up the stresses—

"Oxton."

—yes, I imagine it'll be something like that. I'm no linguist but, god yes, it'll probably sound something like: Oakx-toan—basically my name, but with shorter vowels and a much sexier inflection—

"Oxton."

"Mmm yes," I sigh dreamily. "Yes, just like that."

I'm so deep in it, it takes me more than a few seconds before I realize something. I realize she actually is talking to me, and shite!—I did in fact moan out in response. By this juncture, the whole tutorial class has just about gone quiet, and everyone has turned to stare.

Bollocks! I feel myself shrinking into my jacket. This looks bad. This looks real bad. Say something, Lena—say something!

"Ma'am," I manage to choke out before swallowing rapidly. "Professor Lacroix, ma'am."

Has she caught me staring?

Ms Lacroix is still looking at me, her mouth turned down in this terribly disapproving look and I literally feel my blood run cold.

"A suggestion, if I may," her voice is glacial-crisp when she finally speaks. "Perhaps you ought to save your private thoughts for when you are actually in private?"

The class burst out into snide little giggles as if on cue and my face turns about as red as a European sports car.

"Ma'am I-I wasn't—i-it wasn't like that," I start stammering in a small voice before she cuts me off with a bone-chilling glare.

"After class, come see me," she turns away, but not before pausing to mouth out the word—"Oxton."

And I'm left gawping in my seat, wondering if she really did catch me staring after all.