“Who’s the one running now?” Annie laughs as she releases herself from my grip and straightens the backpack hanging off her shoulder. She rotates it and grimaces. “Damn, I think you pulled my arm out of the socket. What was that back there? It was like he was focused on you. Have you had him before?”
Oh, I’ve had him all right. He’s screwed me every way from Sunday. God, what a mess. Shaking my head, I rub my fingers over the ache blooming between my eyes. “No, this is my first class with him,” I lie, “but what a jerk.”
“Maybe he was teaching you a lesson for not paying attention,” she says with a soft chuckle. “Whatever his problem is, I think you’re in trouble. Either he’s pegged you as trouble and is going to make your life hell or you’re about to become teacher’s pet.”
My lip curls in distaste. “This is why I like to sit in the back.” Maybe back there, I could have slipped under his radar the whole semester. Now, any hope of that is gone.
“Too late for that.” With a quick hug, Annie waves as she breaks away in the direction of the science building. “Catch you later!”
I lift my hand in a limp wave and watch her go. Teacher’s pet? A part of me is adverse to the idea, while another part of me is thinking of all the benefits that could come from it. We’ve never had sex bent over a desk before.
I’m getting ahead of myself. Nothing good can come of this, I tell myself. This man could fail me if I piss him off. My future is literally in his hands. Annie’s right, though. It’s too late to change anything now. The damage is done, and I need this class to graduate.
The thought is depressing, because I know he has me over the barrel, whether he realizes it or not. But I don’t have time right now to stand around pondering my fate. I have four more hours to get through before I need to get ready for my shift at the club—Mirage. Putting the last hour behind me, I beat feet toward the English Department.
FOUR
The second my last class lets out I’m running for my car. Although the sun is still high and it’s barely dinnertime, business at Mirage will be going strong as ever. There’s always a steady flow of patrons when booze and naked bodies are on the menu.
Opening the trunk of my sun-bleached Toyota Camry, I toss the tote full of books and tonight’s homework inside and exchange it for the black mesh bag that holds tonight’s costume. A secret smile tugs at my lips as I picture it. For a brief moment, I allow myself to wonder if my mystery man—erm, Professor Scott—will show. If he does, I wonder what he’ll think of the black, men’s dress shirt and emerald green tie and thong I’ll be sporting. I wonder if he’ll know that I’m wearing it for him.
As I maneuver through the parking lot, I catch sight of a familiar figure. He’s standing in front of his own car, a shiny silver BMW, staring into the open hood with a look of consternation. He’s stressed—I can see it in the firm set of his shoulders, and when he ruffles his dark hair and the frown grows deeper, I decide to pull over.
“Do you need some help?” I ask.
Professor Scott turns the full weight of those onyx eyes on me, and I shiver at the same time I flinch. He’s not just stressed, he’s pissed. In his hand, he grips his cell phone, and he lifts it, using it to point at the car. “The piece of shit won’t start. It just keeps clicking,” he growls.
When he recognizes me, his eyes narrow, and I hope it’s just the glare of the sun that incites that reaction. Although, I know better.
“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard of anyone refer to a BMW as a piece of shit,” I quip, choosing to ignore his attitude. “Have you called anyone to come out and take a look at it?” The question is rhetorical. Obviously, if he’s holding a phone, he would have already called someone.
“Of course,” he snaps, giving me a look that says just how dumb he thinks the question is. “I pay almost two hundred a year and they tell me I have to wait an hour and forty-five minutes for the truck to arrive.” He curses and the colorful language makes him somehow less a professor and more a person. More the man I am accustomed to.
This aggressive side reminds me of our last night together. Of the hard door abrading my back and the bruises he left behind on my thighs from where his fingers dug into my flesh—I feel a needy ache blooming between my thighs at the memory.
Staring at the open hood for a minute, I weigh all the options. If I stick around, I’ll be late for work. If I go, I’m pretty sure that makes me a dick. Even though he ticked me off earlier when he kicked me out of his room and attempted to humiliate me in front of the entire class, I don’t really get the impression he intends to be such a jackass. In fact, I think intense is just part of who he is. But he seems really freaking vulnerable right now. Maybe if I pull the Good Samaritan card, he’ll let me lay low for the rest of the year.