Dear Professor(78)
My lungs burned as I fought to control my breathing. I was soaked through by the time I found my keys at the bottom of my purse and got into my car.
The rain was beating against my windshield as quickly as my heart was pounding.
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This shouldn’t have hurt. This sting creeping through my body was too much. It was too real and too strong. I hated it. Hated her. Hated him. Hated myself for feeling this way… For having let it get this far.
I never should have let my goal slip past me.
My laptop poked out the top of my purse. It was glaring at me, teasing me with what was on its last open window. The possibility of an escape…
I already had one though, didn’t I? It wasn’t just student-teacher relationships that weren’t allowed. Teacher-teacher relationships technically weren’t allowed either.
But the more you know and all that…
With the picture of Jordan kissing Professor Banks burned into my eyelids, I pulled my phone from my purse, found Christina’s e-mail, and dialed her number.
Shock shot through Jordan’s body the moment Carly leaned forward and kissed him. It was so unexpected that, for a moment, all he could do was stand there as her cold lips touched his.
God. She was like ice.
He put his hands on her waist and pushed her away. “What are you doing?”
Carly paused. “Kissing you.”
He wiped his hand across his mouth. “You need to leave now.” He turned away, dodging her as she reached for him.
“But I thought—”
“You thought wrong.” The words came out short and sharp. “Whatever you thought, it was fucking wrong, Carly. Last week was a mistake. It never should have happened. You know that as well as I do.”
Fuck yeah, he knew it. The guilt had been eating away at him for days.
Carly didn’t move. She stood exactly where she was, her hands shaking, and stared at him. The shock in her eyes couldn’t have been faked.
Fucking hell. She had really thought there was something more than two meaningless fucks between them. She was an idiot, Jordan realized.
“I thought…” She trailed off and looked away. When she met his eyes again, hers were hard and unfeeling. “You’re a cold, using bastard, Jordan Keaton.”
“And it took you this long to figure it out,” he drawled, sitting at his desk. He rested his elbows on the hard, wooden surface and touched his fingertips together. “Is that everything? I have work to do.”
She held his gaze for one more moment before turning on her heel and stalking out of his office. She slammed the door so ferociously that it bounced back open, and he shook his head.
Women.
Assuming did nothing but make them annoyed. The funniest thing about the whole situation was that he’d bet she wasn’t even mad at him, but likely herself. He shook his head again as he checked his e-mail and saw Darcy’s name in his unread messages.
To: jkeat@gmail.com
From: darcyh_345@gmail.com
Subject: Hello?
Dear Professor,
Are you in your office? I have a question.
Xoxo, Darcy.
The timestamp read four hours ago. Shit—back-to-back classes all afternoon and then Carly cornering him had meant he’d missed it. He hit reply in the hope that she’d still be on campus, although he doubted it.
To: darcyh_345@gmail.com
From: jkeat@gmail.com
Subject: Is it me you’re looking for?
Darcy,
Sorry. I was teaching all afternoon. I’m in my office now. What do you need?
J
Her response was instantaneous.
To: jkeat@gmail.com
From: darcyh_345@gmail.com
Subject: It was…#p#分页标题#e#
Dear Professor,
Don’t worry. I got it all figured out…
Xoxo, Darcy.
Dear Professor, get the polish. It’s time to dust off those skeletons. Xoxo, Darcy.
Christina Wilson had light-blond hair that sat in a sharply angled bob. It perfectly framed her soft face, although she was definitely on the shorter side of five foot, so she looked somewhat like a pixie.
She brushed her sweeping bangs out of her eyes and offered me a hesitant smile as I sat down opposite her in the booth. “Hi. Darcy, right?”
“Yeah.” I smiled tightly.
It’d been two hours since I’d seen Jordan and Professor Banks, but the time hadn’t eased the dull ache hanging around in my chest. It’d just created a hundred thousand scenarios of things that might have happened. But, mostly, it’d just affirmed to me that he was a liar.
I was ready to end this bullshit relationship. I wanted to get back to work and get on with my life so that, next summer, I’d never have to see him again.
“Can I ask you a question?” I folded my forearms on the table in front of me. “How did you get my e-mail?”