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Because he hasn’t always acted like a professor. Not around me, anyway.
I sink into the only empty desk I see. Yes, it’s next to Nick. Nick is on his cell phone. He winks at me, then resumes texting. I ignore the wink. Flirting is a reflex with him. That, and calling our cafeteria lady, Shelly, anything that’s not her name. In other words, he is a tool, but not a particularly sharp one.
Professor Nass strides down the aisle and gives me a sardonic look. “Professor Ito had a bicycle accident and will not be teaching for the rest of the semester.”
Worry flares up inside me. I hope she’s okay. And then it hits me.
He’s taking over her class for her. I will be stuck with him for the rest of the semester.
Yep. Today is officially a waking nightmare.
“I hope that’s okay with you.” Alex—no, he’s Professor Nass to me now and forever, when I’m not calling him less flattering things—flashes me a cold smile.
“Well, I’ll certainly miss her, because she’s an excellent teacher, but I guess we’ll just have to make do,” I reply, with a poisonously sweet smile. I shouldn’t provoke him. I really shouldn’t. He’s very popular with the university bigwigs, and he could make life very difficult for me.
But I am hurt, and angry, and sick of letting him walk all over me.
He shoots me a dirty look and stalks to the front of the room, taking his place behind his seat. Spearing me with one last look of disgust, he flips open a notebook and starts scribbling something. Probably demonic incantations to summon up his next victim.
Nick shoves his cell phone in his pocket and casts an amused glance at me. “Wow,” he says. “He really seems to like you.”
“Yep,” I say glumly. “The rest of the semester is going to be fun.” I glance at the clock on the wall. Five minutes till class starts.
“Hey, I have an idea!” he says.
Probably a first.
“Good for you,” I tell him, and with a sigh, I open up my backpack and slide my laptop out. It’s red and covered with stickers with slogans like “Well-behaved women rarely make history”, along with pictures of a few of my homegirls—Jane Austen, Agatha Christie, Charlotte Brontë.
“It’s an idea about how we can deal with this professor situation.”
I open up my laptop, turn it on, and only then do I turn and give him a suspicious look. What’s this “we” business? We’re not pals. He sits at the jock table and I don’t.
“Go on,” I say, to kill time more than anything else.
He leans in and lowers his voice. “I know Professor Nass. He likes to intimidate women, but deep down, he’s a pussy. He never tries to mess with guys. If he thinks you’re dating the big man on campus, he’ll back off.”
I reply with a snort-laugh. “Big man on campus? Ooh, who is he? Please, introduce me.”
Nick claps his hand to his chest. “Ouch! My ego.”
“Need a Band-Aid?” I say dryly.
He gives me a wounded look. “The big man on campus is me. Running back? Lead scorer? There’s nobody bigger than me. Pretend to date me. I can be your fake boyfriend.”
Okay, it wasn’t too long ago that another man had suggested the very same thing. Paxton Saul, a friend of a friend. Well, specifically, he is my sister’s boyfriend’s teammate on the Rovers hockey team. We actually had some fun together, even started hanging out as friends. He started texting me goofy stuff and I texted him back snarky replies, and it almost felt like we were becoming real boyfriend and girlfriend, without the sex.
We even made a point of hanging out in public a few times, because I knew word would get back to the professor, and it just made me feel safer somehow. Paxton and my sister had no idea that my scary ex was also my former professor, but they knew I needed a fake date, and Paxton seemed happy to oblige.
But then Paxton got super busy with the playoffs and training. He also had to do physical therapy to address a mild injury, and he fell off the radar for the last couple of weeks, which is fine. I definitely am not at all upset about it; I definitely was not developing any kind of feelings for him in the least. I never had sex dreams about him, picturing his whiskey-brown eyes and full lips. I don’t instinctively check my phone several times a day and feel that weird stomach-drop feeling of disappointment when there are no texts from him.
And the moon is made of green cheese.
“Well? What do you think? Will you fake-date me, Ruby? Should I get down on one knee?” Nick leans in and flashes a smile full of big white teeth.
“I had no idea you had such strong fake feelings for me, Nick,” I say with amusement.
He shrugs one beefy shoulder. “I don’t. But my coach wants me to settle down. I guess I’ve been partying too much, and he thinks I’m too much of a player, and having a girlfriend like you would really help my reputation.”
