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“I…I don’t know,” I admitted. “But, Clea, I think I’m in love.”
She laughed.
“I’ve heard he’s really cute,” she told me. “Is he?”
“Stupid sexy,” I admitted. “And listening to his class today… He’s different from any of the teachers I’ve ever had.”
“That a good thing?”
“For my book, yes. For my va-jay-jay, no.”
Clea laughed harder, swatting her leg in mirth.
“Girl, you can’t fall in love with your teachers. They can’t have relationships with students, even if they felt the same way about you. Don’t set yourself up for disappointment.”
I knew that. God, I knew that, but it didn’t stop my heart from pounding and my core from throbbing when he entered a room.
“Think of him like your dad. Like, your work dad, or maybe a dad-type mentor.”
Right. Mentor.
I’d need to try to see him that way, because having to catch my freaking breath every time I saw him was going to get old, quick.
“Right,” I said out loud, then dropped my bag to the floor by my bed. “I’m pooped. I’m passing out.”
“Ok. But don’t forget, you’re cooking tomorrow since I had to fend for myself today.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Sure, Clea,” I agreed, wondering if I was even going to be in our dorm for dinner. Not if my professor/boss had anything to say about it.
She went back to her show, and I spent the rest of the night trying not to think of my stupidly fit, and yet entirely sexy boss.
If only he wasn’t so well read, or well spoken, or…well, everything.
Ugh.
Chapter 3
-Mia-
“Can I get your thoughts on this one?” I asked Owen as I sat across from him in his office.
It had become our normal thing, three nights a week in the evening during his night classes, and two afternoons after my last classes were done for the day. Five days a week I’d spend working on grading papers, writing tests and test keys that I’d have to grade with later.
“What’re you working on?” he asked, tearing his eyes away from the file in his hand.
“This student,” I told him, holding out the three-paged paper. “This looks like plagiarism to me.”
He lifted a brow and grabbed the paper. I indicated where, then he turned to his computer to type in the paragraph in question.
“I thought so,” he mumbled. “It’s from Steven King’s novel ‘The Mist’.”
How a student managed to plagiarize from a horror novel onto their freaking English paper and have it make sense was…kind of impressive.
Owen, however, wasn’t amused.
“Plagiarism is grounds for an automatic fail,” he said, making a note of the student. “I’ll need to meet with them. It’s a female student, so I would like you to join me in the room. For legal purposes.”
