“And as we all know, I am only ever in it for the money,” I murmur.
“The drive is only a few hours, honey, just come home for a night.”
“It’s almost five hours, and believe it or not, I already have an essay that’s due next week that I need to give my full attention to.”
“Are you making that up?” she asks suspiciously.
“Nope,” I say, sighing as I see my apartment complex come into view. “I’d heard this professor was a total hard-ass, and he did not disappoint. Ten-page essay analyzing a child psychology case study through Freud’s psychoanalytic theory, due next Monday.”
“Ugh,” she groans. “Fine, I’ll reschedule with Laurie’s son, but promise you’ll come visit your poor mother soon?”
“I will, I promise,” I say to appease her before hanging up.
Spokane is nearly five hours away from Cascadia University’s campus in Seattle. Just far enough that my mother can’t drop by unannounced, but not far enough away that she feels like she can’t pester me to visit constantly.
I type in the code to open the front doors of my complex and stop at the elevator’s signature ‘Out of Order’ sign. I resist theurge to groan like my mother as I slowly make my way up the stairs.
Pushing open the faded apartment door, I toss my keys onto a small table I keep at the entrance, into a ceramic bowl I had purchased from an estate sale. I toe off my shoes and greet my orange tabby cat that rubs up against my legs. “Hello Milo,” I coo. “Did you miss me?” She purrs in response.
I drop my bag on the bed before scooping her up into my arms, and she ‘harrumphs’ in response. She’s five pounds and sixteen years of pure grumpiness, but she’s the light of my life. She’s been with me for the last seven years and is the most consistent positive thing in my life. She was nine when I adopted her from the shelter; she had been hiding in the back, clearly unsatisfied with her lodging. She’d waltzed up to me, stolen my heart, and I had taken her home and treated her like a queen ever since.
I feed her a treat before settling onto my bed with a groan. Milo follows suit and promptly curls up on my pillow, continuing to purr before promptly falling asleep.
I look around the studio, taking in the dark interior. My studio consists of a kitchen with just enough dishes for two people in case I want to entertain, a two-burner stove, and a small sink where I try not to let the few dishes I have sit for too long. A flatscreen sits in the corner on the floor—I haven’t gotten around to purchasing a TV stand for it. My bed is near the few windows in the apartment, their window sills covered in different kinds of plants. The bathroom is on the other side of the kitchen, and contains the smallest mirror ever seen, a toilet, and a shower with barely enough standing room for me. Any dream of hot shower sex with someone went out the window when I signed the lease here.
I push myself up and meander over to the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of rosé and pouring myself a glass before I pull mylaptop out of my bag and decide it’s probably time to get to work on that essay Professor Stirling assigned us.
I take a large gulp of wine at the mere thought of the professor.
Absolutely not, I chastise myself.I will not think about how hot my professor is. Or how huge his biceps are. Or what he might look like naked.
Absolutely not.
You are not supposed to think your professor is hot.
2
ASHER
You are notsupposed to think your students are hot.
The second day of class feels painstakingly similar to the first day, in the fact that I can’t keep my eyes off Summer Nyx. She’s wearing another torturingly short skirt to class, crossing her legs so that it rides up higher on her thighs, making me clench my teeth anytime she shifts in her seat.
She’s sitting front and center, next to her friend from yesterday. She flips long, golden blonde hair over her shoulder, the tips brushing the bottom of her ribcage. My fingers itch to grab a handful of her hair and force her to look up at me.
I shake my head and try to clear my mind of the inappropriate thoughts.
I surprised the students with a pop quiz to see where they were all at and what we needed to focus on this semester. She scribbles away, making quick work of the quiz with no difficulty whatsoever. She hits a question that gives her pause, and she bites down on her full, pink bottom lip.
She glances up, and beautiful light brown eyes meet mine. Delicate freckles dust her cheeks, and her golden-hued skin takes on a pink flush the longer we stare at each other. A loose strand of hair falls in front of her face. I want to brush it away, feel the smooth skin of her cheek under my fingertips. The sun-kissed skin looks as soft as satin.
I clench my hands into fists, feeling my fingernails digging into my palms, like my fingers are mourning her even though they’ve never truly touched her.
I quickly turn away, cursing myself for having gotten caught up in watching her.
Don’t be fucking creepy, I snap at myself internally.
I make my way over to my desk, listening to the scratch of pencils on paper. I sit down and attempt to hide myself behind my computer—more like trying to hide her from my view.
