Page 20 of Lessons in Cruelty

Thankfully, I only have my Introduction to Social Work class left today. It’s barely noon, but I’m already exhausted. And I have a shift at the diner tonight, so yay for that too.

How dangerous could napping be?

I’m still staring wistfully out the window when a loud thump makes me jump in my seat. Simone gives me an apologetic smile when I spin around to stare at her in surprise.

“Hope you brought a trolley,” she teases, flipping her blond ponytail over her shoulder.

I stare at the stack of six books, each at least an inch thick. “Woof.”

She widens her eyes, nodding. “Exactly, yeah. Woof.” She lifts her arm, making her skinny bicep pop through the thin fabric of her sweater. “Great workout.”

There’s no way I’m carrying all those books around with me. I groan as I realize I’ll have to take them to my car.

The parking lot—a large area of cleared land beside a row of pine trees—is a short walk from the college. My sneakers crunch loudly over the gravel as I carry the books to my parked car. I guess a lot of students and faculty members take the shuttle from town, because there’s only a couple dozen cars parked out here.

The ones that are, though?

There’s a reason I parked right at the end of the lot, partially obscured behind a massive boulder someone left right the fuck where it lay. The contrast between my dented white clunker and the gleaming Audis, Land Rovers, Mercs, and Escalades was just pitiful.

Especially the sleek black Tesla parked next to my Toyota. I couldn’t help but admire it this morning, and my curiosity still hasn’t faded. The tinted windows make it hard to see inside, but I’m sure those are red leather seats.

I wrestle my car keys out of my pocket, arm shaking under the weight of all six books. Simone wasn’t kidding about getting a workout.

Predictably, I can’t juggle everything as I try to unlock the trunk.

Inevitably, everything goes flying.

My head falls back as I groan in frustration. I’m in half a mind to leave everything where it is, get in my car, and take that fucking nap.

“Things seem to be going well for you today, Miss Lee. Did you walk under any ladders recently?” A deep, silky voice inquires behind me.

I shoot to my feet, spinning around so fast I nearly lose my balance and land on my face. What is it about my body going into autopilot when I’m around Professor Rooke? And if it’s going to do that, could it at least try to stay vertical?

Gravel crunches as he walks up to me. As soon as I realize he’s going to help me pick up the things I’ve dropped, I’m on my knees to collect them, like I’ve suddenly become weirdly competitive.

He crouches beside me anyway, picking up more than me because I drop half the stuff I pick up.

“You don’t need to do that. I shouldn’t have been carrying so many. That’s why I came to dump them in the car. Can’t be lugging around a hundred books⁠—“

My teeth click closed, shutting off the blathering. Don’t even know how I’m managing it with such a dry mouth.

When Professor Rooke reaches for the financial responsibility form that fluttered further away than the rest, I scramble up to grab it before he can. But he’s closer, and already holding it by the time I latch on.

He smiles ruefully when I try to tug it out of his fingers, so I whip my hand away with spiteful ferocity.

His warm brown eyes crinkle at the corners as he turns the page over to read it. With his attention diverted, I can study him outside of the confines of his lecture hall. The noon sun gleams in his black hair, tinting even more of it silver. But despite his graying hair and the deep frown lines on his brow, I’d say he’s in his mid to late thirties.

It’s downright evil how handsome he looks with his tweed jacket slung over his arm, the sleeves of his shirt pushed up surprisingly toned—and surprisingly pale—arms, a trail of dark hairs disappearing under the fabric.

“Black cats can be trouble too,” he muses, as if to himself. “I’d avoid them if at all possible.”

“No ladders. No cats. Got it.” I puff a strand of hair out of my face when it tickles my nose. “But I’m kinda leaning more toward a curse.”

“A curse?” He watches me intently, and I don’t know why, but that makes me want to keep blabbing. Maybe because it seems like he’s actually interested in what I have to say. Not sure why the hell someone like Professor Rooke would even bother asking me the time of day, but maybe he’s like this with all his grant students.

AKA, charity cases.

Ugh, of course he’s not interested in me. He simply wants to revel in philanthropic bliss.