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She glanced at me, the expression on her face telling me she hadn’t heard. “What?”
I could tell her never mind, not bring this up again. She’d never know the difference. But I found myself licking my lips and saying, “Professor Goode. What do you think about him?”
I saw her brows knit, her expression curious as to why I was asking. I became flustered as I looked down at the plastic-wrapped sandwich in front of me. I felt her gaze on me, as if she were analyzing me, trying to read more into the question.
And there was more in the question, so much more, but I’d never tell her. I couldn’t. It felt wrong to even think it.
“I was just curious about what you thought about him … as a teacher.”
“Mm-hmm,” she said, unconvinced. “You mean Professor Make Me Feel Goode?”
I snapped my head up, feeling my eyes widen. “What? Oh my God, Sherry.” I felt my face heat as I looked around, wondering if anyone had heard. She was laughing beside me.
“He’s seriously hot, and I know a shitload of girls want to bang him in one of the empty classrooms.”
“God, you’re really going there.”
She chuckled. “You’re such a virgin.” She laughed harder when I looked at her, my expression probably showing how mortified I was.
“Sherry, good Lord.” I looked around again. “Could you say that any louder?” I felt my cheeks heat. I had no doubt I was red, my embarrassment a visual beacon for everyone in the library to see.
“Wait, why are you asking about Professor Goode?”
I glanced down and started putting my books away, regretting even bringing this up. “It’s nothing. Never mind.” She didn’t answer, but I felt her watching me. When I had my books in my backpack, I looked up, telling myself to act like I wasn’t completely mortified. She watched me with this curious expression on her face. “What?”
Her eyes widened and her mouth opened in a small O.
“Oh my fucking God. Gracie, you’ve totally got the hots for the professor.”
Lord, my cheeks felt like they were on fire. “No. I don’t. You’re insane.” I was rambling, stuttering.
“You’re a horrible liar, by the way.”
I gave an awkward chuckle, which just made this situation even worse.
“I don’t know why you’re embarrassed.” She shrugged and leaned back in the chair, looking back at the table, giving the guy who sat there a come-fuck-me smile. “You know how many guys I find hot at this school.” And looked at me and chuckled. “Your face is so red.”
I grew even more frustrated.
“You know how many guys probably think you’re hot?”
I scoffed and rolled my eyes. Compared to Sherry I was a poor example of what could be considered hot. Her Lebanese genetics gave her a beautiful olive-toned skin and a gorgeous head of dark hair. Not to mention her body was rocking, with curves that I could only dream about.
There was no doubt men looked at her constantly.
“That’s easy for you to say,” I grumbled, feeling sorry for myself.
“You’re insane if you don’t think you’re hot.”
I gave her a get-the-fuck-out-of-here look.
“What?” She genuinely looked shocked that I didn’t believe her. “You are gorgeous, Gracie. You’ve got that pretty alabaster, flawless skin, and incredible hair with red highlights. And your eyes—” She made a disgruntled noise. “You have the bluest, prettiest fucking eyes I’ve ever seen.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re ridiculously hot in that innocent-schoolgirl way, and it’s annoying.”
I laughed at how upset she looked. That was all fine and nice that she said that, but it didn’t mean I believed her. Would she still see me the same way if she knew I hadn’t so much as let a guy feel me up? If she knew I was a virgin, so inexperienced it was laughable, she’d probably think there was something wrong with me.
“So, about Professor Goode.” She wagged her eyebrows.
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“Come on,” she said and grinned. “Don’t be embarrassed.”
As I looked at Sherry, seeing the way she was so confident, how she knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it just put me in a bad mood.
“I’m not embarrassed,” I finally said and shoved my books in my bag. “But I am going to be late for work.” I gave her a smile and saw on her face that she wanted to argue, maybe ask more, question why I’d brought this up like an idiot.
“Okay,” she said in surrender and leaned back in her chair. “How about drinks later tonight?” And just like that the subject was changed.
Movement out of the corner of my eye had me looking to the right. My mouth instantly went dry, my stomach twisting. I watched as Professor Goode walked in, his dark brown leather satchel over one shoulder, a stack of papers in his hand. His black hair hung over his forehead and off to the side, as if he’d run his fingers through it, pushing it aside.
