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BITCH, TELL ME EVERYTHING
PAST
Ithink I was the first person out of my seat once we were dismissed. Which was a full twenty minutes earlier than scheduled. Even if he hadn’t written it out in big bold letters, I would’ve gotten the assumption that he didn’t really care.
As the students file out of the lecture hall, I’m pressed against the wall beside the door, trying to make sense of what the fuck just happened.
There isnoway that’s the same man who insisted that we were the last two romantics in the city. Him? A romantic?
“We’re either destined or doomed to meet again.”I rub my hands over my face at the thought of his parting words to me last night.
Doomed, that’s for damn sure.
The last students trickle out and I almost expect him to walk out with them, so I bolt. Anything to avoid having to speak to that asshole.
All of his flirty glances and smooth words taunt me as I rush away, wanting nothing more than to never see him again.
I head toward the registrar’s office, determined to see if there are any other classes available. At this point, I’d take anything.
Only ten minutes later, I’m storming back out of the office, determined to make Professor Pugliesi keep me in his class.
It’d only taken one very exhausted woman to announce to the hordes of people waiting to be seen that there was no room for any changes in courses with the sudden interest in summer classes.
Which is apparently Professor Asshole’s fault. People were dying to sit with the man who’d been responsible for some of the most prominent films of our time.
And now he has the power to ruin my chances of graduating early.
I refuse to have my timeline derailed because he wants to be a power-hungry dickhead who likes to prey on unsuspecting women at tiny cinemas that show classic and foreign films.Fuck, I don’t even make sense anymore.
I’m blinded by my anger, the sound of my sandals slapping against the linoleum echoing through the halls. I stop just in front of his office door, about to push it open when sounds filter their way through the crack.
I peek into it, certain that I can hear two voices inside. One of them soft and feminine.
“I was hoping I could come over later. Maybe…pick up where we left off last time?” I hear a female’s voice coo her question and I wonder if this is the type of romance he’d been referencing the night before. The kind that didn’t require classic movies and quality time.
“That would be a mistake.” His words are blunt and short. And if I were the one propositioning him, I’d be embarrassed as fuck.
But she presses on, somehow oblivious. Or too confident to give a shit.
“You didn’t think so last week.”
“Last week is last week,” he utters, and I wait for her to speak, but I don’t hear anything else. At least, nothing loud to enough to reach my ears.
I want to knock on the door, to make my presence known because I only have a small window of time before my next class. Instead, I reason that their conversation should be over and maybe my window of opportunity would present itself momentarily.
It’s still silent so I take a deep breath and knock on the door, the light pressure of my knock creating a wider space between the wooden door and its frame; I see the back of a brunette woman’s head leaning toward him, her hand suspiciously close to the zipper of his pants as he sits back in his chair. For a split second, I’m privy to the lust in his eyes as he regards her. At least, until he realizes that someone’s just interrupted their private moment.
They jump apart and I glance at her, noticing the widening of her eyes before she covers her youthful looking face with her hands. When his eyes meet mine, there’s a fury behind them that I’ve never seen from a man before. He stalks toward me and I’m not sure what to expect. I step back just in time for the door to slam in my face.
“That fucking asshole,” I hiss, and I grip the strap of my bag as I turn to walk away.
* * *
“Honey, I’m home,”I call out, setting my messenger bag on the kitchen counter as I wait to hear Miley’s voice in return. It’s been three hours and two classes since I caught Professor Pugliesi in his office with what looked to be a female student.
And my face still heats at the thought of it. Is it the idea of being fucked in his office that makes my stomach do a weird flip? Or jealousy over the fact that she’s had him?
Ew, I think to myself.He’s fucking rude.
