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“Do you know him?” Chloe asks.
“No,” I murmur, my heart pounding too hard for no reason.
“He was really eyeing you up.”
“He wasn’t,” I say, blatantly lying, even to myself.
“Let’s get started, ladies and gentlemen,” Professor Stellar calls across the room.
He pushes the door open and walks toward the lectern like he has a vendetta against it. Chloe and I file in, my instincts guiding me toward the back of the class. That way, I can shrink into my seat, slump down, and try not to think about those clear, blue eyes staring into me. Then Chloe takes my arm and leads me to the front.
“I want to hear everything,” she says.
“Okay. Fine. Cool.”
My mouth is too dry, considering I drank about ten thousand gallons of water this morning. My lips stick together. When I move my tongue over them, Professor Stellar looks at me again. He towers over the lectern. When he grabs it, I’m sure I can hear the wood straining. His inked forearms are almost bulging out of his shirt.
“Let’s get settled down,” he says, his voice booming even when he doesn’t raise it.
There’s no mic. It’s just how he speaks, with confidence and power.
Finally, everybody is quiet. Professor Stellar leans against the lectern, looking over the classroom. I get the sense he looks at every student except me, but that’s probably just paranoia.
“What is love?” he says. “And, please, nobody say, baby, don’t hurt me.”
A few of us laugh—those who recognize the song he’s referring to. There’s something almost hypnotic about him when he speaks, keeping my gaze fixed firmly. I can sense Chloe glancing at me as if she can tell the effect he’s having.
Everything is getting hot. My body tingles, and my thighs ache. I push them together, ignoring the deeper ache, the shiver moving through me.
“That’s a question we must ask ourselves when studying the Shakespearean sonnets,” he says. “The nature and the shape of love. ‘My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun.’ That’s not a compliment, but… Well, let me ask you—those who did the reading—what does that say about love?”
In typical first-class-of-the-year fashion, everybody looks around the classroom. There’s an atmosphere of not wanting to answer, a vague sense of judgment coming along with it, and the fear of being a nerd.
Max smiles, but his blue eyes stay cold. Or maybe that’s more imagining. “Anybody? There are no wrong answers. Well, some, but I’ll let you all believe you’re perfect for a few weeks.”
I laugh… way too loud, it turns out. Everybody turns to me for a moment. Ah, crap.
Max’s smile changes shape. It becomes something of a smirk. Is he making fun of me?
“Do you have any ideas…” he trails off, looking directly at me.
“Ellie,” I say, filling it in for him.
“Ellie?”
I swallow, my throat feeling raw. Talking in front of forty people is not a small thing, especially when I still have those high school holdups clinging to me. But high school is over, and it’s time to move on and be the person I want to be.
“The sun is unattainable,” I say softly.
Max nods. “Yes…”
“Especially to Shakespeare. He knew so little about it, historically speaking. It’s this impossible, magical thing. It can’t be possessed or controlled. Shakespeare is specifically saying his love is real. It’s so real that it has nothing to do with the fake, the impossible. It’s the complete opposite.”
I lick my lips. My heartbeat has picked up even more. It’s like my body thinks I’m running flat out from a mugger.
“Excellent,” Max says, voice quiet, eyes locked on me.
CHAPTER
TWO
Max
The entire lecture hall has shrunk to one point—just one spotlight of attention.
Of all the thirty-seven students in here, I can’t look away from her—Ellie. She sits in the front row wearing tights and a modest black skirt, still showing hints of those thick legs, the shape of her body, her wide hips, and her round, juicy tits.
Her face, cheeks flushed, is broad, beautiful, and so innocent I want to roar. She’s too young. I try to repeat that in my head. She must be nineteen, maybe even just eighteen. I’m thirty-eight. Even if the age gap was smaller, she’s my goddamn student. Thank God this lectern is here. My balls are aching. The tip of my dick hurts.
My heartbeat shivers when I look into her soft, loving eyes. It took a lot for her to put herself out there like that. I could hear it in her voice, but her answer was perfect, well-articulated. She’s clever and sexy and beautiful.
Fuck. I want her. I need her, but I have to keep it together. A professor can’t, under any circumstances, fall for his student. What am I, a cliché? I’ve been teaching for seven years and have never felt like this.
There’s something else. The first moment I saw her, when she was waiting outside the classroom, it was like seeing a ghost. I thought I recognized her for a second, but then her beauty stampeded over any other concerns.
