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My hand is moving before I can stop it. I slap him across the face,hard. My palm immediately stings from the impact, and his head whips to the side. His eyes open wide, his lips parting.
I just hit a student.
I stumble away from him and shake my head. The scenario plays out in front of me, on and on and on. Him reporting me. Him getting me fired. His smiling face as I do a walk of shame out of Crown Point University.
“I’m going to get fired,” I mumble, more to myself than him. I hurry down the row to the other aisle, just trying to get away from him. I mean, hedeservedto be slapped. What kind of monster says something like that to his professor?
I bolt out of the room and burst into tears in my office. But it isn’t until I get home that I realize I forgot all my stuff.
No matter. I’ll get it later. After Jacob has moved on to another class, or hockey practice, orsomething.
Yet hours later, after I’ve made it home and managed to regain my breath, I still haven’t worked up the nerve to return. He was just… crude. He looked at me like he wanted to devour me, and I didn’t like it.
Didn’t I?
My doorbell rings.
I clear my throat and tuck my hair behind my ears, hurrying to the door. I take a second to smooth my t-shirt, check my face in the mirror in my foyer. No sign of the tears now, although my eyes are a little bloodshot. I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath.
I open the door and jerk back.
Jacob Rhodes.
He’s got my bag slung over his shoulder, his expression decidedly cocky. The fact that he’s standing on my doorstep right now gives me butterflies. When I realize that he’s here forallof the wrong reasons, I force those butterflies to chill the fuck out.
He wants to pass my class. That’s clearly his motivation, and I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t have a certain thrill holding that over his head. Especially now. When I clearly haven’t been reported—yet.
“Melody.” He braces his forearm on the doorjamb, leaning in. “Are you going to let me in or just stare at me?”
“It’s professor,” I automatically correct.
His smirk widens. “Professor Cameron, will you let me in?”
Before I can answer, he strides past me. Inside. He sets my bag down and keeps going. I check outside, finding the street empty, and close us in.
Jacob makes some noise in the back of his throat. Part of me wants to grab him and haul him out. The other side wants to see what he’s planning.
How far he’ll take this.
Temptation has never been your strong point, Mel. And neither has curiosity.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
I squint at Jacob, who approaches with quick, sure steps. I back up, but he doesn’t care. He keeps going, herding me in the direction he wants, until my shoulder blades touch the wall. Even then, he doesn’t stop. He leans down and cages me in, his forearms braced on either side of my head.
“This is inappropriate,” I breathe.
“This is the least inappropriate thing we’ll be doing.” His gaze goes down to my chest, then back up. “Now… Do. You. Have. A. Boyfriend?”
I lift my chin, claiming a bravado I don’t possess. “I do if it makes you go away.”
He chuckles. “It won’t. It’ll just change the terms slightly. But no matter—I’ll find out eventually.”
My body is on fire, and he’s not even touching me. I don’t want him to find out anything about me.
Danger, danger, my mind screams.
I clear my throat. “Terms?”
