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“I would, but it’s against the rules.” She points to the bolded print at the bottom of the board.
Assignments are FINAL.
No change requests are allowed.
Groaning, I sign off on my printed packet before heading into the theater.
Mr. Donovan is standing near the stage, shaking hands with a mentee who is clearly flirting with him. From here, he doesn’t look like the evil person he truly is, and as much as I want to deny his attractiveness, the endless stares he’s receiving reveal the truth.
Looking as if he just stepped off the front cover ofGQ: The Hot Professor Edition, he’s draped a soft grey sweater over his shoulders. The top button of his silk black shirt is undone, revealing a soft silver chain around his neck.
His matching pants are undoubtedly tailored, and I don’t have to wonder if his shoes are Italian leather.
I wait until he finishes talking to all his fangirls (andfanboys) before approaching.
“How may I help you today, Miss Edwards?” he asks.
“I’ve been assigned to suffer as one of your mentees.” I try not to roll my eyes. “Unfortunately.”
“That would bebeyondunfortunate,” he says, “but I believe you’ve misread the board. I have six mentees, and you’re not one of them. Trust me.”
“I guess there was a last-minute adjustment then.” I hold up my packet, showing him the proof.
He stares at it, giving away nothing with his expression.
“I haven’t had the chance to put anything together for the group yet,” he admits. “I’ll let you know after class this week.”
“Okay, well…” I look into his eyes. “I truly hope the way we met won’t influence what you think about me.”
“I don’t think about you at all, Miss Edwards. You haven’t crossed my mind once.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then get more specific.” He lowers his voice. “From what I’m just now recalling, you’re quite good at that.”
I suck in a slow, unsteady breath as he stares at me.
For a moment, it feels like we’re the only two people in this room, like we’re still sitting on that rooftop, falling into perfect topic after perfect topic with one another.
“Do I need to get you some medical attention?” He ruins the moment. “You look like you’re not breathing.”
“What I mean to say is that I’m hoping we can start over on better terms, despite me lying to you that night.”
“If you could take it back, would you?”
“No.” I can’t help being honest. “I’d do it all the same way.”
“Why is that?”
“Because it was nice having someone to talk to for a change. That, and I felt this insane level of attraction that I’ve never felt with anyone else before.”
“Sorry, can’t relate.”
“It almost felt like we were close friends.”
“Hmmm. Interesting.” He nods. “Do you know what a ‘friend’ would do at this very moment?”
“Tell you that ‘You are who you choose to be’ isn’t your quote and you need to stop attributing it to yourself?”
