“I’m not, but I have a fake ID.” Why would I tell him that? What if he’s a narc? I finish giving him a tip on my phone and swing the car door open, dragging my stuffed backpack out. I must go through it tonight, or I’ll throw out my back—I already feel lopsided. But first, I need a cold shower because it feels as though a fever’s burning through me. God, I feel raw, vulnerable, and yeah, the whole scooter fiasco was awful. But I can recover from that. Kissing Dean Powers, though? I don’t know if I’ll ever be the same.
“That’s cool.” Lucas’s voice interrupts my sphere again, and I almost start laughing.
A narc? Really, Alex? This guy literally looks like a wannabe Tom Holland.
“I’ll try to stop by,” I say, hoping that makes him drive away. As I walk up the small sidewalk, it’s the first time I’m grateful for the neighbor’s dog barking nonstop at me. Lucas is still talking, but the dog drowns it out. I turn to wave, then dart inside, leaning my back against the door as my backpack hits the hardwood floor.
“Nightmare.” I bring my fingers to my lips as my mind replays the way he tasted like chocolate, maybe even a cappuccino? And his smell… like fresh, not cologne, but clean with a slight spice. I push off the door and walk down the small hallway toward the bathroom. Music spills out from under Skylar’s door. God, she’s blasting Miley Cyrus’s “Flowers” again. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a toe tapper, but she’s been playing that song over and over for the past week.
“Jesus.” I roll my eyes, happy she’s not locked in the bathroom as I sneak in and lock the door. Kicking off my white Converse, I quickly strip off all my clothes and almost scream as the cold water stings me. Instantly, I turn on the hot water and lean my back against the cool tile as I wait for it to warm.
“What should I do?” I close my eyes and try to breathe. Might as well give up trying to fight this. My pussy is literally a gooey mess. Reaching for my wet breasts, I swallow a groan as I pinch my hard nipples. My eyes close, and I see his ocean-blue eyes staring at me as his hand grabs the back of my hair, snarling for me to open my legs.
“Fuck,” I hiss as my middle finger rubs my swollen clit back and forth. I’m so achy and wet, and all I want is… him. My eyes dart open. Focusing on the steam as the hot water dances near my toes, I rub my clit hard, already climbing.
“Yes,” I whimper as I go over, orgasming on my finger, my pussy pulsing as I open my eyes and try to get ahold of my breathing. Beforehand, I didn’t have a face to think about, but now… now, I have Dean Powers, the most unattainable man I could ever think about having.
He’s your professor, the freaking dean. I’m not positive on this, because we’re both adults, but I have to think it’s against the rules to have any type of relationship with a professor… And then there’s the whole “he wants me out of his class” thing. Maybe he wants me to drop the class because he’s actually interested. That kiss was amazing.
“Right, Alex, I’m sure that’s it,” I hiss, grabbing my shower gel and quickly washing myself. You have to get Dean Powers out of your head. After a deep, cleansing breath, I let the steam and my coconut shower gel soothe me because there’s no way in hell I’ll ever forget him.
My twin has basically been my personal bodyguard, which is absurd since he’s been having sex for at least three years. Complete double standard for me. Not that I was all that interested in any of the high school guys back home, but Jude would never have allowed it. He got suspended our senior year for fighting with one of his buddies after the guy asked me to a dance. Thankfully, he was the star quarterback in the state, so it was only for a day.
And I love him for wanting to always be there for me, wanting to defend my honor. But come on, I’m almost nineteen. Yet another reason I wanted go out of state. Because no matter who I pick, he’ll always think I deserve better. So, basically, I’d die a virgin.
“Poor Jude.” I bite my bottom lip as I turn off the faucet. If he knew what happened today, how I had a life-changing kiss with my professor…
Absently, I dry myself, nicely fold the towel as I grab my pink silk robe, and peek out the door. Hmm, Miley Cyrus is not playing anymore. I wonder if I could be lucky enough to find that Skylar is gone.
I tiptoe out, then roll my eyes because this is stupid. I live here, at least for the time being. I need to get a lot of reading done. Maybe I’ll order a pizza. That way I can have it for dinner and have the rest for breakfast tomorrow. My mind is already going over the massive amount of work I need to get done. I intend to earn straight A’s. Heaving my monstrosity of a backpack onto my bed, it strikes me that the one thing I could really work on is being more organized. I feel like I never want to throw anything away in case I need it later. Unfortunately, all it does is create a massive amount of disorganization, but hey, no one’s perfect.
I grab my philosophy textbook and sit on the bed. Reaching for my phone to order a pizza, I wonder if I should see if my sister is actually home and might want a slice. The house is quiet, though, and something tells me she won’t. I lean back and contemplate whether I want extra cheese on my pie, locking all thoughts of my hot professor away.
BRETT
“We’d love to have you over for dinner,” Mrs. Coolidge coos at me, her hand remaining on my forearm. Her husband stands to her right, laughing with Phil Datson, one of the professors of the Economics Department. The Coolidges are generous donors, so I smile at her—even when her eyes narrow on my lips—then lean back in my chair, bringing my arm with me.
“Actually, how about next week?” Mrs. Coolidge tries again, but fucking other men’s wives is not my thing, even if they don’t care. Well, besides Misty, but we have an arrangement, so I make an exception for her.
“I’m going to get another whiskey. Can I get you anything?” With a smirk, I stand and glance around the lavish hotel banquet room, absently thinking if we spent less time spending money on wining and dining our donors, maybe we wouldn’t need as much money in the first place.
“I’d love another martini.” She licks her fat lips and juts her fake tits out, making my eyes dip to them.
Why do women feel the need to do this to themselves? “Gin or vodka?” I say as my mind drifts to a pair of bee-stung lips that are all natural and taste like sweet pineapple.
“Gin…” Again, she runs a tongue across her bottom lip. I know she thinks it’s enticing, but all I can think of is that she somewhat resembles a lizard. Christ, I should cut myself off. I’m turning mean.
I nod, having zero intention of returning to this table, and make my way to the lavish bar.
“I’ll take a Basil Hayden straight up.” I lean on the bar as the pretty bartender grins and turns for the bottle.
“Make that two.” A woman rubs her chest on my back and glides around next to me.
I raise a brow at her as she rests her elbow on the bar.
“Sorry, I tripped,” Skylar yells over the crappy sound of the music, which sounds muffled amid the loud conversations surrounding us.
“Having fun?” She smiles, her white teeth almost gleaming in the darkening room. They’ve turned the lights down to give it a trendy vibe, I’m assuming. Which is stupid. All we need is one of our decrepit old donors to faceplant…