“Stiff works for me,” Michelle added, grinning, and playing along.
“I know, right?” The woman behind me swiped a hand through the air in front of her and snorted out a laugh.
“Hi, I’m Michelle Monroe and this is my roommate, Addison Tomms.”
“Glad to meet you,” the more extroverted of the two said. “I’m Brandy Dickenson, and this mousy little thing is Cheryl Simms.”
I threw her a dirty look from the corner of my eye, sure the two behind us couldn’t see me. My eyes widened as if to ask Michelle why the hell she was encouraging her?
Michelle was twisted in her seat to engage in a full-on conversation with the two of them, but at the larger woman’s hurtful comment, I shifted to look at Cheryl who was hunched in her seat with downcast eyes. I felt badly for her and it wasn’t as if Brandy, her so-called friend, was any kind of catch herself.
“Are you majoring in creative writing?” I asked, making sure Brandy could see I was speaking directly to Cheryl.
“Journalism,” the girl answered meekly. “I’m mainly taking this class because Brandy asked me to.”
“Well, at least this should be interesting,” I said.
Several guys three rows in front of us were joking about the content of the course, huddled in a group surrounding the one who had the open syllabus on his computer and, in general, acting like a bunch of complete morons. Uttering words like pussy and cock, then bursting out laughing as a collaborative; clearly amused with themselves.
One of them caught my eye and lifted his chin in a suggestive nod. He was standing behind the group, his eyes roaming over my face and lowering to my breasts. He was boyishly attractive, but I could only assume from his behavior mirroring that of his friends that mentally, he was twelve.
“Please make it stop,” I moaned, breaking eye contact, then rubbed the crease between my brows with two fingers of my right hand. I settled back in my chair and got ready to take notes. It was almost time for the class to begin and I could only hope these idiots would cool it once the professor began speaking.
I felt a light touch on my shoulder and moved my head a half-turn in response to Cheryl’s summons. “Yes?”
“What about you? Is your major creative writing?”
“Uh huh,” I affirmed. “If all goes well, I plan on publishing my own novel someday.”
“Oh, wow! Romance?” Brandy piped up and I nodded. “You might get a lot of office time with the professor, then. I hear Dr. Hottie gives extra help to aspiring novelists.”
I was hoping to get him to take a pass at the first draft, I admitted to myself. At least, a couple of chapters, before the semester was over.
“It’s a wonder you aren’t at least attempting to write one, then,” Michelle told Brandy. “Obviously, you’re taking the course for the eye candy. Right?”
“You’re one to talk,” I said, sliding Michelle a knowing glance. She didn’t know but I had already started writing my novel in secret. No one knew. She also had no idea that I devoured every one of Jaxon Michael’s novels, and I was waiting with bated breath to hear what he had to say about my work. The man had a gift; his words could reach into my chest and squeeze, and a few paragraphs later arouse me to the point of embarrassment. He had a ridiculous talent. Insane.
“Believe me, I’ve tried. My attempts have been pathetic,” Brandy answered. Instantly her demeanor changed to one of euphoria, and she sat up straighter, as if at attention. “Oh my, God! There he is!”
After a chorus of exclamations, the auditorium fell silent as a tall, handsome man entered from the right side of the platform.
I swallowed my disdain for Brandy’s obnoxiousness but refused to encourage her libido-charged adoration of the professor. My eyes immediately went to the front of the room. If I were honest with myself, I was just as hungry for an eyeful as the rest of the women in the room, except that apparently, I was more adept at hiding it.
I didn’t know exactly what I was expecting, but he wasn’t it. Most intellectual types at Columbia, especially the younger ones, were sort of hippies, some of the more extreme even looking like they hadn’t shaved or showered in days, showing up to class with overly long hair, a half-grown beard, flip-flops, sometimes with socks, or rumpled from top to bottom. The female professors were more aware of their appearance, so not as sloppy as many of the men, but many fell into that category, too; which was cool. Appearance didn’t have anything to do with intellect. That said; Dr. Jaxon Michaels was none of the above. He was like a model from the cover of GQ magazine. Perfectly groomed and put together.
He was maybe early to mid-thirties and tall; his expensive, dark tailored suit fitted him to perfection and emphasized the strength in his broad shoulders, arms and torso, before tapering in to a slim waist. I could tell, even at this distance, how the fine material was pulled taut over his muscled thighs. He wore dark rimmed glasses that didn’t detract from the handsome face, strong jaw or high cheekbones.
Or the hair. God, the hair; it had that perfectly messy look that left every woman in the room slack-jawed. He had that perfect, freshly fucked look that should have seemed out of place but didn’t; the subtle spattering of stubble on his jaw only punctuated it, and conjured visions of muscled flesh all twisted up with mine in rumpled sheets. He obviously had a habit of running his hand through it.
Fuck, he was beautiful.
I found myself swallowing at the dryness that had suddenly overcome my mouth, my tongue taking a swipe over my lips.
“Damn,” Michelle whispered under her breath. “He’s even hotter in person, if that’s possible.”
That was saying something because Michelle had quite an overactive imagination. For weeks she’d regaled me with pictures and information she’d dug up about him online, and worse, made me suffer through her many fantasies of private tutoring sessions ending with mind-blowing sex on his desk.
“I just hope he’s a good teacher,” I said softly trying to deny the reaction of my own body at the professor’s incredible looks. Of course, he was a good teacher. His writing alone belied that.
“He can teach me any damn thing he wants, and how,” Brandy put in. I could hear her breathing heavy behind me.
“Ohhhh,” Cheryl murmured softly.
Involuntarily, I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs to capacity as I watched the professor set his briefcase on the desk, unbutton his blazer and sit causally on the corner of it, the knee of one leg bent, and his other foot flat on the floor as he surveyed the room. He was too far away for me to see the color of his eyes, but I knew from Michelle’s research that they were a piercing, deep blue. Contrasting with his golden summer tan, they’d be striking. The way he moved was effortless and I felt my body quickening; wondering if he could live up to his own words.
I cleared my throat as he looked out over the room, commanding silence without uttering a single syllable. The students were speechless for various reasons. I was unsettled by his effect on me; I was a serious student, and I wanted to learn as much from him as I could. This would be my only opportunity to learn from a published author; especially one as successful as Jaxon Michaels. I reminded myself how prolific he was; how intelligent and talented. That’s who he was; not this sex god sitting casually on the edge of his desk surveying those of us who could only dream of coming close to his skill.