Getting Schooled (The Wright Brothers #1)(7)

I cleared my throat, and her head popped up, eyes wide as she slammed her notebook shut and yanked her earbuds out. “Can I help you?” she asked, sounding a little flustered as she stood up.

It hadn’t been quite a week yet since we bumped into each other, and I hadn’t seen her since then. Today was Thursday – she would be in the lecture hall tomorrow, but somehow this was a little different. Just me and her, relative privacy… why the hell did she have to be this fine?

“Uhh,” I started, shaking my head a little to clear away filthy thoughts about my hands and her hips. “I was looking for Professor Bryant.”

“She’s not here.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I can see that. Can you tell me when she’ll be back?”

“Her office hours are posted there on the door for convenience.”

“That’s not what I asked you.”

The princess crossed her arms over her chest, which didn’t do anything except push her titties together, making it harder not to stare. “You’re the guy that bumped into me the other day, aren’t you?”

I smirked. “Nah. You bumped into me, but I can see how you might think otherwise.”

She rolled her eyes, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like“this motherfucker” under her breath before she turned her gaze back toward me, her expression completely disinterested. “What do you want?”

“To talk to the professor.”

“About?”

“My grade on this paper.”

A nasty little grin spread across her face. “What’s wrong? Did you fail?”

“No.” I scoffed, shook my head. “I didn’t fail, I’m just not happy with the grade. When will Professor Bryant be available to talk about it?”

“She won’t. Scores are final.”

Narrowing my eyes, I stepped forward into the office. “I want to hear that for myself. When will she be available today?”

“It’s a waste of both of your time. She’s not changing the grade.”

I swallowed hard, feeling the patience ooze out of me more with every second that passed. “When can I talk to her?”

“Professor Bryant doesn’t have office hours on Thursdays.”

Any possible hint of amusement drained off of my face, and went onto hers. The princess’s expression was high-fructose corn syrup sweet, and her eyes were sparkling with barely constrained laughter.

I blew out a deep breath, with a dry chuckle as I shook my head. “You couldn’t have said that shit at first, huh?”

She shrugged, and then stepped around the desk, strutting in my direction. I watched her ass as she passed, then brought my eyes back up as I turned around. She stopped at the door, pointing to a laminated sheet taped to it. “Like I said – her schedule is posted on the door. Can you see it here? With OFFICE HOURS right here across the top, in these big ass letters?”

“Man, whatever,” I said, tossing my printed copy of the paper onto Professor Bryant’s desk. I strolled out, stopping right in front of the princess. I breathed in, and whatever perfume she was wearing, some mixture of jasmine and sandalwood and vanilla, made me damn near forget what I was about to say. “Just tell her Jason stopped by, if you’re seeing her today, aiight?”

She had her back pressed to the door, staring up with this bored expression. “Aiight, Jason.” She sidled out of her position between me and door, gripping the knob in her hand as I stepped back, into the hall. “But just so you know… grades are final.”

I didn’t even have a chance to respond before she closed the door in my face.





three.





I closed the door, and locked it too, for good measure. I needed that strong separation between me and “Jason”. I was hoping more than anything to shut off his presence, his smell, the inexplicable heat between my legs that had grown hotter and hotter as we went back and forth.

It didn’t work.

I hung my head, pressing my back to the door. It was so very, very like me to be turned on by a rude ass. It wasn’t just a one-time thing anymore, so calling him an asshole last week felt pretty damned accurate now. I put my thumbs to my nipples, trying to calm them down, and hoping that my strategically crossed arms had hidden them from Mr. Stick-Up-His-Butt’s view.

The last thing I needed was one of my mother’s students thinking he had some kind of effect on me. Just because his skin was mouthwatering like roasted pecans, and his chiseled features gave me GQ vibes, and that neatly-groomed-but-scruffy thing he had going in the facial hair area was swoon-worthy, and his biceps were down right lickable, and—shit.

Ugggggh!

Why did he have to be so insolent and fine? Two qualities that I generally avoided in men, because they were shamefully irresistible. But, haha, lucky me. Good old Jason was undoubtedly the author of one of the papers I suffered through, since he was up here complaining about his grade.

That was a turn off to end them all.

With a smirk on my face, I marched over to my mother’s desk and snatched up the printed copy of his paper, flipping to the end to read the grade.

82.5.

Wait… what?

I read those numbers again, to make sure I was seeing them right, and there it was again – nowhere near a failing grade. I skimmed over the comment my mother had left at the end, then moved my eyes to the top of the page to read a little of the content.