To Professor, with Love (Forbidden Men #2)(5)

From nearby, someone let out a shocked, sputtering cough.

Fuck. For some reason, I knew I wouldn’t need three guesses to figure out who’d just heard me. Enter karma number three. Already fearing what I would discover, I glanced around to focus on Kavanagh herself walking along the path directly behind us.

I could actually see my D dwindle to an F even as her green-eyed glare latched onto me.

Well, shit. Whatever happened next, I refused to let her see how crappy I felt for letting her overhear what I’d just said.





CHAPTER TWO




“She looked at nice young men as if she could smell their stupidity.” - Flannery O'Connor, Good Country People



ASPEN



I can’t say I was surprised to hear Noel Gamble call me a bitch. I would’ve been shocked if he’d actually defended me.

No, really, she’s an amazing teacher; I’ve learned so much from her. I feel as if her impact on my life has helped improve the quality of who I am as a person.

Yeah, that was never going to happen.

Still. His insult—even expected as it was—stung. The sound I made was unplanned. It just sort of tore through my chest and gurgled from my throat in a pained choke.

When Gamble and his little disciple swung around, I felt caught in the act, even though I’d done nothing wrong. An embarrassing heat flooded my limbs. Wanting to die before I let him see me hurt, I schooled my features as tightly as possible, reining in my expression as I arched a silent eyebrow.

“Let me guess,” I murmured coolly, or at least in a tone I hoped sounded glacially chilled, as if I didn’t care about his opinion, because the last thing I wanted him to think was that I cared...about him. “You’re a little put out about the grade you received on your paper today.”

His powder blue, almost periwinkle, eyes went flint hard as they narrowed. “You know, it’s like you can read my mind, Dr. Kavanagh.”

He didn’t look apologetic for being caught bashing me. He didn’t sound embarrassed. He didn’t even pretend to feel an iota of remorse. He merely looked pissed. I wondered if he’d known all along I’d been walking behind him and he’d wanted me to hear his insult.

Next to him, the football player who took Introduction to Literature from me jerked a step away, disassociating himself from his beloved quarterback. Smart boy.

Faking a gracious smile, I nodded to my nemesis. “Well, maybe when you receive your PhD, you’ll obtain the fine art of telepathy too, Mr. Hot Shot Quarterback.”

His baby blues sizzled with loathing as his jaw shifted when he clenched his teeth. We both knew his academic achievements would never climb so high; he was only here because of football. In fact, I bet if I checked his records, I’d find something like basket weaving as his major. But Gamble was a fighter. He refused to lie down and take my verbal punches.

“If getting a doctorate turned me into a raging bitch who flunked undeserving underclassmen for no reason whatsoever, then I’d just as soon pass. Thanks.”

Notching my chin high, I scowled right back. “Like I said in class, if you have any questions about your score, you can always discuss it with me. I’m in my office every day from three to five, available to speak with any serious-minded pupil.”

From the distaste in his gaze, I knew he’d never go anywhere near my office. Thank God. Being closed inside my cramped little workspace alone with him would send me into a panic—literally, as in short-of-breath, need a paper bag to breathe into, full-scale panic attack. He reminded me way too much of Zach.

What was worse, he even affected me the same way Zach initially had. I loathed the way his gorgeous eyes made my body heat with all kinds of inappropriate responses, just as much as I hated how the curve of his lips made me want to touch my own mouth, wondering what the two would feel like straining together. Most of all, I detested how I’d never gotten over my high school obsession of fixating myself on the lead jock.

It must be some internal, natural selection thing I couldn’t control. Survival of the fittest lured me into gravitating toward the strongest, healthiest, most attractive male in the pack who seemed most appropriate for reproduction of the species. After watching those two sluts maul him after class a few minutes ago, I knew he had to be good for some scintillating reproductive activities.

“Maybe I will,” he murmured.

And Lord above, even his voice affected me. It caused something low in my abdomen to clench and then buzz. Like the silent vibration of a doorbell. Ding dong, anyone home? Want to come out and play?

God, why did my body want to play with this * in any way, shape, or form? Hadn’t my first disaster with a star football player during my senior year of high school taught me anything? He was exactly the kind of person I needed to stay as far away from as possible.

And why was I attracted to a student, anyway? A student!

It didn’t matter that we were practically the same age, he was still an undergrad. The entire attraction was completely unethical. And I had always been ethical. Professional. Hell, I’d come out of the womb proficient at calm, sensible, and orderly. I had followed every rule and policy to a T. No one, and I mean no one, knocked my world askew the way those freaking football hotties did.

This was exactly why boys who sent my insides haywire pissed me off. Big time.

“Then I guess I’ll see you in my office later today,” I challenged and immediately veered off the sidewalk to march away from him. I was going in the wrong direction now, but I didn’t care. I had to escape.