To Professor, with Love (Forbidden Men #2)(9)

“Oh. So, how’d he know who I was?”

I think it was the fury igniting in me that kept me from exploding into a ball of mushy panic, because suddenly, I no longer cared about being alone in a small room with this man. And I no longer worried about how I was going to catch my next breath. I only wondered how hard it would be to sneak a dead body out of here and dispose of it for good.

“Who doesn’t know who you are, Mr. Gamble?”

His nostrils flared as he drew in a breath. I could actually see him rein in his temper as he worked his jaw and focused on the keyboard on the top of my desk. His calming process must’ve worked, because the only thing he said to me was, “Right.” Then he glanced at the chair Frenetti had abandoned but didn’t sit down. “So, uh…I came to talk to you about my last paper if you have a minute.” He cocked me a smirk. “Like you said I should.”

I nodded, not making eye contact. “Well, apparently, I better make a minute for you since my boss just threatened my job if you were put on academic probation because of me.”

“He did?” Noel looked genuinely shocked as he glanced toward the doorway where Dr. Frenetti had been standing. Squinting in confusion, he swung back. “Why would he do that?”

I closed my eyes briefly. “Why do you think, Mr. Forty-Two Yards?”

His face reddened. It was hard to tell if the color came from anger, shock, humiliation, guilt, embarrassment, or what. Clenching his teeth, he bit out, “I didn’t go to anyone to complain if that’s what you’re implying.”

It really didn’t matter if he had or hadn’t. I’d gotten my warning regardless. Now I had to behave by the Man’s stupid, unfair rules.

But no one said I couldn’t take my anger out on the student I was being forced to pass.

“You know, I find it ironic that you’re the one writing subpar assignments and I’m the one getting a slap on the hand for it.”

If Noel Gamble had feathers, I swear they would’ve ruffled. He looked so affronted I actually wanted to cheer on my ability to piss him off. “Look, I’m not asking for special treatment just because your boss happens to like the way I play ball.”

“And yet you’ll be getting it anyway, despite both our wishes.”

“You know what? Fuck you. You told me to come here if I needed help. So here I am. But you obviously don’t want to help me. So, thanks so much for your worthless time.”

When he turned away, I panicked. Pissing off the dean of the English department during my first semester as a professor would not bode well for my future. I had to soothe Noel Gamble’s ruffled feathers. Now.

Clenching my teeth, I surged to my feet and muttered, “Gamble, sit down.”

“Hell no.” Without pausing, he yanked open the door and lifted a hand to send me a jerky, middle-finger wave of dismissal over his shoulder. “Excuse me for bothering you, Professor.”

Damn it, he and I would both be screwed if he walked out that door.

“Do you want to pass my class or not?”

Finally, he paused and glanced back. When I caught the glint of vulnerability and stubborn pride in his tense expression, I melted. Shit, why’d he have to go and do something human like that? Strong, obstinate people who slipped up and showed a weakness always melted me like sugar in warm water.

“Sit down,” I murmured in a quiet, apologetic voice. Motioning toward the chair, I more calmly added, “Please.”

Jaw knitted hard, he closed his eyes and muttered something unintelligible under his breath before he re-shut the door and slouched low into the chair with a petulant glare. Drumming his fingers impatiently on his jean-clad knee, he lifted an eyebrow, silently saying, Well? Teach me already.

I had no idea how I was going to accomplish this, but I was determined to make Noel Gamble earn the passing grade I was being forced to give him.





CHAPTER THREE




"Everybody is a genius. But, if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it’ll spend its whole life believing that it is stupid.” - Albert Einstein



NOEL



Throat bone dry while the acid in my stomach did somersaults, I stared through narrowed eyes across an eerily clean desk at my English teacher and her delectable mouth, which had driven me crazy since the first day of class when she’d taken her place behind the instructor’s podium.

That skeeved me out more than anything. Nothing about Dr. Kavanagh was my type. I preferred blondes with gorgeous long, flowing hair. My Literature professor kept her dark mass scraped back and hidden away in a tight holy-roller bun secured at the base of her neck.

I was a lover of long lean bodies that liked to show off their impressive curves with fashionable, revealing clothes. Kavanagh was tiny, and probably too rounded for my taste. Or at least I figured she had chub rolls she wanted to hide. Why else would she wear clothes three sizes too large for her?

And I liked confident sensuality in a female, someone who knew she had it and moved as if she wanted every guy in a fifty-mile radius to stop whatever he was doing just to gawk at her whenever she sauntered by. Kavanagh didn’t have a single saunter in her repertoire. She had the sensuality of a nun, and she didn’t seem to like guys at all. Not that I believed she was a dyke as Tenning had suggested. I just viewed her as an anti-sexual being. Genderless. At least, I wanted to.