“Hello? Noah? You done checking out on us?” Lance asks, raising a hand for the bartender to bring us another round.
“Sorry. What’d I miss?”
“Nothing important,” Clay says. “Just Lance asking if any of those students of yours would mind sleeping with an older man. Then there was something about pert asses, perky tits, and pussies that haven’t gone through the wringer.”
The thought of Lance touching Zara enters my head and I can’t get it out. The protectiveness I feel over her and the jealousy overwhelming me is nearly too much to handle. I need to stop thinking of her as anything but another student. She isn’t mine. What she does in her free time is her business. But why do I feel this way about her, but not about Shannon? Something’s wrong with this situation. I need her out of my head. Now.
“No,” I simply state, staring Lance down.
“How hot is she?” he asks, catching the vibes I’m throwing. I should have known that I wouldn’t be able to hide anything, let alone this, from my best friend.
“Leave it alone.”
“That hot, huh? Damn, Bain, I didn’t know you had a thing for your students. I gotta see this girl. The hall monitor finally breaks the rules.”
“I haven’t broken anything,” I harshly state.
“Yet…”
“All right. This was a good time. I’ll see you guys later. Someone text me and let me know when Derrick and Rick are coming so we can get this over and done with.” I stand from my stool and throw a twenty on the bar—more than enough to cover my three beers. Walking to the door, I overhear Lance’s comments to Clay.
“You see how he acted when I brought up his student? She’s gotta be fucking perfect for him to risk everything,” Lance says.
“I hope he knows what he’s doing,” Clay responds.
“Dude, for the first time ever, he’s following his gut and not his rulebook. I’m fucking proud of him. Now, if we could just get him to lose the baggage, he’d be so much better off.”
“I’ll take her off his hands.”
At this point, I just might let Clay have a go at Shannon. Lord knows she’s not doing anything to better me or my life.
But Zara.
First thing Monday morning, I’m going to the dean to have her class switched to another professor. These thoughts aren’t good for anyone, especially me. I really need to get myself in check.
She’s your student. There is no situation where you’d be allowed to know her as anything other than that. Get your shit together.
Chapter 5
Zara
It’s been two weeks since I first walked into his classroom, which means it’s been six times I’ve walked into that room and felt his eyes on me. I feel like he’s anything but discreet, and that I’ve captured his attention; but nobody else seems to have noticed, which makes me wonder if it’s just me. Am I thinking he’s into me because that’s my endgame or because it’s actually what’s happening? Then I remember how one-dimensional the rest of the students are in this class. They’re far more concerned with discussing their weekend scores and where the next party will be.
I was sure after the incident outside my apartment that this was going to be easy. But if anything, the opposite was true. Even though I could feel his eyes on me, he was paying less attention to me than he did to every other student. I was offered no help, and he never asked how I was doing with whatever lame task we were working on. It was almost like his attempts to ignore me were drawing more attention than if he was actually treating me like every other student. I’d take that, though, because it spoke volumes about what he was feeling—or what I think he was feeling.
It also might have something to do with the fact he tried to have me kicked out of his class last week. Lucky for me, his lit class was the only one still open for registration, so there was nowhere else for me to go. Little bastard thought he could get rid of me? I’m not backing down or running away. He’s got another thing coming.
—
After class I hang back, waiting until the last student leaves. His eyes never leave the papers he’s grading at his desk, but his body language, the stiffness in his back, the tight grip on his pen, and the subtle twitch of his head every time I make a sound, tells me he knows I’m here. I hold back a smile and sashay to the front of the room, parking myself on top of the desk in front of his.
I cross my legs at the thigh and wait for him to acknowledge me. He fights it at first, probably thinking if he ignores me long enough I’ll get tired and leave. I’m about to clear my throat when he finally looks up.
“Yes, Ms. Hamilton?” His eyes don’t meet mine, they kind of wander around everywhere else.
I tilt my head and smile. “You go out of your way to ignore me in class, Professor Bain. That’s not very fair of you. My education could be suffering,” I comment.
“I highly doubt it,” he says dryly. “And I offer you the same level of assistance as I do all my students.”