To Professor, With Love (Forbidden Men 2)

But I didn’t want a miserable sister. I wanted her to have as much fun in her worn-down, hopeless life as possible. Forbidding her from attending a dance wouldn’t put a smile on her face. Besides, she’d probably go anyway, and since I was seven hundred miles away, I couldn’t exactly stop her.

Rubbing one side of my aching temples, I forced myself to cool it. It was better to play friend than asshole big brother; that way, she’d come to me if she did get herself into trouble. “Okay. All right. But you’ll let me know if anything happens, right?” Damn, I was such a pushover.

“Of course.” I could tell she was smiling, which helped loosen the knot in my chest.

I nodded and turned back toward the campus, not ready to face the obstacles in my own life but determined to do so anyway. “Let me know how much you have to spend today too. I’ll make sure you’re reimbursed before the dance. All right?”

“Okay. Thank you. You’re the best big brother ever, Noel.”

Chuckling, I moved toward the sidewalk. “And don’t forget it. Take care of Colton for me.”

I smiled as I hung up, even though a heavy ache pierced my chest. Talking to one of my siblings always made me miss home.

Okay, I didn’t exactly miss the hole-in-the-floor single-wide trailer where I used to sleep each night, always worried what kind of trouble my mother might bring home—if she even bothered to come home—but I sure as hell did miss the three underage kids still stuck there. My smile faltered.

Shoving down the gnawing guilt and not-for-the-first-time feeling that I’d abandoned them, I realized I’d forgotten to ask about Brandt. In her previous what-do-I-do phone call, Caroline had been freaked about a couple ruffians who’d been hanging around the thirteen-year-old. The last thing we needed was for our middle brother to get caught up in drugs or a gang. Or both. Jesus. That would be my luck.

“Hey, Gamble. Wait up.”

At the call, I cringed, wondering what catastrophe was going to strike now. My bad-shit karma usually came in threes, and since I needed something else to even up the score, I braced myself for the last item to get in line with my D essay and worrisome siblings.

When I turned, however, I only found Quinn Hamilton, a freshman tight end, jogging to catch up. I relaxed. “Hey, man. What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you were going to the training session tonight or in the morning.”

During off-season, the football team had mandatory sessions to train in the weight room. Since I worked every evening I was available, I usually opted for the early morning workouts before class. It only afforded me three or four hours of sleep on the nights I worked, but to keep my athletic scholarship, sleep was overrated. I had three very special people relying on me to keep it together.

“I’m a morning bird, didn’t you know?” I playfully shoulder checked the freshman as I lied. I’d never been a morning bird. I hated mornings. I’d sleep in every day if I could.

“Cool. That’s what I’m doing too.” Quinn scratched the back of his neck and glanced away, letting me know he had something more important to ask. “And I was hoping you could —if you wanted to—um, show me a couple throwing techniques.”

I lifted my eyebrows. Shit. Was this bad karma number three? “What? You looking to steal my position?”

Though a small fissure of dread and panic caught me unaware, I grinned and threw my arm around Quinn’s shoulder to let him know I was teasing, though honestly, I didn’t want competition. I already had a second and third-string QB foaming at the mouth for my spot. What was worse, Hamilton had fucking talent, and I could see him making a better quarterback than the spot he held now. He had never quite fit as a tight end.

As long as he wasn’t better than me, I could handle this.

Quinn blushed and ducked his head. “I played quarterback in high school,” he admitted.

“Hey, that’s cool.” I squeezed his shoulder in reassurance. “You need to do what’s best for you. Who knows? If Dr. Kavanagh has anything to say about it, I’m well on my way to being academically dismissed. We’d definitely need another QB then.”

The freshman blinked until he realized I was joking...or, at least, half joking. Then he grinned. “You have a class with Kavanagh, too? Man, she’s harsh.”

“Yeah,” I agreed wholeheartedly, “a total, raging bitch.” Not that I actually considered her a bitch per say. She was just tough and stuck by her guns in a classroom, which I kind of respected. But it was so much easier to blame her for my sucky grades than admit I just wasn’t smart enough. So, yeah. Let’s call her a bitch.

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~