To Professor, With Love (Forbidden Men 2)

***

I was still floating from the high of that amazing score the next morning when I saw Coach Jacobi in the training room.

“Hey, Gam!” he called in his booming coach’s voice. “How’d you do on that make-up paper you wrote for your literature class?”

I paused and tilted my head to the side. How the hell did he know I’d managed to talk Kavanagh into letting me redo a paper? “I got an A,” I murmured, curiously. “How’d you know about that?” Oh, hell. Maybe Kavanagh had gone to him after all and told him I’d cheated on my high school grade point average.

My coach merely grinned. “What? You think I don’t keep tabs on my star player? Jesus, Gamble, I’ve been watching your score slip all semester in that class. Thought it was time to have a word with Frenetti, the dean of the English department. Glad to see they’re finally snapping themselves back into shape.”

My mouth fell open. I couldn’t fucking believe this. I knew Kavanagh had been forced to give me another chance by her dean, but I hadn’t known... Fuck, my own coach? Et tu, Jacobi?

And here, I thought I’d actually earned that A. It had taken enough out of me to deserve an A. But...

Maybe she really had tried to tell someone how I’d cheated to get my scholarship. Maybe no one had listened to her. Maybe…

Feeling suddenly sick, I half-assed my way through the rest of my weights. If she’d been forced to give me a good score, then what had I really earned on my paper? Had it just been another D?

Since I’d stepped foot on this campus, I’d played it straight. I’d worked my ass off to be a good player, a good, honest student, and a good employee at Forbidden. But if others were lying and cheating for me, did that mean I was incapable of improving, doomed to be a fraud for the rest of my life? Was I still a great big nothing who just happened to have a good throwing arm.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter, don't mind.” - Bernard M. Baruch

~ASPEN~

Friday morning, I arrived early to work. I liked reading in my office before class. It settled my nerves more than anything else could.

My big date with Philip was scheduled for tomorrow, making me as antsy as hell, and I’d broken down and tried to call my mother this morning. She’d refused to answer the phone, so I had no idea about my father’s prognosis, if he still had two legs, or what.

After glancing over the curriculum I wanted to go through in each class, I let out a little sigh of relief and opened my ereader, eager to escape into some juicy fiction. But a tap on my doorframe had me gritting my teeth.

I needed some alone time here, people. Why did—

All thought process stalled in my head when I saw Noel Gamble.

“Wha…?” I didn’t know what to say. I simply gaped. His hair was wet and face gleamed as if he’d just stepped out of the shower or he’d been sweating profusely. Skimming my gaze down his athletic body, I noticed he was wearing gray sweats, running shoes with no socks, and a wrinkled, maroon Ellamore Vikings shirt that hugged his defined chest.

He stepped into my office, his jaw hard and eyes heated with anger. “Look, I don’t want you to give me a grade I don’t deserve. I fought for an A, damn it. And I want to actually earn one.”

My mouth fell open. “Wha…” I said again, then shook my head. Decorum, Aspen. After a deep breath, I tried again. “What makes you think you didn’t earn it?”

“Because I just came from fucking weight training where my coach told me he went to your dean person and complained. And I remember that guy being in your office when I came to talk to you last week. I thought I told you I didn’t want any special treatment just because I’m—”

“And I didn’t give you any.” I glowered as my senses crashed back into me. Of course, he’d come back to argue with me about an A. Only Noel Gamble would do such a thing. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gamble, but if anything, I judged you more harshly because of that. Believe me, you earned your score.”

He gave a harsh laugh and spun away to wipe his hand through his hair. “Why do I have such a hard time believing that?”

“I have no idea.” Pushing to my feet, I set my hands on my hips and kept scowling. “Maybe because you’re a stubborn, untrusting, relentless individual.” He whirled back to send me a surprised glance.

I arched an eyebrow. “And for your information, I didn’t exactly enjoy getting bitched out by my boss for the fair and just grades I provide. It made me want to give you an even worse score than before. But then you went and wrote what you wrote, and suddenly, I didn’t have to worry about what Frenetti told me to do anymore, because I could just take your essay to the board and get you permanently expelled. There was no reason to give you an A at all, except you shocked the shit out of me when you actually wrote a decent paper. You showed me how much you’re willing to put forth to reach your goals, and I decided not to take that away from you. So you’re just going to have to accept the fact that I am such an amazing, kickass teacher I actually got through your thick skull in that one meeting we had and miraculously taught you the meaning of literature analysis. Got it?”

He blinked. When I didn’t change my expression, he blinked a couple more times until his face finally softened. After blowing out a breath, he shook his head and took a step back. Eyes filling with questions, he murmured, “You really think you taught me that well, huh?”

I lifted my chin stubbornly. “Oh, I know I did.”

A grin tugged at his mouth. Then h

e huffed out a quick laugh. “Well, okay then. If you say it was honestly an A, then I won’t argue.”