To Professor, With Love (Forbidden Men 2)

Three days after I gave Marci Bennett an F for not turning in her assignment, Dr. Frenetti rang my phone.

“Aspen, I need you to come to my office. Right now.”

The pinched tone in his voice told me everything I needed to know. I spent a couple seconds closing all the programs on my computer and straightening my desk before I stood and brushed the wrinkles out of my skirt and blazer. Though my knees felt like cooked noodles, I kept my spine ramrod straight and walked the short distance to the dean’s office in a sedate, orderly pace.

As I tapped on Frenetti’s opened door and glanced inside, I found another man wearing maroon wind pants and a T-shirt supporting Vikings athletics sitting back in a chair across from him. Both men turned to look at me. Frenetti scowled in his typical manner. His visitor leered and let his gaze travel down my body as if he’d seen me naked, which—oh, God—he probably had. I crossed my arms over my chest as if that could stop him from ogling.

“Aspen,” Frenetti rumbled out as he motioned to the gawking pervert. “This is Rick Jacobi, head coach for the football team.”

I nodded, and a piece of hot lead dropped into the pit of my stomach

This was it. My career was over.

***

"Lettin' the cat outta the bag is a whole lot easier 'n puttin' it back in." - Will Rogers

***

~NOEL~

My will to keep marching forward had seriously declined in the week since I’d fucked things up with Aspen. I didn’t want to go to work each night, or attend classes each day, or keep sweating through these fucking workouts each morning. I didn’t want to answer the phone when Caroline called. I didn’t want anything. Except my woman.

But that wasn’t going to happen, so I just kept doing all the shit I really didn’t care about anymore.

With my bag full of exercise clothes to change into slung heavily over my shoulder, I trudged into the university’s sports complex for my crack-of-mother-fucking-dawn weight training. Yawning, I rubbed my hand over my jaw. I hadn’t shaved in days and winced at the pull of sore muscles.

I’d just turned down the hall toward the locker room when someone from behind me called my name frantically. Glancing around, I found both Ten and Hamilton skidding around the corner and racing toward me.

Frowning, I asked, “What the hell are you doing here for morning training?” Ten only trained in the evening or not at all. He refused to even pretend to be a morning person.

“Ham called me.” Breathless as he reached me, he grabbed my arm and yanked me in the opposite direction of the locker room. “Man, you need to come with us. Right now.”

Not used to m

y best friend acting so agitated, I glanced toward Hamilton. But he looked as if he might shit his pants any second. Unease stirred within me.

I resisted Ten’s pull. “What’s going on?”

“Just...” Ten yanked me along, none too gently. “Come on.”

They led me to a bathroom. As Ten ducked down to check that all the stalls were empty, Quinn folded his arms and braced his back against the door so no one else could enter. Their behavior made it seem like they were preparing to kick my ass or something. And if I didn’t know any better and trust these guys with some of the biggest secrets of my life, I might have been worried.

But then it struck me; they were the only two guys on the team who did know my one big secret. Acid filled my stomach, sharp and painful.

I nearly bent over double as I blew out a shuddery breath. My gym bag slid off my shoulder and slapped to the floor. “Aspen?” I said, knowing this couldn’t be about anything else.

Ten straightened from the last stall and stared at me for a moment before he said, “Yeah.”

“Fuck.” I clenched my eyes shut and rested my hands on my knees as I concentrated on not getting sick all over the place. But, “Shit. How bad is it?”

After a small groan, Ten admitted, “It’s pretty bad.”

I looked up and stared at him. When he didn’t say anything, I glanced toward Hamilton. He’d gone white, but nodded, agreeing with Ten.

It was bad.

“Well?” I demanded, my voice raspy with fear. “What happened?”