Chapter 1
Melody
Elbows jostle me,slamming into my shoulders and ribs as I squeeze my way into class. Since when were there so many other students? Was it always this crowded? Lifting my chin, I angle my neck and stand on my toes, hoping, praying, that I could still get a good seat. Damn it! My heart plummets as I scan the back row, holding my breath, hoping that maybe I missed a seat. No such luck. Grumbling, I set my bag down on the last available chair...right in front. Nothing good ever comes from being front and center. It’s always better to be in the back where you can disappear.
Clutching my arms about my waist, I amble my way towards the seat, ignoring all the loud sounds piercing my brain. Bits of paper fly past me, but I shove it to the side, concentrating on just my seat and getting my breathing under control. In and out. In and out. It will be fine. You will be fine. My insides twist and wrench, belying my thoughts, almost forcing me to turn tail and run. Pinching my lips together, I pause and swallow down the bile threatening to rise up.
This is the one class I want to disappear in and not stand out. As I slide into my seat, my thoughts swirl about, bits and pieces of classes fly through my brain. Each one is the same. Those that stand out get cut down first. And not just a simple, “you’re wrong, and here’s why.” No. Each professor eviscerates you, leaving you feeling like you never had a correct thought in your life. Screwing my eyes shut, I shake my head, forcing the memories out. Nothing good comes of dwelling on it.
With my eyes still closed, another image flashes in my mind. Unbidden, Professor Richards’ face appears before me, his lips slashed into a deep frown. Swallowing hard, I squirm in my seat, crossing my legs in an attempt to relieve the ache starting to build. The frown turns into a glower, and my stomach flips. Not in a sick way, well, maybe sick. What I feel is anything but normal. He’s the most intimidating professor I have, more so than my own father, and yet, I can’t seem to drive him from my brain. Something must be wrong with me.
Glancing at the large mahogany desk at the front of the room, I swallow hard. Normally I’m not this close to him; I’m tucked safely away in the back. But I guess luck decided to skip me today. His slate eyes slide over to me, his mouth curving up into a fuck-me grin. My mouth waters as I sit there, eyes glued to his lips, imagining all the things they could do to me. Reaching down, I pinch my thigh hard, letting the shaft of pain distract me from my daydreaming. This is one class that I can’t afford to get distracted in. Though I can’t blame Professor Richards for looking so delectable, I can sure as hell blame him for how hard he’s making this class.
Sighing, I drop my head down on the desk. If I’m honest with myself, it’s not just him, though. All the teachers. Every professor is just as exacting and harsh, though they don’t have his physique to make it more palatable. Stifling a moan, I drive him out of my mind. There’s no room for playing around or doing less than my best. Each week it seems like students are disappearing. Or maybe they found easier teachers? Maybe I should look into transferring to different classes.
Going into it, I knew college would not be at all like high school, but that doesn’t mean I was prepared for how difficult it would be. High school did nothing to prepare me for the grueling work and sleepless nights. I don’t even party hard like some of the other students. I am responsible, earnest...boring? Resentment burns in my chest as I watch the others goof off, knowing full well that I didn’t have that luxury. Maybe it’s this school. State for sure would have been easier.
Opening my book, I watch the words swim around as I try to make sense of the homework we had last night. It’s like I never even opened the book. I flip through the chapter I poured over not even twelve hours ago, the words looking foreign to me. Maybe it’s not too late to transfer. Screwing my face, I slam the book shut. No. I want a challenge, distinction, pedigree. I want more than what my family has. If that means popping something to keep me from sleeping every now and then, so be it.
I’m not the only one struggling, but I seem to be the only one that cares. With renewed determination, I open my book back up and bury myself into the black plague, forcibly shoving all other noise and distraction away from me. I can’t go back home. I just have to keep trying, keep pushing. State is not an option.
I sit there, waiting for class to start, trying to remind my brain of what it already knows when a tingle flows down my spine. My body prickles and itches as I become aware of eyes burning into me. Professor Richards. Why does he keep staring? Why am I constantly compelled to meet his gaze? Lifting my eyes, our gazes collide, and my heart skips a beat. My mouth goes dry as we continue this dance that I don’t even know the steps for. I want to pull away, but I can’t. Nothing about this is okay. Biting down on my lower lip, I use the pain to break the spell and wrench my gaze away from his.
I don’t normally have a problem being distracted by men, but to be fair, most of the “men” I found attractive were in high school. They were definitely not mature enough for me, though. Who am I kidding? Looking around the room, I see the usual conglomeration of jocks, nerds, theater geeks, and regular geeks. Snippets of their conversations pepper the air. Based on what I’m hearing, college doesn’t make men any smarter. Bits and pieces of lewd jokes and fart humor come from various corners of the room. Rolling my eyes, I stifle a groan and go back to my book.
That is the biggest difference between men and boys. Or, I guess, the difference between Professor Richards and the boys of this class. He has an intensity that demands you sit up and pay attention. Every word out of him is calculated for maximum effect. In fact, as I think about it, I can’t actually picture him making crude or crass jokes. Perhaps it’s all a persona he has for the class. Lord knows I have no experience with him outside of these four walls. He could be a huge dork, and I wouldn’t know it. My gut tells me I’m wrong, though. Someone this polished didn’t let it slip. Not for anything
After a moment or two, once my head is back in a better place, I chance a glance back up at him. Luckily for me, he’s turned his intense stare onto someone else. His brows furrow as he engages in a whispered conversation with one of my classmates. From his tone and posture, the conversation can’t be good. His whole body is rigid, especially his hands. The long, strong fingers are almost white as they grip the desk. Unease rolls through me, or is it arousal? I can’t tell anymore.
Every nerve stands on end. All I can think about is how I wish that were me up there being scolded. Whoa. Where did that come from? Shaking my head, I try again to clear all my thoughts, but it’s no use. I need to focus on my work and not on how hot he looks with his hair mussed from running through it with his hands, and certainly not his full, luscious lips, as they press and release in frustration.
His tall frame rises from the desk as he really lays into the student before him. The movement is sleek and effortless. Muscles ripple at his forearms every time the fingers grip the wood. The rest of the world fades as I picture him above me, his hands clenching around my body, pulling me towards him, gripping me close. My body is on fire as the illicit scene plays out in my brain. A porno just for me.
Before I can stifle a moan, it slips out, soft and airy, barely audible in the din. Professor Richards pauses, eyes never leaving the student in front of him, but a small smirk tugs at his lips, sending my stomach plummeting. Fuck. There’s no way he heard that! I try to rationalize, try to convince myself, but I can’t. All I can do is pretend it never happened and force myself even deeper into my studies.
I cannot, will not let Professor Richards be a distraction. If I don’t pull my grades up in time, my scholarship will be in major jeopardy, and that’s something that just can’t happen. What am I going to do, though? They don’t offer this class online, and being this close to him is doing bad things to my brain.
The AC kicks on, bringing a much-needed breeze across my flushed skin. It tousles my hair about, making it slide against my neck and face like phantom fingers or tongues. Each slide against my skin sends renewed heat flowing through my veins. My face flushes, my skin hot and tight. At that moment, Professor Richards glances over, his smirk turning into a full grin. He’s breathtaking. Get it together, Melody. You’re not going to pass the class if you daydream like this.
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