“What’s there to know? If your body matches your sexy voice, tonight could be fun for both of us.”
/> I pretend to gag into the receiver and stick my finger into my mouth. “Yeah, I don’t think so. I have to hang up now. When and where am I meeting you tomorrow?”
“You’re no fun.” He breathes into the phone. “I’ll meet you at two p.m. at the event center on the Strickland University campus at the back entrance.”
“Sounds great.” I slide my feet off the desk and stand with the mug in my hand because this conversation requires a shot in my coffee. I need to find that bottle of vodka I hid. “I’ll see you then.”
Without giving him time to say another word, I hang up and open the freezer. Tomorrow is going to be a long day if this talk with Tyler is any indication. But I need the press for my paper.
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Teach
If you like professor-student romances, keep reading for a free excerpt of TEACH, the first book in the City of Sinners Series.
TEACH is available now!
Read TEACH for FREE with Kindle Unlimited
Mark Montgomery cares about two things—getting laid and getting paid. He's cocky, confident, sexy-as-sin, and counting down the last few months of college before he can begin his professional baseball career. But there are things Mark must do to survive until his big payday, questionable activities that could get him killed.
He doesn't want to rope anyone into his mess, especially not Olivia Ford, the woman he takes home from the club, a sexy lawyer who turns out to be his Law and Ethics professor. Their new relationship changes everything. But Mark won’t take no for an answer. Olivia can fight him all she wants, but Mark is the one who will be teaching her a lesson. In her classroom. Bent over her office desk. On the hood of his car.
Mark is more than a dirty talker who’s good in bed and can throw a ball, but what he does on the side is the one thing that could tear them apart and expose their forbidden relationship to the world.
Teach Excerpt
CHAPTER ONE
OLIVIA
“You can do this,” I mutter. I suck in a deep breath, trying to psych myself up so that I can make it through one more night of work. Except it’s not just one more night. I have repeated the same mantra to myself for months now, and this job never gets easier.
Staring into the mirror, I hate the person I see—a woman with long fake lashes, too much makeup caked on her face, and a short black wig that itches her head, forcing her to scratch so hard that she looks like a dog who has fleas. None of it is mine; all of it is a facade to lure customers into the club. I hate that I have to work at Club Rave, offering my body to men, shaking my ass for a few dollars. But I’ve chosen this lifestyle as a temporary means to make money.
The bass thumps through the club, and even in the dressing room, the music vibrates beneath my five-inch heels. Each girl has their own vanity that they use to get ready, but tonight, the boss called in a few extras to entertain a private party, and now, we’re forced to share. On nights like these, the claws come out, and the girls have been known to fight over something as stupid as using the last of the hair spray.
“Liv,” Donna says from behind me, “we’re on in five. Hurry up. I need to put my face on. Courtney won’t move her ass until she’s slathered on another five layers of concealer, and I have bags under my eyes that make me look like a zombie from The Walking Dead.”
I don’t see a thing. She is gorgeous and has the body of a goddess. But her looks are not her best feature. Men like her because of her spitfire personality that matches what they see on the outside.
Her long, dark strands, also as fake as mine, sit above her large breasts that are practically falling out of a sexy referee costume. Most of the girls wear wigs to protect their identities. Donna just so happens to be the daughter of a successful banker in town who would go ballistic if he knew what she did for a living. Unlike me, Donna dances because she likes it. She loves when men throw themselves at her; she even gets off on it.
We became friends after only one night at the club. I was nervous about dancing in spandex and a crop top in front of strange men, and Donna did everything in her power to make me comfortable.
I look at her reflection in the mirror and laugh, shaking my head at her ridiculousness. “You look great, as always. Stop fishing for compliments.”
“But it’s true. I’ve been dragging ass this whole week. I’ll be lucky if I don’t break a heel and face-plant on the bar.”
I remove a tube of red lipstick from the makeup case on the vanity in front of me. “That’s because you choose to run out for your late-night booty calls with Tony whenever he beckons you.”
“If you saw the size of him, you’d run right over, too. Trust me.” She places her hands on my shoulders, winks at me, and squeezes down hard enough to cause me to slump in my chair. “You need to get laid, babe. When was the last time you had a good dicking?”
I burst into laughter. “Dicking? Where do you come up with this shit?”
She proceeds to make an O with her left thumb and index finger and then sticks her right index finger through the middle, sliding it back and forth at a fast pace, her eyes wide open with a goofy smile splayed on her face. “This is what you need to do before your vagina dries up like the Sahara.” Donna moves to the side of my chair, leans against the vanity, and bends down, as if looking under my skirt.