The Professor (Forbidden Encounters 1)
I turn to her with a raised brow and she huffs. She knows damn well that it’s true.
“Well, I’m not worried. You might find a reason to stay.”
“Yeah, right,” I grumble. “So, experienced college sophomore, point me in the direction of…” I hold my schedule out to peer at it, “my economics class.” I didn’t take the course last semester but decided to this time around.
Charlie gasps. “Economics with Professor Marshall?”
“That’s what it says.” I’m still going over my schedule of classes.
“You lucky bitch.”
I can’t help laughing. Charlie is a piece of work. “Sitting in an economics class makes me lucky? Okay, if you say so.”
“Not just any economics class. Professor Marshall’s economics class.”
Staring at her, I shrug. “Is that supposed to mean something?”
“He’s the hottest professor you’ll ever see, I promise.”
“Well, you’re known to be dramatic and extra so…”
She sniffs and flips her blonde hair. “This is not me being extra. I’m stating facts. Do you know that a lot of female students take his class for no other reason than to stare at him?”
“You sound guilty.”
Her sheepish grin makes me snicker. “You’ll see what I’m talking about soon enough. Come on, I’ll show you the way.”
“Thanks, this place is a maze.”
“It’s not far. The building is across from the gym. It’s not new like the rest of the buildings. It’s older, more historic or whatever.” Charlie loops her arm through mine and nearly skips with happiness and waves at other students as they pass by.
“I need to have what you drink in the morning,” I mumble, wanting to just crawl back into bed and that’s after two cups of coffee.
We pass the dining hall and the sign for the gym is light blue sticking in the grass. “Just a green smoothie. Super foods. It really matters, Abby. Happy inner body, happy outer.”
“You sound like a commercial,” I tease just as she points to the building I need to get to.
“Maybe one day I’ll be in one,” she says as chipper as ever. “You want to go there. I’ll see you later. I need to get to my psychology class.”
“Okay, see you later.”
She wiggles her brows. “Tell me everything about Professor Marshall when your class is over. Text me like my life depends on it.”
“Bye, Charlie,”
I drawl out her name and open the door to the building.
“Tootles,” she finger waves.
Since class is about to start, students are clogging the hallway. I stare at my schedule and realize I need to make my way up the stairs to the second floor. “Excuse me,” I say to the people I bump into. “Sorry.” I hurry up the steps and turn left and find the door with the correct room number.
A few people are entering the door at the end of the hall, so I follow the crowd. Come to find out, this is where I need to be.
I hurry down the steps and pick a desk that isn’t too close to the front or too far. I don’t want to seem too eager. I sit down, sling my backpack off, and unzip it to gather supplies.
Notebook and pen on my desk, I glance around the lecture hall. It’s a medium-sized room. St. Jacobs is in a small town, but it’s a big university and there are plenty of students from out of state. That comforts me a little. At least, not all the students will know who I am. As I survey the room, I catch a few glances from some of the town’s residents?most of them I went to high school with. Just like that, the little comfort I’d achieved vanishes. Stifling a groan, I sink down in my seat, wishing I was invisible.
The room gradually fills up, and I relax… a little. A man walks in and puts his laptop bag on the desk. He’s wearing a button-down shirt that fits him with perfection and black slacks. The famous Professor Marshall, I presume. He isn’t what one would expect when hearing the title professor. For some reason I always thought of professors as older English guys with thick round glasses, gray hair and beard and dressed in dapper three-piece suits. This one is tall, young, and handsome. I guess I’m guilty of stereotyping. I fight back a laugh. I almost choke on it, however, when I get a good look at the professor’s face.