Professor

She was so small compared to me, almost fragile.

I glanced up at her to see her watching me, her eyes heavy-lidded, her expression drowsy. I didn’t stop myself from reaching up and brushing a lock of her hair away from her shoulder, letting my fingers move gently along the soft skin of her neck.

She closed her eyes and exhaled, and I forced myself to pull my hand away and stand.

“I’m sorry you have to see me this way,” she whispered, slurred.

I pulled the blanket down and helped her lie in the bed, covering her up and standing there for a moment watching her. Her dark hair was fanned out along the white pillowcase, a stark contrast that had me wanting to reach out and touch her.

Instead I headed toward the door, stopping and looking back at her. I watched the rise and fall of her chest beneath the duvet and looked into her face, which had taken on a relaxed expression as she slipped into sleep.

Tomorrow should be interesting, given the fact I had no intention of hiding how I felt. She needed to know what my intentions were, what I wanted with her.

The real question was, would she be on the same page as me? Would she want the same things I did?

9

Grace

It was the feeling of warmth on my face that had me slowly opening my eyes. Everything was blurry for a moment, and I blinked a few times, my vision finally clearing as I stared out the window. The apartment was high up, and I could see buildings off in the distance. I had no doubt traffic was a flurry below, but I heard nothing but the sound of my easy inhalations.

I felt my brows knit, a moment of confusion settling in because I wasn’t sure where I was. But then it all came rushing back.

Professor Goode.

The Olive.

Sitting in his car and admitting things I probably should have kept to myself.

I groaned softly, lifting my hand and rubbing my forehead. I had an awful headache, one that was beating right behind my eyes.

The scent of everything he was washed over me, through me. I actually found myself turning my head more into the pillow, closing my eyes, and inhaling deeply.

Dark and woodsy.

Potent.

Masculine.

Everything Professor Goode was.

I was crazy, lying in his bed, in his apartment, wondering how in the hell I was going to get through this humiliation.

I forced myself to sit up, my feet dangling off the bed, my toes barely touching the cold wooden floor.

I rubbed my feet together, looking down and realizing I had no pants on. I pushed the blanket fully off me, breathing out a sigh of relief that my panties were still on and that I was still wearing my cardigan set.

One drink and this was the result, this was how far I’d dropped in my morals.

I tried to remember if I’d slept with him. God, if I had, this would get so much worse. This would be a nightmare, even if the thought of being with Professor Goode was everything I’d ever fantasized about.

I looked behind me, half expecting him to be in the bed with me, and felt relief but also a surge of disappointment that the other side was empty. I reached out and rubbed my hand over the pillow, the sheets cold to my touch, almost crisp and severe under my fingertips. It was clear he hadn’t slept beside me all night.

The sun streaming through the curtains, although muted, had my headache pounding harder behind my eyes. I heard the sound of my phone vibrating and got up to see it sitting on the dresser across from the bed.

I picked it up and stared down at it. There were three texts from Sherry, as well as two missed calls.

“Shit,” I muttered. I was pretty sure I’d forgotten to call her last night once I’d gotten to Professor Goode’s house.

I’m so sorry. I forgot to call you last night and ended up crashing.

Sherry: You worried the shit out of me, Gracie!

After Professor Goode had gotten me into bed, everything else had gone dark. I’d fallen asleep right away, and now regretted making Sherry worry.

I’ll call you as soon as I don’t feel like my head’s going to explode.

Sherry: You better.

The last thing I needed to do was call her while at his house and have her overhear him say something. God, was I really at my professor’s house?

I set my phone down and scrubbed my hand over my face. I wanted to shower, to get the club vibe off my body, and I needed to drink about a gallon of water to flush the rest of this lingering alcohol out.

Then I heard footsteps. I turned toward the door quickly, feeling my eyes widen and my heart race. I darted toward the bed and pulled off the blanket, wrapping it around my lower half. And then I just stood there, time seeming to go by painfully slowly as I waited for him to come in.