Campus Hottie (Campus)

As soon as he glances at his silver wristwatch and dismisses class for the day, everyone perks up and comes alive as if a switch has been flipped.

“Oh, I see how it is. Now you’ve all got something to say, huh?” Professor Holloway shakes his head as if disappointed in the caliber of student who populate his lectures. “Maybe I should assign a few pages to complete over the weekend.”

The room erupts into noisy protests.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” He waves a hand in mock irritation. “Get out of here before I change my mind.” His gaze travels over the sea of students loading up their bags before homing in on me. “Except you, Ms. Kendricks. Would you mind sticking around for a few minutes?”

Great.

“Sure.” It takes effort to lift my lips into a smile.

Mike leans toward me. “Ohhh, the sexy professor wants to speak with you all alone. Lucky girl.”

When I glare, he waggles his brows. “Give me a break,” I mutter. “We both know he wants to discuss my dumpster fire of a grade.”

Mike’s gaze shifts to our instructor, who’s shuffling around paperwork as undergraduates flee his classroom like rats from a burning building. “I’d be more than happy to have a little private tutoring from the likes of him.”

An unwilling smile quirks my lips. This isn’t the first time Mike has made just such a remark. “Something tells me the private tutoring you’re looking for isn’t in math.” Especially since the big jerk received a ninety-three on his test.

A ninety-three!

That’s the kind of grade I can only fantasize about.

His eyes turn dreamy as he leans his elbows on the laminated desktop before resting his chin on clasped hands. “I’ll take whatever that man is willing to give me.”

A chuckle bubbles up in my throat as I glance at our professor. I totally understand what Mike is saying about Dr. Holloway. He’s good looking with dark hair and blue eyes. If I had to guess, I’d say he was somewhere in his early to mid thirties. The man obviously takes care of himself. Beneath his sport coat and khakis, he’s lean and muscular.

Once I’ve packed up my belongings, we rise to our feet and move to the center aisle of the large space.

“All right, girl. I gotta get moving. I’ll see you at three for rehearsal.”

“Yup, I’ll be there.”

I live for play practice. It’s what makes everything else in life bearable. Even statistics. I’ve been involved in the theater since I was a kid, and it’s what I channeled all of my grief into after Dad died four years ago. I’m not sure I would have gotten through the loss of him without it. Instead of being constantly steeped in grief, I was able to escape, at least for short bursts of time, by pretending to be someone else.

With one final wave, Mike takes off and I turn, moving down the staircase to the front of the room where Professor Holloway waits. As the last student heads out, a heavy silence falls over the space. I clear my throat and hitch my backpack higher onto my shoulder.

“You wanted to see me?”

He glances up from the handful of papers he’s in the process of organizing. “Yeah, thanks for sticking around. I was hoping we could touch base. I noticed you didn’t do so well on the last test.”

That’s something of an understatement, and we both know it.

My grimace has the corners of his lips bowing up. Straight white teeth flash through the artificial light filling the room.

As he shifts his stance, his blue blazer falls open, revealing a perfectly pressed white button-down. “Oh, come on now. Is it really that bad?”

I huff out a breath as my shoulders loosen. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but I’m actually trying. I studied for this test with Mike, and he got a ninety-three.”

A thoughtful expression crosses his face as he nods. “Mike is doing well in this class. He seems to have a firm grip on the material.”

I shoot him a sour look. “Unfortunately, his knowledge doesn’t seem to be transferrable.”

“In this particular case, I would agree with that statement,” he says easily. “I wanted to mention that I have office hours every Tuesday and Thursday from four to six. You should stop in early next week, and we can spend some time going over your test and rework the problems you had trouble with.”

“That would be all of them,” I admit.

“Luckily for you, Ms. Kendricks, I just so happen to have a Ph. D in Applied Statistics. With a little one on one attention, I think we can get that grade up before the end of the semester. Right now, you’re sitting at a D. And contrary to popular belief, that doesn’t stand for ‘darn good.’ More like ‘danger zone.’ I don’t think either of us wants to see it drop any further.”