Bad Professor (An Alpha Male Bad Boy Romance) (6 page)

"Sorry,
Thomas, I've got to study. See you around," I called as I headed across
the courtyard to the library.

I
took a different route just to make sure Thomas didn't follow me. He was shy,
but persistent, and I wasn't sure how far he would pursue me. I was just
translating that thought into a memory for my main character when I came around
the corner of the archive stacks and almost screamed.

"What
are you doing here?" I hissed instead.

Ford
leaned his head back on the hidden armchair and smiled. "Isn't it obvious?
I'm waiting for you."

"How
did you know I was coming here?" my whisper cracked with irritation.

Ford
stood up and motioned for me to take the arm chair. When I shook my head and
crossed my arms tight across my chest, he sighed and explained, "I
questioned your friend, Thomas. I'm sorry to say, but he's the best kind of
source: anxious to talk if he likes the subject. You do know he likes you,
right?"

"Leave
poor Thomas out of this. Why are you here, Ford?" My breath caught. I
always called him by his first name in my head. That's how we first met and I
felt I had some claim to his given name as long as I didn't say it aloud.

Ford
paused at the sound of it too. A smile played around his lips, only to be
swallowed away. "I'm just curious. Thomas, on the other hand, is worried. He
thinks you're working too hard. But, if the smile I saw as you came down those
steps is any indication, you like whatever you've been working on."

I
ground my teeth and scowled. "I did until you came along and interrupted
me."

Ford
gestured to the open armchair. "Please, don't let me get in your way. Like
I said, I was just curious."

I
inched past him, refusing to inhale the intoxicating scent of his soap. The
last time I caught a whiff of sandalwood in a candle store, I had gotten weak
in the knees. I stopped and we were caught, the backs of my knees hard against
the seat of the armchair and Ford pressed against the wall. We were inches
apart.

"Yes?"
he asked and the word was barely more than a whisper.

This
was what I had wanted all along. I wanted someone to find me, someone to be
curious enough to check on me. I wanted someone to discover my secret project
and Ford was the exact person I had wished it would be. Not just because being
near him felt like a fast car ride with all the windows down, but because he
could give me an honest opinion.

I
flopped into the armchair and surrendered. "It's a short story."

Ford's
eyes brightened and he dropped down to squat comfortably next to the arm of my
chair. "And you're hiding it from your father because it would make him
too happy?"

"He'll
never give me an honest opinion," I said. "All he'll do is gush about
the joys of creativity and how he wished he had pursued his art."

"So
you're looking for an honest opinion?" Ford laid a hand on the armchair
and I had the insane desire to rest my cheek against it.

"Yes."
I distracted myself from his proximity by reaching into my book bag and
dragging out the spiral-bound notebook. "I haven't even typed it up yet,
but there's a clean copy in the back of this."

He
didn't laugh in my face, just studied it with a disconcerting level of
interest. "Just a general opinion or actual feedback? How specific? Like
down to word choice, or just my overall impression?"

My
hand shook as I shoved the notebook at him and it was hard to tell what was
sparking my nerves. Our fingers brushed and the lightning sensation of his skin
along mine shot right to the balls of my feet.

I
cleared my throat. "Be specific," I squeaked. "Tell me what I
need to improve on."

Ford
stood up and flipped open the spiral notebook. Then he leaned against the wall
and his eyes flashed across the page.

I
dropped my book bag and leapt up out of the armchair. "Not now!"

"Why?
No time like the present, right?" Ford asked with a wicked smile.

I
flapped my hands at him. "Not in front of me. I'll die. Just take it and
read it when you have the time. Maybe you can give it to me next class."

Ford
chuckled and used the notebook to fend off my buffeting attack. "Next
class is after Thanksgiving."

I
raked both hands through my hair. "Oh my god, I have to go buy a
turkey!"

"Wait,
now?"

"Yes,
now, before the store runs out of the right size." I gathered up my book
bag. "My father's gotten it into his head that he wants a real
Thanksgiving gathering this year. I spent half of last night trying to figure
out what fruit looked best in a cornucopia. How insane does that sound?"

Ford
laughed, then stopped on a long, barely audible sigh. "Actually, that's
sounds wonderful."

I
watched his face and saw the shift from amused to wistful. "Why? What are
you doing for Thanksgiving?" I asked.

"Nothing,"
Ford shook his head. "It's no big deal. Liz is volunteering in the city
and doesn't want to be away from school long enough to drive up here for the
weekend, which I totally understand. Still, the microwave dinner selections for
Thanksgiving were pretty bleak."

My
pulse jumped into a riotous jig but I managed to speak calmly. "My father
is determined to have a big Thanksgiving meal. And he still wants to thank you
for braving the frat party check with him the other night. I'll have him call
you, but you should plan on coming to our house for Thanksgiving."

"Are
you sure?"

I
rolled my eyes, "My father will be happy you're there."

"Will
you be?" Ford bit his lip as if the question had escaped.

I
couldn't breathe so I nodded until I could manage to say, "Just don't say
anything about my short story."

CHAPTER
SIX

Ford

I
folded the title page of
every article so that I couldn't see the student names. It helped me judge the
writing and check if my journalism students had mastered a neutral tone. Jackson
taught me the trick he had learned from tackling hundreds of creative writing
essays and stories.

Clarity's
short story rose to the surface of my mind again and I leaned back in my office
chair to avoid it. The characters were clear in my mind, the overlapping paths
they took a common knot that tied my thoughts to them.

I
shook it off and groaned at the stack of grading. "I have to stop giving
my students homework that gives me homework."

I
snatched up the next article and knew by the first sentence it was Clarity's. Her
open curiosity was contagious and her leads were getting better. She needed to
work on simplifying her language, but her enthusiasm kept me reading for three
paragraphs before I realized I hadn't written a single comment.

What
could I say to her?

It
was impossible to erase all the thoughts that had popped into my head the night
I met her. If only I didn't need my job so much.

My
mind drifted back to the cocktail dress she was wearing when the door to my
office crashed open. "Sleeping on the job?" Jackson asked.

"You
know, for a bookish, lit. Professor, you’re loud enough to wake the dead."
I settled back in my office chair and unclenched my fists.

"And
you're a little too jumpy. What's on your mind?" Jackson strolled around
my narrow office, hands in pockets, studying the bookshelves.

"What's
on my mind? You came to my office, remember? Unless your entire plan was to
give me a heart attack."

Jackson
chuckled then turned back to point at the bookshelves. "A little Spartan,
don't you think? I thought you were finally settling in and resolving to be a
Landsman man."

I
swallowed the instant distaste that thought brought up. "Maybe I just have
something against crowded bookshelves. Maybe I'm Feng Shui."

"Feng
full of shit," Jackson said. "I'd take it personally if I didn't know
how much you miss journalism. But you really should get rid of the temporary
vibe in here if you want your department head to stop sharpening her axe."

"She
can't fire me before the holidays." I grinned.

"Speaking
of the holidays, what are you doing for Thanksgiving?" Jackson leaned on
the corner of my desk.

"Apparently
I'm grading articles." I gestured to the slipping stack on my desk, then
caught it before it toppled. "Any more tricks of the trade that could
speed this up?"

"So
you don't have any plans for Thanksgiving? I know Liz is staying in the
city."

I
sighed and stacked the papers back into a neat pile. "Liz could probably
use the break but she won't give herself one. She thinks just because I'm
helping her out a little here and there she has to work like a dog."

Jackson
crossed his arms. "I wouldn't call covering her rent and paying for her
car a little, but stop trying to change the subject. We're not going to let you
starve alone on Thanksgiving."

"Sorry,
but I have plans." I swallowed hard and hoped he didn't ask for details.

Jackson
studied my face for a moment with a curious smile. "So, Alice and I are
going to Dean Dunkirk's for Thanksgiving. He's invited a small group and told
me you were on the list."

"Oh,
good, that'll be great. I wasn't sure I was going to go but now it sounds
good," I said.

"You
weren’t going to go before I told you we were invited. What's with the
secrecy?" Jackson stood up and tapped his chin as he studied me again.

I
held up both hands in surrender. "I'm not a big fan of turkey, alright? You
caught me."

"This
wouldn't have anything to do with the dean's daughter being your student, would
it?"

"Speaking
of students," I jumped out of my office chair, "I have to get ready. My
students and I are attending the alumni/donor dinner tonight. I have to wear a
tuxedo."

Jackson
allowed me to shoo him back to the door so I could get the garment bag off the
hook. "You're really going? But you hate those people."

"Smug,
entitled, rich folks that only want to spend money so people notice them? Nah,
I love 'em. Besides, my students need to report on it for the school
newspaper." I unzipped the garment bag and pulled out the rented tuxedo.

"So
that means you have to go to?" Jackson asked.

"It
was the only way the college president would allow students to mingle. I
suppose he's afraid they're going to spike the punch or pull some other
prank." I sighed, "God, I hate being a chaperone."

Jackson
laughed and made himself comfortable in my office chair. "The student
newspaper crew is a pretty responsible bunch. Isn't Clarity Dunkirk on staff? According
to some of my kids, her name alone is chaperone enough. Poor girl, I bet she
doesn't get to break out and have much fun being the dean's daughter."

"She's
too focused for fun, way too mature," I muttered.

"What
was that?" Jackson drummed his fingers on the edge of my desk and smiled
up at me.

"You
any good at shining shoes? My dress shoes haven't seen the light of day in
years," I said.

Jackson
shook his head. "Nope, sorry. What else you got?"

I
sat down on my small couch and opened my shoe polish kit. "I have to pair
up the staff. It's going to be a co-written assignment, make 'em learn how to
work under a shared byline."

"Oh,
that I can do," Jackson sat up and hunched over my desk. He wrote out the
names of the students on the newspaper staff, then cut names out. Then he
tossed them in a hat and held it to me.

I
decided no one was going to look at my shoes, so I reached for the folded names
instead. Jackson typed them up and we got down to the last three names before
we realized there was a problem.

"You're
going to have partner up too, otherwise it's uneven," Jackson said.

"Fine,
yeah."

"Thomas
and Allison. That leaves you with Clarity." Jackson hooted with laughter. "Luck
of the draw, eh? Or maybe you're just trying to get in good with the Dunkirks
so you get extra pecan pie at Thanksgiving."

"Isn't
it about time you go home to your wife?" I stood up and held my office
door open for Jackson. "I've got to change."

"Never
change, man, that's what they want. Fight the power!"

I
shoved Jackson out of my office and locked the door. I wavered between the
garment bag and my computer. Either I retyped the list and was late or I just
went with it.

I
hit print. Anything else would admit I had trouble being near Clarity. And,
knowing Jackson, he would ask our mutual students about the dinner and find out
if I switched partners.

Luck
of the draw, I thought. Now the only question was if my luck was good or bad.

#

"
So
we missed the dinner part?" Thomas
asked as his stomach grumbled.

"You
didn't miss it. You weren't invited," I said. "Dinner was over one
hundred dollars a plate, which is why it was for alumni and donors only. The
college president has been nice enough to invite us for the reception so you
can mingle and find interesting stories."

"Can
we drink?" another student asked.

I
squeezed the bridge of my nose. "If you are twenty-one-years-old, then you
are legally allowed to drink. I will assume each of you can make a responsible
choice. Can we get on to the assignment now?"

"Shouldn't
we wait for Clarity?" Thomas asked.

Allison
piped up. "She's coming with her father."

I
handed Allison the list. "Here are you partners. Remember that co-writing
is about balancing opposite or complimentary viewpoints. I suggest you start by
getting to know your partner. There was an uneven number of students, so I'm
taking part in the assignment as well."

I
congratulated myself on sounding casual, then turned and caught a glimpse of
Clarity.

Instead
of her normal low ponytail, Clarity's hair was swept up into a complicated knot
that still could not contain all her dark-red curls. Gold earrings danced on
either side of her easy smile and a wave crashed inside me. Delicate straps
were the only interruption along the creamy expanse of her bare shoulders. The
neckline plunged until I held my breath. Despite the floor length fall of the
black dress, her slender curves were revealed with each step.

Besides
the subtly flashing gold earrings, the only jewelry Clarity wore was an emerald,
beaded bracelet—the exact same shade as her eyes when she caught me staring.

"Professor
Bauer, sorry I'm late. My father likes to make an entrance," Clarity said.

"All
my fault," Dean Dunkirk chuckled, "she was never one to fuss in front
of a mirror, but these darn bow ties always give me trouble."

Clarity's
image burned in front of my eyes even as I turned to her father. "Dean
Dunkirk, they didn't give you a free plate at the dinner?"

"Nothing's
free when it comes to raising money for a new theater complex. Not even the
drinks, so you all can stop worrying. If you're willing to pay what they're
asking for them, I'm not going to stop you." The Dean of Students smiled
at my gathered newspaper staff. "Your professor has given you one hell of
a challenge: find something interesting here that won't step on any toes. Remember,
a lot of people here guard their privacy for good reasons."

"Like
pretending they're old money," Thomas whispered to Clarity.

She
smiled but shook her head. "Well, I'm ready to mingle."

My
newspaper staff split up into partners and went into the decorated dining hall.
Clarity said goodbye to her father and then turned to me with one auburn
eyebrow raised.

"It's
a shared byline assignment," I said. "Everyone was assigned
partners."

"Except
there's an uneven amount of students," Clarity's exquisite shoulders
slumped. "I always liked co-authored articles because the counterpoints
are so interesting."

I
was going to release her from the assignment and let her write her own article,
but she looked so dejected. "Actually, I'm your partner." I held out
the list to prove it. "Jackson, I mean, Professor Rumsfeld, helped me draw
the names from a hat."

"What,
no one draws straws anymore?" Clarity asked.

I
gave in and offered her my arm. "It's probably unfair to the others,
really. You have an inside track already."

She
took my arm and we walked into the dining hall. Elegant flower arrangements
graced every table. An orchestra quietly took their places on the far stage and
a crystal chandelier sparkled over the polished dance floor. Most guests
mingled near the bar or the silent auction.

"Professor
Bauer, how nice to see you again." The older woman smiled as she stopped
us.

"Mrs.
McGuire, I'm so glad you enjoyed your tour of Thompson Hall," I said.

"Now,
now, aren't you going to introduce me to your lovely fiancé? Hello, dear,"
Mrs. McGuire shook Clarity's hand and winked. "You know, my Derrick is
fifteen years older than me, and if you ask me, it's the secret to our long
marriage. Nearly forty years! It's a smart woman that chooses a mature
man."

I
could feel Clarity's blush and the temperature rose between us. "No, Mrs.
McGuire, Clarity is one of my students. I'm here chaperoning the student
newspaper."

She
patted my arm and shook her head. "Oh, pish. I know a good match when I
see one. Oh, dear, my husband's waving me down. I hope to see you on the dance
floor!"

Clarity
and I stood arm-in-arm, unmoving, and I didn't know what to say. Then her
father appeared. "Did Mrs. McGuire mention dancing, because that's exactly
what I came over here to talk to you about," Dean Dunkirk said.

Clarity
slipped her hand from the crook of my elbow. "I'll dance with you,"
she told her father.

"Sorry,
darling, I'm already spoken for." Dean Dunkirk nodded over his shoulder at
a white-haired woman in a deep purple dress. "But we don't want an empty
dance floor, so come on you two."

Clarity
caught my arm again and tugged me after her father. The orchestra thrummed to
life and the music covered my swearing. I took Clarity in my arms, making sure
my elbows were held out in a still circle.

"Not
a big dancer, huh?" Clarity asked. She shifted my hand to her waist and
stepped closer. "I know I'm your student and all, but this is college, not
junior high."