To Professor, With Love (7 page)

My coach merely grinned. “What? You think I don’t keep tabs on my star player? Jesus, Gamble, I’ve been watching your score slip all semester in that class. Thought it was time to have a word with Frenetti, the dean of the English department. Glad to see they’re finally snapping themselves back into shape.”

My mouth fell open. I couldn’t fucking believe this. I knew Kavanagh had been forced to give me another chance by her dean, but I hadn’t known... Fuck, my own coach?
Et tu
, Jacobi?

And here, I thought I’d actually earned that A. It had taken enough out of me to deserve an A. But...

Maybe she really
had
tried to tell someone how I’d cheated to get my scholarship. Maybe no one had listened to her. Maybe…

Feeling suddenly sick, I half-assed my way through the rest of my weights. If she’d been forced to give me a good score, then what had I really earned on my paper? Had it just been another D?

Since I’d stepped foot on this campus, I’d played it straight. I’d worked my ass off to be a good player, a good, honest student, and a good employee at Forbidden. But if others were lying and cheating for me, did that mean I was incapable of improving, doomed to be a fraud for the rest of my life? Was I still a great big nothing who just happened to have a good throwing arm.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter, don't mind.” - Bernard M. Baruch

~ASPEN~

Friday morning, I arrived early to work. I liked reading in my office before class. It settled my nerves more than anything else could.

My big date with Philip was scheduled for tomorrow, making me as antsy as hell, and I’d broken down and tried to call my mother this morning. She’d refused to answer the phone, so I had no idea about my father’s prognosis, if he still had two legs, or what.

After glancing over the curriculum I wanted to go through in each class, I let out a little sigh of relief and opened my ereader, eager to escape into some juicy fiction. But a tap on my doorframe had me gritting my teeth.

I needed some alone time here, people. Why did
—

All thought process stalled in my head when I saw Noel Gamble.

“Wha…?” I didn’t know what to say. I simply gaped. His hair was wet and face gleamed as if he’d just stepped out of the shower or he’d been sweating profusely. Skimming my gaze down his athletic body, I noticed he was wearing gray sweats, running shoes with no socks, and a wrinkled, maroon Ellamore Vikings shirt that hugged his defined chest.

He stepped into my office, his jaw hard and eyes heated with anger. “Look, I don’t want you to give me a grade I don’t deserve. I fought for an A, damn it. And I want to actually
earn
one.”

My mouth fell open. “Wha…” I said again, then shook my head.
Decorum, Aspen
. After a deep breath, I tried again. “What makes you think you
didn’t
earn it?”

“Because I just came from fucking weight training where my coach told me he went to your dean person and complained. And I remember that guy being in your office when I came to talk to you last week. I thought I told you I didn’t want any special treatment just because I’m—”

“And I didn’t give you any.” I glowered as my senses crashed back into me. Of course, he’d come back to argue with me about an A. Only Noel Gamble would do such a thing. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gamble, but if anything, I judged you more harshly because of that. Believe me, you
earned
your score.”

He gave a harsh laugh and spun away to wipe his hand through his hair. “Why do I have such a hard time believing that?”

“I have no idea.” Pushing to my feet, I set my hands on my hips and kept scowling. “Maybe because you’re a stubborn, untrusting, relentless individual.” He whirled back to send me a surprised glance.

I arched an eyebrow. “And for your information, I didn’t exactly enjoy getting bitched out by my boss for the fair and just grades I provide. It made me want to give you an even worse score than before. But then you went and wrote what you wrote, and suddenly, I didn’t have to worry about what Frenetti told me to do anymore, because I could just take your essay to the board and get you permanently expelled. There was no reason to give you an A at all, except you shocked the shit out of me when you actually wrote a decent paper. You showed me how much you’re willing to put forth to reach your goals, and I decided not to take that away from you. So you’re just going to have to accept the fact that I am such an amazing, kickass teacher I actually got through your thick skull in that one meeting we had and miraculously taught you the meaning of literature analysis. Got it?”

He blinked. When I didn’t change my expression, he blinked a couple more times until his face finally softened. After blowing out a breath, he shook his head and took a step back. Eyes filling with questions, he murmured, “You really think you taught me that well, huh?”

I lifted my chin stubbornly. “Oh, I
know
I did.”

A grin tugged at his mouth. Then he huffed out a quick laugh. “Well, okay then. If you say it was honestly an A, then I won’t argue.”

“You mean, like you’ve been doing for the past five minutes?”

“Right.” This time, his smile was a full-fledged beam.

It did things to me I would be too mortified to admit to anyone aloud. But my body kept responding despite how much I commanded it to cool down.

“Okay, then.” He nodded and turned away to leave.

Startled he was going to vanish just as abruptly as he’d appeared, I panicked. I didn’t want to see him go yet. My brain scrambled for something. There were so many things I knew I should say, but instead I blurted out, “And for future reference, you might want to look up the meaning to TMI.”

When he whirled back, I lurched a little in reverse. I wasn’t expecting that to stop him in his tracks, but I was perversely pleased it had.

“If you’ll remember,” he murmured, sauntering back to my desk and setting his hands on top so he could lean over and stare me right in the eyes. “I did try to get it back from you.”

With a small nod, I managed to meet his gaze with what I hoped was a cool expression. “And I should’ve given it back. But I’m glad I didn’t.”

I sank back into my seat, trying to turn my attention to the screen saver on my computer. But all I could focus on was the man on the other side of my desk.

He alarmed me when he sat down on the chair in the seat across from me, his eyes alert and seeking. I sat up straighter, my gaze darting from the chair to his face as he demanded, “What does that mean?”

Shit, I’d exposed too much by saying that, hadn’t I? “I...I...Nothing. I’m sorry I said anything. I shouldn’t have.”

“But you did. Now spill it.” His hand curled into a fist and slid off the desk so he could press it to his mouth. Over his whitened knuckles, he stared at me with...what was that,
worry
?

No. He couldn’t be worried about my opinion. Surely not. I’d already told him I wasn’t going to rat him out.

“I assure you, there’s nothing to spill.” My voice was soft as if it wanted to reassure him. But I didn’t want to reassure him. Did I?

His throat worked as he swallowed. Then he dropped his hand, and his tongue gave a quick nervous lick over his lips.

“You—” Cutting himself off, he glanced down at his fingers clenching and unclenching in his lap. With a soft, self-conscious laugh, he lifted his face only to glance to the side at one of my bookshelves. “You’re really not going to expose me? That’s just—” He turned back to me, his expression confused and yet hopeful. “You could’ve gotten rid of me for good.”

“Yes,” I said. “But I didn’t.”

He leaned toward me, his eyes seeking. “Why not?”

“I...I just told you why.”

His brows furrowed. “Because you were impressed by how well I’d fixed my essay?
That’s all
?”

Clearing my throat discreetly, I glanced away, wishing I didn’t feel like a bug pinned under a microscope. “Well...mostly,” I hedged my answer.

“Then why else?” His voice was compelling. I had to turn the tables on him before I blurted out something embarrassing.

“Why did you tell me something like that?” I charged right back, but I could see on his face exactly why. I’d read enough books about serial killers to know sometimes people just needed to confess what they’d done, to get all their secrets off their chest.

But why had Noel Gamble cleared his conscience to
me
?

Shaking his head, he sent me a look that told me clearly he wasn’t sure why he’d chosen me. “I don’t…” He closed his eyes. “You challenged me. You told me to find a correlation with someone in that book. And I did.”

I nodded, my head heavy from what was happening here, between us. “Yes, you most certainly did. And you handed me written proof that you cheated your way into this university.”

“And you gave that written proof back to me,” he countered, his voice low and blue eyes alert.

I had. I’d given it back without telling another soul what he’d written. “How much did you have your GPA doctored?”

He blew out a quick breath. “Four tenths of a percent. Just enough to get the scholarship.”

I believed him. I’d looked up his records to see he’d made it the minimum possible GPA to get a scholarship. He could’ve given himself a straight 4.0, but he’d kept it humbly low. For a cheater, he’d remained surprisingly honest.

That had been another small but insignificant reason I hadn’t said anything to anyone.

His blue eyes watched me, reminding me of the other, biggest reason I’d kept silent.

He shook his head. “I haven’t…I swear to you, I haven’t done anything like that since I’ve come here. Everything at Ellamore has been all me. One hundred percent.” His grin was self-derisive. “Even those D essays.”

I placed my hands into my lap because they’d begun to shake. They wanted to reach for him and soothe and reassure him I’d never do anything to harm his education here. I could never hurt him. I wanted him to succeed as much as he wanted to. I wanted him to be able to escape his old life and help pull his siblings from it as well.

“I believe you,” I said. “That’s why I haven’t said anything.”

He blew out a breath. “Thanks. You have no idea how much this means to me. I’m not…I’m not used to second chances.”

“I know. I read your paper, remember?” I meant it as a lighthearted tease, but he winced.

“Yeah, you did, didn’t you? Jesus, you probably think I’m a poor, stupid piece of shit right now.”

Glad he wasn’t looking at me, I blinked repeatedly as the threat of tears stung my eyes. God, I wanted to hug him, so hard. What had happened to the ego-inflated football star I’d always seen in him? And aside from keeping my mouth shut about his cheating, why was he so worried about what
I
thought about him as a person? Aside from being his bitchy literature professor, I was no one to him.

He obviously didn’t let many people know these things about him. The insistent way he’d tried to retrieve his paper before I’d even read it was proof of that. And yet, he’d let
me
in. He’d shown me the real Noel Gamble, something he didn’t show just anyone.

Flattered I had received such a gift and yet scared to death about handling the fragility of it, I breathed in a deep breath before murmuring, “That’s the very last thing I thought. In fact, it didn’t even make the list of things I thought.”

His gaze veered to me, and I felt electrocuted. Dear God, but the hope glittering in his eyes sucked me into this bubble where there was nothing but him and me.

“Then what did you think?”

My cheeks heated. No way could I tell him what I’d really thought. No matter what, he could not find out I had a huge, embarrassing crush on him. So I blurted out something just as awful. “I thought I was an idiot.”

Noel blinked. “Huh?”

Damn it. Now I had to look away and address the bookshelves as I reluctantly admitted, “I judged you too harshly at the beginning of the semester and made biased, preconceived notions I shouldn’t have, based on my own past. Reading your paper told me I was utterly and completely wrong. I don’t blame you at all for what you had to do to save yourself and your brothers and sister. All this time, I thought you were the careless, arrogant, self-centered type who thought the world did and should revolve around you. I thought you would be a braggart, a show-off, and...and cruel.”

He tipped his head to the side. “Cruel?”

Scratching behind my ear and not even touching that one, all the while thinking about the cruel quarterback from my high school years, I cleared my throat. “The point is you completely astounded me. You had the courage to risk everything for the people you love. You came from an incredibly...difficult childhood, all the while taking on the responsibilities of your younger siblings, and still, you managed to accomplish so much. The whole paper was completely heartbreaking and inspirational. It was brilliant, and I needed an entire box of tissues to read it.”

I set my hand against the desk, hoping to brace myself and somehow stop the word vomit. To my complete horror, it kept gushing.

“I keep thinking about it and hoping the amazing man I read about accomplishes all his goals and finds a measure of satisfaction in his life. Plus I really hope he gets his family out of that awful place. And I really need to shut up now because this is truly embarrassing, and I’ve never said anything so unprofessional to a student before in my life. And if you knew what was good for you, you’d stand up and—”

Noel reached out and set his hand on the desk next to mine. He didn’t even touch me—a good three inches of space separated us—but it felt as if he’d just covered my fingers with his and squeezed pure life into me.

It effectively stopped my flow of words.

“Thank you,” he said. That’s all. One simple
thank you
and I almost started bawling. My lashes beat madly and my entire face was enflamed; I’m surprised I didn’t set off the smoke detectors.

When he leaned in toward me, I swayed closer too until we were both straining across the desk to meet in the middle.

He paused less than a foot away. “What am I doing?” he whispered aloud to himself.

I was kind of asking myself the same question. And why had I leaned in to meet him? Answering in my own covert whisper, I said, “I don’t know. What
are
you doing?”

He jerked back, ripping his hand off my desk. Balling his fingers into a fist, he brought them to his mouth, his expression full of frozen shock and dread as he gaped at me. Then he blinked, shook his head and quickly said, “Sorry.”

Since I was in total denial over the fact he’d even been entertaining the idea of kissing me, I arched my eyebrows. “For what?”

“Nothing,” he said immediately. He clutched the sides of his chair, still gawking at me with that petrified stare. “I’m going to go now.”

Shooting up to his feet, he whirled around and fled. But then he paused at my quote board. After digging into his pocket, he pulled free a sheet of folded paper. Without opening it, he plucked one of my tacks from the cork and stabbed his note into the center. Then he was gone, and the doorway where he’d disappeared looked extra empty.

A nanosecond later, I scrambled from my chair and snagged the note off my board. Whipping it open, I gaped slack-jawed at the words he’d written in a sloppy, bold scrawl.