Chapter 6
Alonzo
BEEP, BEEP, BEEP !
The timer on my phone announces the end of the twenty minutes, but I miss it because I’m looking at the student with the large dovey eyes.
Alex .
She seems lost and confused, like she just stepped into a parallel universe where the laws of nature are the exact opposite of her own.
She looks confused, clumsy, and insufferably cute.
When I picked her up from the floor, her shirt lifted by a few inches, and the back of my hand graced her skin. It was warm and soft, but it wasn’t until I looked into her eyes that she stole my breath. I saw a stare I hadn’t seen in a long time.
College girls have been throwing themselves at me since I started working here two years ago. To them, sleeping with the hot new professor is like a rite of passage, a trophy they can show off to their group of friends.
Honestly, I don’t mind being that trophy. The benefit is mutual. Not only am I getting a daily dose of orgasms, but they help me keep my mind distracted. When I’m with these girls, I get to momentarily forget the fucking Romeros and what they did.
One look is all it takes to know what these college girls want. And that’s usually me. But when I looked into Alex’s eyes, I didn’t see that instant infatuation I’m used to seeing in girls her age.
She looked beyond my eyes, as if she was trying to see the real me. It reminded me of my enforcer days when reading a person’s intentions was a matter of life or death.
Why was she looking at me like that? Who is this girl?
“Um, Professor Alvarez? Your timer has been going off for a while,” the redhead next to Alex says.
“Right.” I relax out of my pose and turn off the alarm. “That’s it for today. Just write your name on the top right of your paper and hand it to me on the way out of class. I’ll look them over this afternoon.”
As the students gather their belongings, I grab my button-up shirt and slide it back on without buttoning it.
The students hand me their drawings as they exit the room.
“Professor Alvarez,” a girl says, handing me her paper. “I usually have to warm up before I draw. It helps me get in the right mood.” She shifts her hips and tucks her hair behind her ear. “I hope this drawing isn’t too bad.”
I take a quick glance at her paper. The drawing is fine, but there is a hint of flirtiness in her voice. She’s fishing for a compliment.
“It’s fine,” I say. Her eyes drop in disappointment, and she rushes out of the room without saying another word.
Another girl, a brunette, hands me her paper. “I hope you like it,” she says with a smile. “I included something at the bottom in case you have any more comments.” She points to a phone number written at the bottom of the page, then folds her arms at her chest, squeezing her breasts tightly to show she’s not wearing a bra.
“I’m sure I’ll have a few comments,” I say, giving her a smile. She is hot and exactly my type, so I make a mental note to call her later if I’m in the mood. If anything, she can keep my mind distracted for a few hours.
With a wink, she confidently strolls out of class.
The last person to hand me her paper is Alex. She still has that look from earlier. Why the fuck is she studying me?
“It’s not great,” she says, handing me her drawing. “But I’ll try to improve during the semester.”
“You’re not an art major, are you?” I tease her. Her drawing is full of hesitant lines and forms that need practice.
“I’m a business major,” she says with a shy smile. My experience tells me it’s a genuine shy smile, not a cutesy pretend one. This class is definitely outside her comfort zone, which begs the question...
“What brings you to our humble art world?” If she is studying me, I can study her all I want. Besides, she is definitely eye candy. She has a gorgeous face and a tight body. She hides it well under her clothes, but I’ve seen her type before. She’s like a Christmas present ready to be unwrapped and enjoyed.
“I just needed a break from all the business talk. And I heard your classes can be quite fun,” she says with a smile. “Especially the extra-curricular activities.”
She says the last sentence with a particular intonation I am all too familiar with. She sounds like every other college girl who has tried to get into my pants.
Yet, I don’t believe her.
She isn’t looking at me like I’m a hot piece of meat ready to be served, which is how most girls look at me. Alex is looking at me as if she is trying to figure out who I am.
Why?
She’s not here to fuck me, at least not for the same reason as all the other college girls. There is something different about her. She’s hiding something. I can sense it.
“What have you heard about these…extra-curricular activities?” I tease back. Two people can play this game.
“Just that you are very good at teaching. Given your extensive experience and all,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ears exactly like that other girl did earlier. Is she just copying the other girl?
Jesus, does she not know how to flirt? Maybe I can teach her a thing or two. She may be hiding something from me, but that’s no reason to deny her a proper education.
“Well,” I say, glancing at her drawing. I adjust my tone of voice so she knows I’m only joking. “I don’t want to sugarcoat anything, but this drawing is terrible.”
She laughs a nervous laugh and apologizes. “I tried my best.”
“Maybe I can teach you a few techniques outside of class. What are you doing this weekend?”
She straightens up as if she hadn’t expected me to be this blunt. I’m already curious to see what she’s hiding under her clothes.
“I’m busy most weekends,” she says. “But maybe some other time.”
“What are you doing tomorrow night?”
“I think I work,” she says. “I’ll have to check my schedule.”
“See, how are you going to improve your skills if you don’t make time for private tutoring? I thought you wanted the extra help, Ms. Walker.”
“I do,” she blushes. “I just work a lot. But I’ll try to switch some shifts around.”
“I have office hours on Thursday,” I say, stepping forward and closing the distance between us. She licks her bottom lip. “Does that work for you?”
“I think so,” she says with a nervous smile. With that, she excuses herself and races to the door before I can give her a reply.
There is something up with this girl. Some of her reactions seem genuine, and others manufactured. What is she up to? Did some sorority put her up to a dare? That wouldn’t be the first time.
No. That’s not it. It’s something else.
Her stare makes me feel seen, like she was looking at the mafia enforcer instead of the professor standing before her.
???
There she is.
It took me a few minutes, but I finally found her. She’s at a rooftop bar at the town square, hugging a cup in one hand and yelling at a group of women walking on the street below. She’s telling them to join her.
I park my car a street away and walk to the bar. It’s Monday night, but most nights are treated like weekends in this college town. Crowds of college students litter the sidewalks, including many fresh-faced students who aren’t even old enough to enter the bars. They like to walk the square to see what awaits them in a few years.
I follow a group of college students up the stairs to the rooftop bar. Dance music gets louder as we approach the top of the stairs. A long, narrow bar lines the left wall. Above the bar is a red neon sign that reads ROOFTOP. Its light filters through liquor bottles lining the back wall.
To the right is a patio area, with tables topped with large patio umbrellas. The walls and rails overlooking the street below are decorated with neon string lights that flicker between red and yellow, the university colors.
By the time I order a beer and sit at a table, the women she was yelling at surround her. They dance by the speakers in a small area cleared of any tables. And they’re not the only ones dancing. A bunch of college kids and young couples dance with cups of beer in their hands.
I watch her and her friends alternate between dancing and drinking by the rails. After about an hour, she’s worn out, and I hear her say goodbye to her friends.
“You really have to go?” one of them asks her.
“I have work tomorrow,” she says.
She hugs them goodbye and makes her way to the stairs. Without breaking sight of her, I trail her to the street below. I rush to my car but glance in her direction to ensure I don’t lose sight of her. The crowds of college students have thinned out, so it’s easier to focus on her.
A few minutes later, I’m trailing her Uber. If I had been following her during the day, I would have stayed a few cars behind her to avoid detection. But it’s dark out, and most cars are simply anonymous headlights.
We drive south until we cross under the highway that splits San Marquez in half, then pull into a gated apartment complex. The Uber driver enters the apartment code into a security box and the gate opens. I drive close behind them and make it in before the gate closes again.
Once inside, I slow down and let the Uber get ahead. It stops at the end of the parking lot, and she stumbles out of the car and heads for a nearby building. As soon as the Uber drives away, I speed up and park in an empty spot with a clear view of where she’s headed.
She climbs a set of stairs and struggles to open her apartment door. She shakes her head after dropping her keys, then picks them up and tries again.
When she’s finally in her apartment, a light comes on at one of the windows. A few minutes later, that light turns off and another one at a different window turns on. That must be her bedroom.
I don’t know if she lives by herself or with roommates. That’s something I probably should have researched beforehand, but sometimes you just have to play the hand you’re dealt. Honestly, it doesn’t matter if she lives alone or with roommates. I know how to be quiet. Undetected.
Her bedroom lights turn off ten minutes later. I check to see if anybody is loitering in the parking lot. Nothing but darkness and silence. I’m the only one here.
I grab my gun from under my seat, tuck it into my back, and walk to her apartment.
It’s time to get some answers.