Chapter 6
The following week, I wake up two hours early to get dressed for Professor Holmes’ class.
Since the blowup I had with Cassidy, things have been tense.
We’ve stopped walking to classes together, stopped getting lunch together and it feels like she goes out of her way to avoid me.
Her absence in my life is noticeable—despite my mixed feelings on Cassidy, she was the closest friend I had here on campus.
Saint Frederic University is a fickle place, and apart from her, I never really made it in with the in-crowd.
I only barely made it through the horrific initiation, and even then, I’m not like the other girls here.
They try to be as blond, as thin, as perfect as they can be.
I prefer my hair a little darker—but we’re all supposed to be blond, so there’s really only so much I can do—and I would rather wear darker clothes, too.
I’m bound by the Hemlock House dress code now that I am a part of the sisterhood.
As I walk to the lecture hall, my thighs rubbing against my bare pussy, I consider that in some respects this place is a prison as well. Not so much as my life back in Colombia was. Well, will be. There are still lines I can’t cross, things I’m not supposed to do.
Which is why this secret between Professor Holmes and I is so electrifying.
There’s just something so mind-blowing about knowing that even here, with so much on the line for both of us—even though he doesn’t know just how much this is a risk for me—we’ve decided to act on our desires.
A little voice in my mind tells me I should be disgusted that he’s wanted me all this time.
But I can’t even listen to it because I’ve wanted him all that time too.
Probably even longer, if you consider the fact that my eyes have lingered on his broad shoulders and toned arms since orientation day. I take a deep breath, adjusting my hair and makeup before striding into his class as calmly as I can manage.
I’m ten minutes early.
Professor Holmes is already in the room, busy prepping the board for his lesson.
Today, he’s dressed in a slate-colored silk shirt that hangs from his muscled back like an art piece.
His tailored slacks fit his body like a second skin, with an Italian leather belt and a matching pair of shoes completing the outfit.
When he turns around, my heart leaps.
His hair is styled differently today—clipped at the sides and longer on top. It shows off the more aggressive features of his face, like his austere cheekbones and those lithe lips that punished me so wickedly just a few days ago. He’s let his facial hair grow longer than usual too.
Something rumbles low in my belly when I consider that this change is probably for me.
I make my way to the front of the class, sinking into the seat that was mine before my life all fell to shit. I push the thoughts of my life and impending doom out of my mind. Instead, I try to focus on the next hour—I get to watch Professor Holmes in his element.
And he gets to watch me.
I sink into my seat and start to get my materials out for class.
It’s another few minutes before Professor Holmes’ eyes land on me. He’s standing over his desk, licking his fingers to thumb through the stack of papers. The attention is brief, but intense. His tongue darts out from between his lips to coat the pad of his thumb, and a shiver runs through me.
I know what that tongue feels like, what those fingers can do.
A small, almost imperceptible smile twists the edge of his lips before he returns his attention to his desk. Despite my tank top and short skirt, it feels like the temperature has gone up a few degrees. I shift in my seat and press my thighs together, trying to ease the throbbing in my core.
It doesn’t help much. If anything, the friction makes it just a little bit worse.
When I decided to come to class without panties today, I felt like it would be a fun thing for him. Not that my pussy would start acting up with just a single look. I blot my forehead with a makeup pad and take a deep breath, hoping nobody saw our exchange.
A hand on my shoulder startles me.
I twist to see Cassidy sitting behind me. She’s wearing a bright smile. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail and she’s wearing a matching vintage designer skirt set.
“I’m so happy you made it early this time.” Her voice is saccharine sweet. Much too sweet for someone who spent the better part of the past week avoiding me.
I bite back the retort on my tongue.
“You too,” I say, holding her gaze. Typically, she doesn’t sit this close to the front. “I’m surprised. Usually, you don’t make it here this early.”
Cassidy’s morning routines are ridiculous. They usually involve a lot of experimental beauty treatments and whatever ridiculous low-impact exercise she’s currently obsessed with. When she slipped out of our room early this morning, I figured she was off to do that.
“Things can change,” she says, curtly. “Professor Holmes doesn’t like it when we’re late anyway.”
Something about her tone rubs me the wrong way. When did she start caring about what he thought, anyway? I narrow my eyes, but don’t say anything further. She’s already looked away from me, focusing her attention on her phone.
The warmth kindling in my chest feels a lot like jealousy.
Oh gosh, should I even be feeling this way about him? In the haze of my lust—and I guess, the surprise of having one of your deepest, darkest desires fulfilled—it didn’t cross my mind how I would react if I found out I’m not the only one.
I should dismiss the thought like last time, but the fact it might be Cassidy makes this hard to ignore.
I glance over my shoulder, pretending that I’m surveying the class, but really, I’m sneaking glances at Cassidy. I give her outfit another look, this time through a different lens. Everything looks mostly the same, but it’s her hair that gives her away.
Her blonde locks gleam under the harsh fluorescent lights. That only happens when it’s freshly washed. Like everything else, when Cassidy washes her hair is determined by a strict routine. She never does in the shower, only at one of the salons in town.
Right now, she can only make it there on Wednesdays and Saturdays.
Today is Tuesday.
If her hair is freshly washed, she did it here, on campus.
I’ve only ever seen her do that once—the day after she hooked up with that Kingmaker boy she’s obsessed with, Alexander Duke, and wanted to make sure he noticed her the next time she saw him.
It didn’t work, but it struck me that she was willing to change her routine for something like that.
My blood runs cold.
“Cass,” I say, as nonchalantly as I can manage, hoping my voice doesn’t reveal the storm inside me. “You went into town recently?” I pull a small smile. “I’m wondering if the vintage consignment store has any new pieces.”
Cassidy shrugs, and my heart sinks. I brace myself.
“No, I haven’t been." Then she adds, “You can come with me when I go tomorrow. I’ve been dying to pick up some new stuff.”
I smile and nod, but my insides have withered. When I turn back to face Professor Holmes, he’s just about ready to start the lecture. His eyes meet mine, but I can’t hold his gaze. It’s as if I’ve been walking on ice the entire time, and the last bit of it has finally shattered beneath me.
How many other favorite students has he had? My stomach is in knots. Heat burns my cheeks and the back of my neck. I’m so fucking stupid. The outfit I spent so much time choosing feels like a clown costume now.
When I finally manage to get out of my head, Professor Holmes is already fifteen minutes deep into his lecture. Even then, I can barely hear what he’s saying. All I can think about is what a fool I’ve been.
“Miss Vásquez, a moment please.”
I’m numb all the way to my toes. A few students give me a look as I approach his desk—including Cassidy—but they don’t tarry. All the times she’s been missing from our room the past few weeks, was she with him?
Is that why she was spreading my secret? Was she fucking him this entire time and just wanted to embarrass me? My stomach clenches when I consider that maybe he didn’t even overhear it. Maybe she told him and they laughed about it behind my back.
What if they’re both playing me?
My hands are lightly clenched into fists by the time I’m at Professor Holmes desk.
He’s sitting with his legs crossed, twirling a pen with those long, sinful fingers as he appraises a document.
He doesn’t speak or acknowledge me immediately, only lifts his eyes to watch the last of the students file out of the lecture hall.
During that time, anger kindles inside me like a lit match. I can’t unsee the story I’ve spun in my head. I wish I could deck him—that would make me feel better. I probably should; it’s not like it even matters anymore.
My hands tighten.
Professor Holmes rakes his eyes over my body and licks his lips. “I appreciate the effort you made to show up early. But it doesn’t matter if you do not pay attention.”
His voice is like light warm rain on my skin, and I hate how it makes me tingle.
So, he noticed my inattentiveness.
“I didn’t think you would care,” I say sharply.
Professor Holmes leans back in his chair, dropping his pen. His green eyes hold a warning, but I don’t care for it. "Miss Vásquez, I suggest you watch your tone with me.”
I narrow my eyes.
“Why would it matter?” I say in a hushed whisper. “None of this matters. I don’t have to pay attention in your stupid fucking class.”
Professor Holmes’ eyes go feral; I’ve hit him where it hurts. He stands quickly, and I’m enveloped by his shadow. Instantly, I’m reminded of just how huge he is compared to me. He towers over me with a scowl on his face.
“This is your last warning.” His voice is little more than a whisper, but it sears my skin like a hot brand. “I don’t tolerate disrespect.” Professor Holmes’ eyes linger on my lips, then my bosom. “Not even from you.”
I scoff.