Teach Me

Chapter 1

SUMMER

“No, I’m telling you, I heard he is hot,” Sam insists.

I roll my eyes. “You think all of the professors are hot.”

“First of all, don’t kink shame me,” he says as he points a finger in my face. I resist the urge to roll my eyes for a second time as I shift my stack of textbooks to my other arm while Sam continues. “Like, you know how we felt about Ezra in Pretty Little Liars?”

“You mean how you felt about Ezra.”

He scoffs, “Again with the kink-shaming, Summer?”

I dodge a girl who goes sprinting past us. “I get it, you have a thing for teachers, but you know what I have a thing for?”

“Graduating with my Master’s,” Sam says at the same time as me. “It’s okay, you can’t multitask. I, however, am a pro at juggling multiple things.” He gives me a knowing grin and waggles his eyebrows at me.

“Juggling men,” I mumble.

Sam is attractive in a cute boyish way. He has dark brown eyes that are almost black, giving him a mysterious air that other men seem to find irresistible.

He has tan skin from hiking and takes Zumba classes three times a week to stay in shape.

He has chocolate brown hair and matching eyelashes that I would kill for.

I completely understand why he has a constant group of men lining up outside his door.

“So we’ve moved on to slut shaming now?”

“Oh, cry me a river, Sammy. We all know that you do whatever you want, no matter what anyone else thinks of you. Not that I ever give a shit about how many men you invite into your sex life.”

“Do you hear yourself speak sometimes? Who talks like that?” I do roll my eyes a second time at that comment.

“One day, your eyes are going to get stuck up there.”

“Look, I’m sure for a fifty-something-year-old man, Professor Stirling looks great. I heard he’s a hard-ass, though, and honestly, I’m trying to keep a perfect GPA. I’m almost done and don’t want anything to mess it up.”

“Your dedication is what’s going to make you the best therapist for children,” he sighs as he drapes his arm around my shoulders. “I’ll do enough ogling for the both of us.”

I laugh and shrug off his arm as we turn the corner into the classroom for our Counseling Theories class.

I slam into what feels like a damn brick wall and am nearly knocked off my feet, except that someone grabs my upper arms in a viselike grip to keep me upright.

My books topple out of my arms, and the heaviest book crushes my toe.

I lurch forward further into the arms of the stranger.

My chest presses against theirs, my cheek brushing a magnificent bicep.

“Fuck!” I let out, bouncing on my non-injured foot. “Holy fucking shit!”

Sam snickers, and I shoot him what I hope is my most murderous glare.

“Quite a mouth on you.”

The voice washes over me like warm honey. Deep and smug. Just the sound of it causes a low tug in my belly.

I look up, and my eyes trail up over a perfect chest, which I can tell is sculpted like the statue of David, even through the dark blue button-up currently covering it.

Up, up over a jawline strong enough to cut glass, a perfect pair of smirking lips, and finally, I stop when I reach piercing green eyes.

I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach and can’t breathe.

He is arguably the most attractive man I’ve ever seen. Judging by his face—his beautifully rugged, handsome face—he’s in his thirties.

He tilts his head to the side, his smirk turning into an amused smile.

My jaw is on the floor. I know it is because his eyes dip down to my mouth, and his smug grin gets impossibly larger.

“Fuck, sorry,” I mumble, finally pulling out of his arms.

“Like I said, quite a mouth on you,” he says, that smirk permanently plastered on his lips. He bends down and starts scooping up my books. I stand there, opening and closing my mouth like a gasping fish.

His eyes pause on my bare legs, and I can’t decide if I wish I had worn pants or if I’m glad I wore the tan skirt that hugs me in all the right places.

Usually, I love this skirt—it’s my lucky skirt.

I picked it up thrifting and always had such great luck whenever I wore it that it became my first-date skirt.

But now I’m suddenly feeling self-conscious.

He looks up at me through dark-colored lashes and holds the stack of books out for me to take. I try to tell my brain to grab them and make a beeline for a desk near the back, but my body is frozen at the sight of this man down on his knees before me.

Heat warms my face, and I am begging whatever deity is out there that he can’t tell as I feel the blush creep down my neck to my chest. His gaze flickers to the neckline of my blouse, and I go from begging whatever force is out there to cursing them.

This guy probably thinks I’m a bumbling idiot.

I take the books from him, my fingers brushing his, making me nearly drop them again. He gets to his feet and runs his thumb over his bottom lip, trying and failing to hide his smile.

“Thanks!” I squeak before zipping past him.

Sam follows close behind me, and I hear him giggling to himself. I grit my teeth as I notice the only available seats are at the front.

Sam and I claim two slightly off to the side, and I feel eternally grateful that we’re not smack dab in the middle since there seems to be a high possibility that the entire class saw whatever disaster just happened.

“Oh my god!” Sam exclaims. “You just completely forgot how to function.”

“Don’t,” I warn.

“I have never seen you act like that before!”

“It was embarrassing,” I hiss between my teeth. “And you’re making it worse.” I put my face in my hands, trying to cool down my still-burning cheeks. “Let’s just forget that it ever happened.”

I take a deep breath before slowly setting up my desk.

I pull a brand-new notebook and pen case out of my bag and line everything up neatly on my desk, while Sam half-haphazardly dumps his messenger bag on his desk in his quest to find a writing utensil.

I cringe as what feels like the entire class turns our way at the racket Sam is making.

The stranger who starred in what will surely go down as one of my most mortifying moments starts to make his way toward the front of the class.

“No, no, no,” I quietly beg. But whatever force is out there clearly doesn’t give a shit about my pleas.

“No way,” Sam breathes, another giggle breaking loose.

The man stops at the front of the classroom and looks around before his eyes settle on me. He slowly unbuttons the cuffs of his sleeves and starts rolling them up his forearms without breaking eye contact.

Do not look at his muscles, I demand myself, though by the silence that has settled over the class, I can tell no one else is following suit.

“I told you!” Sam whispers, though it’s not as quiet as he thinks it is. “He’s hot.”

I resist the urge to shush him like an angry librarian because our professor was still staring me dead in the eyes, that smirk from earlier back on his face. The blush that had just faded starts to creep back in.

He scoops up a stack of papers and starts to pass them out to the front row. “My name is Professor Stirling,” he says, looking over the class with a stern look that makes students’ spines straighten around me. “You can call me Professor Stirling.”

Yikes, I doubt people were lying when they called this guy a hard-ass.

I take the time to really look him over as he continues to pass out papers.

He’s tall. A giant, really. He towers over me at 5’6, making him at least 6’0.

His dark brown hair is styled away from his face in a classic cut, which makes the scruff he’s letting grow in very aesthetically pleasing.

Okay, it’s hot, there’s no other word for it.

His eyes are such a vibrant green, they’re nearly emerald.

And worst of all. He’s fit. Like, incredibly fit, goes-to-the-gym-every-day ripped.

His biceps are bulging in his button-up, and I can vaguely see the outline of washboard abs through the fabric of his shirt.

I quickly glance around, noticing I am not the only one inappropriately drooling over this man.

“Is he even old enough to teach a course in a Master’s program?” I mumble to Sam.

“Who cares?” He grins back, fanning his face.

“Welcome to Counseling Theories. This course will cover the concepts and processes of therapy, providing you with a comprehensive framework and helping you navigate the complexities of human experience so that you may select appropriate interventions for patients. If you have any questions, feel free to email me or speak with me during office hours. If you see me out at a bar, do not ask to hang out; the answer will always be no.”

“Jesus,” I mutter.

“Still hot,” Sam says behind his hand.

Professor Stirling looks over at us.

“Stop, he can hear you,” I hush him.

Professor Stirling turns away to start writing something on the blackboard, and Sam makes kissy faces at me, prompting me to mime stabbing him with my pen.

I start scribbling in my notebook, trying my best to ignore my friend.

It doesn’t matter how hot the professor is for this class.

I need to keep my GPA up this year so I can get into the best clinic for my practicum.

I want my pick of clinics, and that won’t happen unless I have a perfect GPA.

I can’t get distracted… no matter how tempting being distracted by the good-looking professor may be.

I need to secure a place in the best clinic available for my clinical experience so I can hopefully get a job straight out of the program, possibly with the clinic that takes me on.

The last thing I want is to return home with my tail between my legs.

I need this. To stay in Washington without relying on my mother to help me out, I need to ace my Master’s program, and some hot professor isn’t going to get in the way of that.

The rest of class went smoothly, though the professor assigned us homework on the first day, which felt fucked up to me.