Chapter 12
“You like it, don’t you, baby girl, when I give it to you hard and rough, you little sl—” the low, raspy voice of Theo Andrews, my favorite audiobook narrator, erupts from the speakers of my laptop and cold sweat breaks across my skin.
Shit!Someone kill me now before I die from mortification.
The classroom erupts into laughter as my fingers fly to the mute button on my laptop. My heart clogs my throat, my face surely turning as red as a tomato, and I want the building to collapse and bury me alive.
Damn these social media websites for automatically playing when you open the browser. Last night, I was watching the latest audio teaser clip of a spicy dark romance novel and obviously forgot to close out of the tab.
The snickers continue and I bury my face in my hands, not wanting to face the world.
“Shut it guys. It’s just an audio book clip online. Don’t pretend you guys don’t watch them too,” Jocelyn says from next to me and I peek out from between my fingers and flash her a grateful smile.
Despite the dark circles rimming her eyes, which seem to have gotten worse in the last few weeks, she looks fierce, unkempt hair and all.
Jocelyn has become a good friend to me and just last night, she cooked me dinner when she heard my stomach grumbling at ten p.m. because I was so buried in my studies, I had forgotten to eat.
She gives me a wink and continues, “At least Millie reads…but if my audiobook narrators sounded like that, I think I’d give this reading thing a try too. Maybe I’d actually pass this class if I read more.” A grimace flashes over her face before her expression smooths to one of nonchalance again.
More chuckles echo around us and a few guys shoot their brows up on their foreheads, their eyes giving me the elevator glances, making me want to crawl back into the hole I desperately need to be in.
Utter mortification.
“Who’s he?” a cute redhead next to me whispers while eyeing my laptop.
I blow out a breath. Embarrassing moments happen to everyone. “He’s Theo Andrews and he—”
“Laptop working today? Nice to see you’re finally prepared for class, Ms. Callahan. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to begin,” a deep voice rumbles.
The classroom abruptly silences as our attention focuses on the imposing man standing at the threshold.
Oh. My. God. How much did he hear?
Professor Anderson’s eyes pin me in place. His scathing remarks are ropes binding my hands and feet. My body heats up again.
He’s leaning against the door frame, his posture deceptively casual, but his demeanor is anything but. His tailored gray suit and white dress shirt stretch over his body, an expertly knotted navy tie cinching his neck, but not hiding the muscles rippling in his throat.
My heart skips several beats as my breath leaves my body. God invented suits for this man.
He narrows his eyes at me before lifting his brow.
I blink and take a fortifying breath. “Yes, Professor, please begin.”
Class technically starts now, so my little incident before isn’t a disruption to class, and I won’t apologize.
His stare holds mine, as if he’s waiting for me to say something else, like stammer “I’m sorry,” but I remain silent.
The pulse, which had calmed down moments ago, erupts into chaos. I straighten up in my chair and tilt my face up, my lips curving into what I hope is a confident, composed smile.
His eyes flash with something, but his expression quickly shutters. Looking away, he strides to the podium and sets his laptop bag down before unbuttoning his suit jacket.
Leaning forward, a muscle twitches in his jaw, and he grips the sides of the podium. “I want to discuss a serious matter today. Fanny Reardon, can you come up to the front of the room?”
A brunette from the back stands up, her face as pale as a sheet of paper, her hands trembling as she slowly makes her way toward the front.
“Hurry up! We don’t have all day,” he barks, and I can’t help but flinch.
Quick footsteps echo in the quiet room, the tension thick in the air, and the temperature drops at least ten degrees. A sense of foreboding blankets the atmosphere and people shift in their seats uncomfortably.
“Y-Yes, P-Professor?” Fanny trembles before Ryland, a defendant standing in front of a judge for sentencing.
“Can you tell me where you were last Monday during our first exam?”
“H-Here, of c-course. Taking the exam.”
Professor Ryland’s lips curl into a snarl, the whites of his teeth flashing. “Do you want to revise your answer?”
Fanny cowers before him, her eyes darting to all of us sitting before her. Sweat mists her face.
“N-No. I was here.”
A stack of paper flies in front of her, landing at her feet in a haphazard pile.
“Gregory Timmons, get your ass up here!”
“P-Professor, I-I…” Fanny begins, her face crumbling, and she slaps her hands over her mouth, muffling the sobs tearing out of her throat.
A lanky blond guy stands next to Fanny, his fingers pulling at his hair.
“The two of you have the exact answers, down to every incorrect answer. Your essay responses, while the phrasing is different, share the same sentiments, again, including every single correct or incorrect response.”
Professor Ryland slowly walks around the podium, his steps slow and measured, a lion circling his prey before digging his teeth into their flesh. He cracks the joints in his neck, the sound echoing in the room as we sit frozen in our seats.
He hates cheaters.Jocelyn’s words before our first class reverberate in my mind. Oh shit.
“I can tolerate stupidity. I can tolerate ineptitude. But there’s one thing I can’t tolerate.”
The muscle twitches in his cheek as he leans down over them, even though Greg is almost the same height as him.
“I fucking despise cheaters. People who think they can take shortcuts and use underhanded methods to get ahead, to further their ambitions. Pathetic.”
My pulse riots in my ears as I watch my two classmates shrivel before him.
Fanny whispers, “P-Professor, we have reas—”
Revulsion drips out of every word from his mouth. He points to the door. “I don’t care about your reasons. It’s all bullshit. You both are the scum of the earth and I’ve reported your cheating to the dean and the disciplinary committee. Now, get out of my classroom!”
Fanny whimpers, her tears streaming down her face, and Greg shakes like a leaf before he ushers her out of the room.
The door closes with a resounding bang. My pulse is loud in my ears as the room falls silent, the quiet so eerie I can hear myself breathing.
Professor Anderson keeps his back toward us, his tall frame shaking almost imperceptibly, his hands fisted tightly to his sides.
Slowly, he turns toward us. “Let this be a warning to any of you who have funny ideas about cheating. Your futures will be ruined. No. Exceptions.”
His eyes sweep the room before his gaze lands on mine. “Am I making myself clear?”
I flinch under his withering glare. My heart rate skyrockets to the roof.
“Yes, Professor,” all of us respond.
“I’ll repeat what I said on the first day. This class is reserved only for serious students, no cheaters, no liars, and absolutely no distractions.”
He stares at me, a harsh fierceness reflected in his eyes, and I find myself breathless, with anticipation or fear, I don’t know. His gaze roves over my face like he’s memorizing every freckle on my skin or peering into my mind to wrench out every single chaotic thought fluttering inside me. I feel like a bird at his feet, and he’s staring at me like I’m his next meal. I should be scared, worried. My fight-or-flight response should be activating.
But instead, a strange heat flows through my veins.
No distractions.
My fingers curl into my palm, digging into my flesh, and I tear my gaze away.
“Today, we will go over…”
I hear his footsteps as he paces in front of the podium, but the words are muffled. I’m underwater, disoriented, trying to find my way to the surface, my lungs burning for air.
No distractions.
I feel his searing gaze on me for the rest of the class, each deep rasp and hoarse grumble prickling my skin, the air thinning every time he passes by my seat. A throbbing appears between my legs, and I fight the urge to clench my thighs.
My eyes dart up and our gazes connect. His nostrils flare and a muscle tics in his jaw.
No distractions.
I can’t help but wonder, is his warning for me or for him?