2. Vincent
Chapter 2
Vincent
I pinched the bridge of my nose and leaned back in my chair. This eye strain was going to be the death of me if I didn’t start wearing those prescription glasses. For the past three hours, I’d been peer reviewing an article for a colleague. After being hunched over my desk, analyzing the text for hours, I hated how much I was feeling my age.
Teaching this morning’s class didn’t help either. My students were all so damn young, rowdy. And horny. My God, their sex drives were relentless.
Under normal circumstances, I didn’t consider myself old, especially since I was only forty-eight. I preferred to use different words, like mature, experienced, well-practiced.
They fucked like rabbits.
I groaned at the memory of Elle Roche’s voice. I wasn’t a prude and I wasn’t naive. Sex was bound to come up in discussion when I was teaching romantic poetry and literature to college students. It was perfectly healthy to talk about it.
The problem was their complete lack of reverence.
I practically worshiped the texts that I taught. My students viewed it as nothing more than cheap and outdated porn. Many of these kids were rich and didn’t value the importance of their education.
Elle Roche was definitely one of those stuck-up wealthy kids. She reeked of attitude, and she certainly didn’t show any intention of cooperating, let alone studying.
Gathering my books and papers, I turned off my computer and closed my office. I didn’t realize how late it was, getting caught up in my work and losing track of time—nearly eleven o’clock. Since I didn’t have anyone to come home to, it didn’t matter, but crossing the campus to reach my car would undoubtedly be an adventure on a Friday night.
I could already hear the parties starting—thumping bass music that vibrated through the ground, screaming laughter from groups of drunk students, a streaker racing through the fountain in the distance. Thank God I wasn’t wearing my glasses now. All I saw was an indistinct, blurry, skin-colored figure, too far away to make out details.
Keys in hand, I was nearly to my car when I spotted a young woman on the sidewalk ahead of me. Judging by the way she swayed on her feet, she’d had too much to drink. Concern tugged me to a stop.
She was alone, in the dark. Not a good combination.
On one hand, I should mind my own business. On the other hand, what kind of man would I be if I simply walked away?
As the woman drew closer, I recognized her. Mascara streaked Elle Roche’s face. Her strappy camisole top was stained with beer and hot pink paint splatters. Her blonde, stick-straight hair was a snarled mess. And she was barefoot.
“Miss Roche?”
Elle’s head snapped up and she lurched to a stop a few feet in front of me. She blinked, squinting in confusion, until understanding dawned on her.
“Hey, Professor Hot Stuff,” she replied, her words slurring together.
I arched an eyebrow. My students weren’t as subtle as they liked to think they were. I overheard them talking about me on more than one occasion. I suppose I should have been flattered that so many of them found me attractive, but it was completely inappropriate and I did my best to discourage it whenever possible.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
Elle waved me off with a hiccup.
“Oh, just fine and dandy.”
“Where are your shoes?”
She frowned and glanced down at her feet. Then she shrugged.
“Don’t know. Left ‘em somewhere, I guess. They pinched.”
“And your purse? Phone?”
She shrugged again. The world could end right now and this girl wouldn’t give a shit. She was too wasted to care about a damn thing.
“You appear to be very drunk, Miss Roche,” I said.
Elle huffed and tapped her temple.
“Not drunk enough. I can still hear him—my father. Up here. In my head. I’m a dis—disappointment. A disgrace . My sister—she’s perfect. Daddy’s little angel who has never done anything wrong in her fucking life. But me? I party ‘cause that’s all I’m good at.”
I took my phone out of my pocket. She was spiraling fast.
“I’m sure that’s not true. You have many other talents. Does your sister live close by? She could come and pick you up. I’d be happy to contact her on your behalf.”
Elle sputtered a laugh, waving me off.
“Are you kidding? Helene would leave me to rot in the gutter. It’s my fault, she’d say. For getting drunk. For flunking. For…for everything. It’s always my fault.”
I glanced around again, hoping a friend of Elle’s might materialize and clear up the whole situation. Getting involved with the personal lives of my students wasn’t professional. If they were struggling—with the loss of a loved one, financial difficulties, or their mental and physical health—I granted leniency in the classroom where it was due.
Otherwise, I maintained a firm line with my students. I wasn’t their therapist, friend, drinking buddy, or potential hook-up. I was their professor. End of story.
Unfortunately, it seemed if Elle had any friends who could help, they weren’t with her now. Whether they’d abandoned her, or she ditched them, it was impossible to tell. And I had no way of contacting Elle’s family. It sounded like they would make the situation worse anyway.
“Miss Roche,” I said. “Is there anyone I can call for you?”
Elle stared at me with glassy eyes. She went quiet and her gaze turned distant, empty. She furiously swiped at a tear that slipped down her cheek, smearing her makeup even more.
“No,” she said. “There’s no one.”
I stifled a sigh. Damn it.
“What building do you live in?”
Elle scanned the dark campus with bleary eyes.
“Weston Hall. Over there. Daddy paid top dollar for it so I better appreciate it, he says.”
She pointed toward the south side of campus. There was no way this girl would find her dorm room on her own without help.
“Wrong direction,” I said. “Weston is on the north side of campus.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders slumped and she wrapped her arms around her middle, looking like she might dissolve into tears at any moment. I needed to get her home safely before that happened. “I don’t feel good.”
“I can’t imagine why,” I replied drily. “Have you had anything to eat tonight? Or were you strictly on a mission to drown yourself in alcohol?”
Elle scowled.
“Don’t chastise me. I’m not a—a child. And you aren’t my father.”
She spun wildly on her heel and leaned so far to one side that I expected her to topple at any moment. After taking a few marching steps, she put out a hand to steady herself on a nearby building. Then she slid to the ground with her back against the wall.
Jesus Christ, this girl was a mess.
Sympathy stabbed at my heart for her. Wearing that little mini skirt couldn’t possibly be warm enough in the mid-September chill of Massachusetts. I remembered how daunting my twenties had been, faced with all the uncertainties my future held. At least my family had been supportive of my dream to study and teach literature. It sounded like Elle’s family only shelled out disapproval.
I adjusted the strap of my book bag on my shoulder. Stepping closer to Elle, I held out my hand.
“Come on. Let me escort you home.”
She refused to budge, let alone look at me.
“Go away. I can handle myself.”
“You can’t even walk in a straight line.”
Elle pulled her knees up to her chest and turned her head to the side, shutting me out. I didn’t care that she wanted to be left alone. She was drunk and upset in the middle of the night, with no one to look after her. I wasn’t going to leave her like this. It wouldn’t be right.
“Fine,” I said. “Suit yourself.”
Then I scooped her up into my arms and started walking. My car wasn’t far, and I lifted weights in the gym that were three or four times heavier than her.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded, shoving at my chest.
“Getting you off the streets.”
“If you don’t put me down right now, I’ll fucking scream.”
I gave a skeptical hum.
“I doubt that. Your head must be pounding. If you scream, you’ll be in agony.”
“Joke’s on you, Professor. I’m already in agony—oh.”
Elle’s face screwed up. She went stark-white.
“Put me down,” she repeated, her voice shaky.
I barely had time to set her on the curb before she vomited into the street. Shedding my coat, I draped it around her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she murmured. The heat had gone out of her voice, leaving her looking like a drowned kitten.
“Is this the way you always deal with your problems, Miss Roche?” I asked.
She managed a dry, raspy laugh.
“Spare me the lecture. I’m not in the mood. I’ll be dropping your class after this.”
I frowned, confused.
“Why on earth would you do that?”
“Won’t be able to look you in the eye,” she muttered in the direction of her knees. “Puking my guts out while my sexy professor watches. I didn’t think I could make things worse, but apparently my ability to screw up knows no bounds.”
I sat next to her and cupped my hand around the bent nape of her neck. Her posture was curved inward, tired, exhausted, beaten down.
“Why don’t you leave the hasty decisions for the morning?” I countered. “Wait until you’re sober and clear-headed. You’re a sharp student, even if you are a little…”
“Mouthy?” she offered.
“I was going to say irreverent.”
Elle snorted a laugh then grimaced and pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes.
“Of course. That’s a very professor-like word to use.”
“The sarcastic students are usually the ones with an untapped and effortless brilliance yet to be discovered. I would hate it if you bailed on your education simply because your pride is a bit bruised.”
Elle mumbled a noise of agreement.
“I probably won’t remember much of this in the morning anyway.”
Taking her wrist, I guided her arm around my neck. Together, we rose to our feet. She grunted in dismay and turned her face into my shoulder. Thankfully, it was only one more block to my car, so we didn’t have to walk far. I eased her into the passenger seat, slotting the seatbelt into place.
Elle tipped her head back, eyes closed. By the time I had taken my position in the driver’s seat, her breathing was steady and even, signaling that she’d fallen asleep. At least she wouldn’t throw up in my car now.
I drove across campus to Weston Hall, but when I parked at the curb, I couldn’t wake Elle, no matter how hard I tried. She slept like the dead. Her head bobbed to the side, slumping against the window.
“Damn it,” I muttered.
Remaining parked here all night wasn’t an option. And I had no idea which room in the dormitory belonged to Elle. I could hand her off to the resident advisor, but that might raise questions she didn’t need, making her life harder. People would want to know what she’d been doing, drunk in the middle of the night, with her attractive professor.
Not to mention, my career would be put at risk, too. There were strict rules about faculty fraternizing with students at East Regent University. Even if my sole intention was to help Elle, there were no eye witnesses to prove that I had behaved myself around a drunk student.
I scrubbed my hands over my face and glanced at Elle, sleeping peacefully next to me.
“This is why I don’t get involved.”
Turning my car onto the road, I started for home. Bright and early tomorrow morning, I would have Elle back on campus. Until then, she could get a good night’s sleep in my guest room, with a pot of hot coffee and some ibuprofen to ward off her inevitable hangover.
And we would keep tonight’s events strictly between us. For her sake as well as mine.