Chapter 6
I’M SO SORRY
Maverick
Icheck Professor Sweet’s office hours first thing in the morning. Luck seems to be on my side since she’s scheduled to be there at nine. I’m crossing my fingers that she’s the kind of professor who shows up early, because I need to deal with this situation.
My palms are sweaty as I make my way to her office on the twelfth floor of the English building.
I’m beyond nervous. The nightmares were next-level shitty, and I couldn’t eat breakfast, my stomach a churning mess.
I feel like a dick for the way I behaved, and it didn’t occur to me until after I’d gotten home how much I probably freaked her out.
I need to know what I’m facing.
I walk down the hall, glancing at the nameplates on the doors until I reach the one that reads Professor Clover Sweet.
It’s ironic that her name happens to be some kind of nature, flowery thing. She could be a character in a Disney movie.
If I believed in signs, I might think it was one.
I can smell her before I see her, which sounds creepy, and maybe it is. But her perfume is distinctive. It’s not floral, as her name would suggest. It’s like . . . cinnamon and something sweet, maybe with a citrusy bite.
The clicking of her fingers on the keyboard and the low tones of music filter into the hall.
At first, it sounds like classical because of the violin, but an electronic beat follows—a marrying of two very different types of music.
I stand there for a moment, listening. It’s an emotional piece, a journey through a river with everything from raging rapids and deadly waterfalls to the serene warmth of a bubbling sulfur spring.
I pull my hood down and hunch my shoulders, hoping it will make me less imposing. The last thing I need is to scare the fuck out of her again.
I take a deep breath and knock on her door. Her office hours start in twenty minutes. Hopefully that’s long enough to sort this out.
She doesn’t pause her typing as she calls out, “It’s open. Come on in.”
I push on the door, allowing it to travel slowly toward the wall, and I make sure I’m standing off to the side so I’m not blocking the exit.
There’s nothing I can do about my size, not a thing I can do to make myself less physically intimidating, apart from how I position myself and my body language.
I tuck my thumbs in my pockets and tilt my head down, so I have to look up at her, aiming for submissive as I take in her office.
There’s a desk, facing the wall so it’s not a barricade between her and her students.
A vase of daisies on the windowsill. A half-eaten Godiva chocolate bar next to her keyboard.
A small jar of individually wrapped Lifesaver mint candies sits next to the single empty chair, along with a box of tissues and a coaster with Book Nerd printed on it.
I aim for contrite when I finally speak. “Good morning, Professor Sweet. Can I talk to you about last night?”
Her eyes go wide, and she glances over my shoulder to the empty hallway as she rolls her chair backwards.
The office door across the hall is closed.
She’s wearing a mint-green cardigan and a pair of black pants.
Her shoes are flats. Her hair is pulled up into a tight bun, and she pushes her black-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose with her index finger.
Her nails aren’t painted. They’re naked and carefully filed.
The nail on her middle finger is shorter than the rest, like maybe it broke.
She looks different than she did in the summer, although a bikini shifts the focus. Still, it makes it tough to guess her age.
Her full lips thin as she rolls her shoulders back, sitting up straighter in her chair as she narrows her eyes at me.
“I should report you to the athletics department. Or your coach,” she whispers angrily.
I nod my agreement. “You absolutely have every right to do either or both of those things. And if you choose to, I will deal with whatever the consequences are.”
Her brow furrows, as if she’s confused by my response. I’m sure she expected me to come here and threaten to blackmail her again because we slept together.
“You could be expelled,” she adds.
“I know.” It’s one of the reasons I’m here, but not the reason, I realize. I nod to the chair beside her desk. “May I sit?”
I can practically feel her unease like another body in the room, and I wish I could do something to assuage that.
Eventually, she motions to the chair. Then she crosses her legs and her arms. Closed posture. Defensive. She also rolls her chair slightly toward the door. Maybe to get a better view of the hall, maybe so she has an easy escape route.
I set my backpack at my feet and clasp my hands together, propping my elbows on my knees.
I keep my eyes down and notice that her socks have little bunnies on them.
“I’m not here to plead my case with you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I say quietly. Before I walked in, I was, but now . . . not so much.
“Then what’s the purpose of you coming here? I’m aware of who your father is, and how much money has been donated to the school over the past four years. Are you here to tell me everyone is going to look the other way on this?”
“I sure as fuck hope they wouldn’t.”
Although I’m aware there’s a possibility that this could get swept under the rug, should she decide to bring it forward, the thought makes my blood boil.
And honestly, there must be video footage of me going in there that some lazy security guard is too busy jerking it to internet porn to be bothered keeping up with.
It pisses me off to think that if she did stand up for herself in this instance, she might very well be brushed off, and I could get no more than a slap on the wrist.
I look up at her a moment. “I’m actually here to make sure you’re okay.”
If she crosses her arms any tighter, she might crack like a walnut. “Make sure I’m okay? Why?”
I glance into the hallway as a pair of students walk by. I wait until their voices fade before I continue. “You were in a place where you should have felt comfortable, and I had no right to be there. At all. If I’d known you were in the locker room, I wouldn’t have stepped foot inside, Professor.”
“I still don’t understand how you got in there in the first place,” she whispers and fingers her collar, tugging it nervously.
“I found the key a while back, and since it was after hours, I thought it wouldn’t be an issue,” I admit, unable to stop myself from coming all the way clean.
“And the sauna in the guys’ locker room had a funk.
Women are better at keeping things clean, and I’m less likely to end up with plantar warts or a rash I can’t identify. ”
She scoffs and looks away. “That’s a stereotype.”
“It smells a lot better in there.” I run my hands down my thighs.
“Anyway, that’s not really the point. When I got home, I realized I might have made you feel vulnerable.
And I shouldn’t have said I could report you for .
. . what happened in the summer. That wasn’t right, especially under the circumstances.
So if you want to report me, I completely understand, and I will corroborate your story.
” I wait for the sinking feeling, the panic now that I’ve laid it all out for her, but it doesn’t come.
I know I’m doing the right thing, regardless of the cost.
“Corroborate my story?” She fingers the buttons on her cardigan.
“If you want to tell them I was in the women’s sauna and shouldn’t have been, that you were alone and I made you feel unsafe, I won’t deny that it happened, and I will take full responsibility for my actions. Even if it means facing an expulsion.” Or losing my potential career.
She clasps and unclasps her hands. “You’re telling me you’re willing to risk an expulsion because you might have made me feel unsafe?” Skepticism laces her words.
I glance toward the door and blow out a breath.
I don’t want her second-guessing my reasons for doing this.
“I can imagine that having me in your class this semester hasn’t been easy for you.
” I tap on the arm of the chair. The semester ends in five weeks.
She’s a visiting professor. Whatever I tell her isn’t going to matter in the grand scheme of things.
So I give her more truth than I probably should.
“My younger sister goes to school here, and she lives with me. If some guy surprised her like I did you, I’d kick his ass.
Maybe even worse. No.” I shake my head. “I’d definitely do worse than an ass kicking.
But since I can’t kick my own ass, I wanted to at least tell you I’m sorry.
And that it won’t happen again.” I set the key on the edge of her desk and add my printed-out, revised creative writing assignment that meets the minimum word count.
“The key works in the athletic facility and nowhere else. Thank you for hearing me out, Professor. I’ll see you in class on Tuesday. Unless I’m expelled. But if I’m not, I promise I’ll keep my mouth shut, and I won’t approach you again.”
I grab my bag and leave her office before she can say anything else.