The Professor’s Obsession
the professor’s obsession
. . .
Brad
I hate surprises.
I fucking hate them.
I glare at my old college buddies. They know that too.
I agreed to go out with them for drinks for old times’ sake. It’s not often the four of us are all in town.
I’m not gullible by any means. That’s why it’s even more incredible they’ve managed to so royally set me up.
It’s my thirtieth birthday. That right there should have been enough to make me suspicious. What are the odds that all three of them just so happen to be in town on my birthday of all days?
I should have known they were up to something. None of them are married, and apparently none of them have grown the fuck up yet. They still party like the frat boys we used to be. Not that I’ve ever been as big into the partying scene as they are.
I’ve always been more focused on my classes. I wanted to make something of myself. Now, I focus on my career. Once I made my mark in the world of art, I decided to teach it. I’m a professor at NYU, and I should be prepping for the upcoming semester—not fucking off with these boneheads.
We have a a private room at one of the swankiest bars in the city where we’ve been throwing back scotch. At least they’ve graduated from their beer hat days.
It’s honestly been nice catching up with the guys. Steve works in tech. Johnny’s at Wall Street, and Eric’s…well, Eric’s Eric.
He comes from money and can do what he wants to do. Which is apparently a whole lot of nothing. The guy lives life to the fullest. I’ll give him that.
And I’d bet my left nut this is all his idea.
Steve and Johnny have already ducked out on some bullshit calls they suddenly had to take, and that leaves me with Eric.
I narrow my eyes at my old college buddy. “What did you do, Eric?”
He just laughs, unfazed by the warning in my tone. “Look, man, you never do anything but work. You’re so uptight and tense all the time. How long’s it been since you’ve gotten laid?”
“That’s none of your goddamn business,” I snap at him, not liking where this is going.
He only laughs harder, and I think about cold-cocking him like I used to do back when we lived in the frat house together.
“That long, huh?” his mouth quirks up in a grin.
I run a hand over my face, frustrated beyond belief with this whole conversation, “Eric, if you’ve hired a stripper to come in here as some sort of sick birthday present, so help me God…”
He cuts me off with, “She’s not a stripper. She’s an escort.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter as I start to stand. I am not in the mood for this shit.
Eric puts a hand out like he’s going to hold me back, but he drops his hand when he sees what I’m sure is a murderous look in my eyes.
“It’s not what you think, man. This place is top-dollar. You get what I’m saying?” he asks me conspiratorially.
I glare at him. “I don’t have to pay for pussy,” I growl.
Eric shrugs. “So don’t fuck her. Or do. Whatever. Just enjoy the company of a beautiful woman for one night.”
I don’t know who the hell he thinks he is, but he’s definitely overstepping the bounds of our friendship. Just as I’m getting ready to tell him that, there’s a faint knock at the door.
Eric grins wickedly at me before going over to open the door. “Happy birthday,” he calls over his shoulder at me before exiting the room, leaving a woman standing in the shadows of the doorway.
“God fucking damn it,” I mutter, preparing myself to tell her this has all been a mistake and that her services won’t be needed, but then she steps hesitantly into the room before closing the door behind her.
She turns around and steps slowly into the light, long waves of deep brown hair falling over her shoulders and down her back.
She raises her downcast head, and I feel like the breath’s been knocked out of me.
An angel. She’s a fucking angel.