Chapter 11
Cara
We’re in the third week of the semester, and my workload is starting to pile up. It doesn’t help that I’ve been completely absorbed in mythological creatures. Shit. I’ve been so foolish to think I could take on extra credit for a course that doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.
At least, it won’t to my mother.
But it’s fine. I’ll figure it out. You know why? Because what I want fucking matters, and this course is the only one I have this semester that I actually love.
I’m walking across the campus grounds on my way to the library when I hear chanting.
“Fight! Fight! Fight!”
The sound reminds me of high school, when the elite would get into brawls during lunch. What the fuck is going on?
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I round the corner to find a crowd of students watching two guys argue over a girl. From the snippets I overhear, it sounds like they’re close friends, but one of them slept with the other guy’s girlfriend.
Repeatedly.
Yikes.
The argument takes a physical turn, but I can’t tell who threw the first punch.
They pummel each other, and at first it looks even, but the boyfriend is bigger, stronger, more skilled, and when he gets the other guy on the ground, bashing his fist into his friend’s skull, I worry he might actually kill the guy.
“That’s enough!” I shout into the void, but my words get lost in the sea of students shouting for vengeance. The girlfriend isn’t doing anything either, just standing on the sidelines, one hand covering her mouth in fear or shock or both.
Fucking idiots, the lot of them.
Or maybe I’m the idiot because I step up and grab the boyfriend’s hand, trying to stop his next punch. With little effort, he yanks free of my hold, so I get even closer, ready to use the weight of my entire fucking body to stop this psycho, but of course that’s not what happens.
Instead of helping stop him, my face catches the side of his fist as he swings his arm behind him, preparing for another strike. I’m knocked back, my lip on fire, but the guy doesn’t stop throwing his fists.
“Break it up!” a booming voice calls, and I watch as the crowd parts for Professor Lucian. Somehow he avoids getting hurt while grabbing the boyfriend by the back of the neck and tearing him off the other guy, who remains still, his face a mess of oozing blood.
Campus security must have come with Lucian, because they haul the boyfriend away, and I watch as the girlfriend glances between her boyfriend—or maybe ex-boyfriend now—and the friend she cheated on him with.
It’s like she doesn’t know who to go to, so instead of picking, she just backs up and runs off like a coward.
Someone crouches down in front of me, and I look up into honey-colored eyes. They remind me so much of my Cooper’s that it takes a moment for me to realize who I’m staring at.
“Are you alright?” Professor Lucian asks.
“Oh, uh, yes. I think so.” I lick my lips and wince at the sting. Now that I think about it, my bottom lip feels gigantic and sore. Why the hell did I try to break up that fight?
Right. The guy might’ve died. But did he…?
I look away from the professor and find paramedics lifting the boy’s limp body onto a stretcher. He still isn’t awake.
“You should go to the student health center and get that checked out.”
Shaking my head, I shift my feet under me and stand. Or at least, I try to. I’m mortified as the hot professor I definitely don’t have a crush on takes my hand when I wobble a little. “I just need a minute, then I’ll be fine.”
If I go to the health center, my mom will find out, and that’s the last thing I need right now.
“Well, if you won’t go there, come to my office. I have a first aid kit and can at least clean that cut for you.” The tone of his voice tells me this isn’t a request. I can either go to the student health center or go to his office.
I guess being a hardass is a trait he has outside the classroom, too. Still, right now he’s the lesser of two evils.
“Alright. Thank you.” Neither of us speaks as we make the trek across campus to his office. The more time that passes, the more I realize exactly what I agreed to. It’s bad enough I think he’s hot, add in the after-hours emails and now a private trip to his office, and I’m way over my head here.
He doesn’t seem bothered, at least, but that thought only makes me sad.
I’m so screwed.
“Take a seat and I’ll get the kit,” he says after we enter his office. He leaves the door open enough for this not to be indecent, and I wonder if he’s thinking the same things that I am.
I take a seat in one of the empty chairs across from his desk and fix my hair.
This morning my bun was sleek and cute, but a fist to the face ruined that.
I watch as Lucian digs around behind it before pulling out a white box.
He grabs a pad and some sterile water and approaches where I sit.
He’s so tall, though, that this is going to be awkward.
Either he completely bends in half or kneels on the floor, and somehow, having this absolute god of a man kneeling before me on the floor of his office is too much for me, so I shoot up.
“Do you mind if I sit here instead?” I ask, pointing to his desk.
“You’re just, uh, tall,” I finish lamely.
“Go for it.” When I’m settled, he says, “Why don’t you tell me what happened out there?”
He’s standing next to me, heat radiating from his body onto mine, and I have to force the shiver down. “I don’t know much,” I start, but then his hand is on my chin, tilting my face toward his, and suddenly I can’t think or even breathe. He wipes away the blood, never once meeting my gaze.
What had he asked me?
Oh, right. “They were fighting over a girl. She cheated on her boyfriend with his friend and, well, he didn’t take the news very well.”
“That’s a pretty shitty thing for a friend to do,” he says before leaning past me to grab something else from the first aid kit, stalling the breath in my lungs once more.
He’s close enough that it would take very little effort to lift my arms and place them on his shoulders. I almost do until I remember who this is and just how fucked up that would be. Why am I even thinking about a professor like this?
I bury my hands beneath my knees on the desk and force myself to get it together.
“I’m sorry, this might sting.” His words dance across my flesh just as he touches the cut on my lip with something wet. It must be the antiseptic. I wince, and he doesn’t miss it. “Almost done,” he promises, but I wish he’d pay less attention.
God, he smells good. Like flint on the wind and smoldering cinders.
He shifts his hold on me ever so slightly, making his thumb rest on the uninjured section of my lip.
It takes gargantuan effort not to dart my tongue out.
Why do I even want to? I’ve never felt this much uncontrollable need before, and I sure as shit shouldn’t be feeling it now with him of all people.
I’m surprised I feel it for anyone after what happened with Brad.
Before I can do something stupid, he drops his hand. “There. That should do it.”
I expect him to back up, needing the distance between us more than ever, but he doesn’t. “Thank you for patching me up, Professor Lucian,” I tell him, using his title as a way to tell my brain that he’s off limits.
It doesn’t work.
“It should feel better in a few days, but I want you to promise me you’ll go to the health center if it doesn’t.” When I hesitate, he adds, “At least promise you’ll come back here so I can take another look, then.”
“I can do that.”
He finally steps back, and I jump off his desk, feeling shaky with something I can’t name. Or maybe I can, but I’m too afraid to.
Flustered, I thank him again as I head toward the door, desperate to escape.
“Try to stay out of trouble,” he calls out, and then I do the most embarrassing thing I can think of. Without even turning around, I lift my hand and give him a thumbs up.
Oh, God. Why?
I make it to the library in record time, but I doubt I’ll get much work done here. Not while my heart still hammers in my chest and my hands itch to touch him in all the ways he just touched me.
My phone vibrates on the table with an email from the very man I need to forget.
If you need an extension on this week’s assignment, I won’t dock any points for a late submission.
Take care of your lip or come see me if you need help.
Lucian
I reread it several times, and my heart trips over the last line. Take care of your lip or come see me if you need help. It replays in my mind as I try my best to focus on the microeconomics textbook in front of me, but it’s no use.
Each time the cut on my lip throbs, I think of him.