Page 4 of Arrogant Professor

I sighed, suddenly feeling like every step was ten times heavier.

“I’m doing my best, okay?”

Dad scoffed.

“You call this your best? You’re flunking, Giselle. I’m paying a lot of money for you to go to this school. I will not have you failing on my dime and making me look like a bad father.”

I wanted to pitch the phone down the hall. I wanted to scream until my lungs gave out. I wasn’t trying to fail. I just…didn’t get it. All those boring business classes made the text swim in front of my eyes and I couldn’t grasp it. No matter how many times I explained that, my father brushed me off and claimed I was complaining, or simply being lazy.

My father continued to rant for several more minutes. I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise anyway. And if I defended myself, it only prolonged his tirades. So, I waited him out, and eventually he hung up. Just like he always did.

I trudged back to my dorm room, cursing myself for answering the phone in the first place. Now my mood was in the toilet, and I still had homework to do.

A flash of neon pink paper caught my attention. Tacked to my door was a flier for a party tonight. Food, booze, games, prizes, dancing.

Just what I need, I thought. The perfect distraction.

Chapter 2

Vincent

Ipinched 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 My students viewed it as nothing more than cheap and outdated porn.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.

---