Page 6 of Arrogant Professor

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.

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