Page 41 of Bad Professor

“Because I’m old? Or because I’m a woman.”

To be honest, I did design the class, thinking there might not be too many females interested in taking it, but clearly that was a mistake.

I bypass both options, sensing field mines anywhere I turn. “I didn’t expect to see you again at all,” I tell her truthfully, letting my gaze drift to her lips.

“You made that clear after the class.”

“You didn’t text.”

I don’t mean for that to slip out. I can’t tell her the truth of how I’m feeling because nothing can come of it. But I want her to smile at me, just once.

Tilly pauses, her expression losing some of its coolness. “Did you want me to?” she asks. “You said you regretted it, so what would be the point? I’m glad I didn’t. It would have just—” She slams her mouth closed.

“Would have just what?” Tilly shakes her head. “Tilly,” I begin. Everything about her screams hurt. Disappointed. Yes, I brushed her off—a little harshly—but I had my reasons. She didn’t even bother to get in touch with me after I gave her the opening.

She’s a divorced woman who looks amazing regardless of how old she is. I’m sure our hook-up wasn’t a first for her, so I don’t understand why she’s so upset.

Tilly holds my gaze for a long moment, like she’s waiting for me to continue. When I don’t say anything, her lips tighten and she gathers her bag. “If that’s all…”

“I’m glad to see—thanks for stopping by,” I manage.

“I didn’t want to make a mistake with my paper.” This time, her words drip with sarcasm.

“Tilly… I’m sorry I said that,” I admit in a rush. “I didn’t—it’s just… I never meant to hurt you.”

“You didn’t.” It’s a lie. We both know it’s a lie, but it’s obvious Tilly can pretend just as well as I can. “You were just being honest.”

“But I wasn’t.”

I suddenly don’t want to pretend any longer.

22

Tilly

Things come to a screeching halt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Why did my heart give an excited thump? Dexter means nothing. Am I so pathetic that I’m looking for hidden meanings every time he says anything to me?

But how can I not react to the expression on his face? The way he gets up from behind his desk—a suitable barrier—and comes around to the front of it. The way he is so close that I could reach out and touch him.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Dexter says with a rueful smile.

My heart gives another thump. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

“Why wouldn’t I mean it?” He moves even closer; now he’s leaning against his desk directly in front of me.

If he dropped to his knees on his office floor, and I opened my legs…

I can smell his cologne and it’s making my mind do strange things. Imagine things that aren’t going to happen. Anticipate a touch that isn’t allowed.

“I’m sorry about the first day of class,” Dexter continues, because I can’t bring myself to open my mouth.

If I did, it might be to say Please. Because I have never been so turned on, and Dexter hasn’t even laid a finger on me.

But he could.

He could lay several fingers, and a tongue…

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