Page 46 of Bad Professor

“It’s not a deal-breaker for me.”

“What kind of deal are we talking about?”

“The kind where we get to know each other. We have a drink and see where we want it to go.”

“If we want it to go to my apartment, you mean?”

I laugh with surprise. “You said that, not me.”

She smiles with satisfaction. “I thought I’d get that out in the open, too.”

“I’d like nothing more than to take this back to your apartment,” I admit. Or back to mine. Or even finding a clean bathroom stall right here. “But let’s start with a drink.”

24

Tilly

Iorder a martini, which is a bad idea, but so is everything else about this night.

Professor Dexter Maclean is sitting across from me, sipping an IPA from some microbrewery the waitress recommended. And every time his gaze meets mine, he smiles a knowing smile, like he remembers what I sound like when I come.

I want to hear you.

I can’t stop looking at his hands. At his mouth. My gaze drops to his chest and wants to travel farther to see if his cock is straining against his jeans like it did the other night.

How am I supposed to sit in a lecture hall with this man talking about things that have no connection to him and me and how he makes me feel when he’s inside me?

“What you thinking?” he asks.

I wore my best underwear under my dress. Navy satin with black lace. The underwire digs in a little, but it makes my breasts look their best. And the panties are high-cut and makes my ass looks good.

The way your ass fits in my hands.

“I don’t think you want to know,” I say in a shaky voice.

“I bet it’s exactly what I’m thinking about.” He reaches out and strokes a finger over the back of my hand, and it’s like he’s stoked a weak fire into a raging inferno.

I’ve never been the type to hunger for a younger man, and now look at what I’ve found. Do I hunger for Dexter?

My body certainly thinks so.

I take a mouthful of my martini too quickly and the cold gin burns as it hits my stomach. “This is a really good drink.” My voice cracks and Dexter smiles.

“How long have you been divorced?”

I take a deep breath. This I can answer. “Two years. My husband left me for a yoga instructor fifteen years younger than him. They’re engaged to be married, and I’m on my first date in twenty years. Second, I guess, if you count Brian.”

“I don’t. And you have kids. I saw the pictures the other night. When I left—I’m sorry about that, by the way. I was flying to Cincinnati in a few hours to see my buddy in the hospital.”

“Oh no. Is he okay?”

“He will be. He’s a baseball player with the Reds and he took a fastball to the wrist. Broke it in multiple places, so the season is over for him.”

Dexter is friends with a professional baseball player? What is he doing with me?

“That’s horrible. I hope he’ll be okay. It’s good of you to visit—you were in Cincinnati for the weekend?”

“For the day. It’s a long story,” he hedges. “I’d much rather talk about you right now. There’s time for my friends another time.”

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