Page 8 of Bound in Debt
“I’ll try to,” I reply. “Though, I’m not sure how I’m going to do that when he’s supposed to be teaching me. I want to learn from the best. But I don’t think he’s going to make it easy.”
“Some shit happened in Italy. The dude gets all in his feels. Ma says he’s lost. I think he’s just a douchebag. Plus, everyone is still adjusting to Dad being gone, so…”
“I understand. If you need anything, let me know, yeah? I appreciate you looking out for me and I want to do the same.”
“Sounds like a relationship. You finally lettin’ me call you my girlfriend?”
No. Not happening.
Even if I feel like I owe him something. “Take me to Brucy’s and we’ll talk more then.”
His lips curve into a real smile. “Deal.” He wags a finger at me. “You know a relationship includes coming to at least one of my socials.”
“Don’t you have enough girls going to those?”
Liam shakes his head with a smirk. “Not any named Victoria Waldorf.”
3
DANTE
I can’t sleep.
My mind won’t stop racing with my new responsibilities as a professor of music. My life has well and truly fallen to shit. Anything else would be better than this.
Even prison.
As if the run-in with my nephew and his latest piece—that stacked brunette with the blue-gray eyes and an ass that’s a true masterpiece—wasn’t bad enough, I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to set up my office.
But instead of unpacking and settling in, my office turned into a revolving door. None of the chits who stopped in looked old enough to have finished puberty, but each and every one took her time eye-fucking me while making up questions about my classes. The jocks that followed them only ever stood in the open doorway, glaring daggers at me like they thought I’d steal their girls right there.
Thankfully, I have a killer death stare—ha ha—and the pups backed down quick enough.
They shouldn’t have bothered since I have no interest in seducing any of the giggling airheads who wouldn’t stop whispering about the new hot professor.
They probably think my class is going to be a joke. Something they can sign up for to easily meet their elective credit requirement. Because what kid wants to play an instrument when they could be out partying all night, finding a new hookup each weekend just by swiping on their phones?
This is a private college. One notorious for catering to the rich and influential families dotting the eastern seaboard.
Full of trust funds, spoiled rich kids, and too much entitlement.
News flash, I plan on being the most hated teacher on campus. If these little pricks think I’m going to sit behind a desk and let them throw paper airplanes around, the joke’s on them.
Because if there’s one thing I still take seriously, it’s the feeling of my violin bow in my hand. When my eyes close and the serenity of silence fills the air right before I summon the first note.
It’s an exceptional high.
One I’m sure most of these kids think they know all about, but theirs are swallowed or smoked. God forbid they do anything useful with their hands.
I leave my office, stepping into the corridor and locking the door behind me. The halls are empty, and I know the external doors lock after a certain time, although I don’t recall what time that is. I’m not worried. I have a teacher’s badge and no one said I couldn’t be in the music building after hours.
The smell of cleaning products has me glancing down at the shiny hardwood floors. They glimmer under the dim lighting and I wonder how much they pay for maintenance around this place, whether parents complain at the smallest scuff marks. You could eat off these damn floors.
Striding down a long hall and taking a right, I hear a girl’s voice bark out, “I’m not doing it! Stop asking me.”
I immediately freeze. All the classroom doors are closed, and I slowly continue down the hall as the girl keeps speaking.
“I don’t understand what you’re not comprehending. I saw you. I saw you, and you can forget about next summer, Liam.”
