Page 9 of Hello Kitten

No. No, what’s he doing? Is he insane!

He’s not allowed to come. He was a one-night stand, and he’s my professor which means we’re not allowed to see each other outside of the classroom. He’s not allowed to talk to me unless there are rows of other students between us.

Don’t come here. I don’t want to see you.

He doesn’t answer, so I start texting him back to back.

I’m serious.

I’ll scream if I see you.

You’re my professor. MY PROFESSOR!

He doesn’t answer at all and I grit my teeth. Perhaps there were some things that happened in our night together that I forgot, because I can’t remember agreeing with him being in charge and calling the shots.

Maybe he’s full of shit and doesn’t really know where I am. But I already know, I can sense it the pit of my stomach as it weaves into a knot.

He’s coming to get me.

Danielle catches my eyes and I head over to her, my steps are sloppier than I would like, perhaps I can convince her to go toanother bar. I get halfway to her when a strong hand grabs mine and spins me around.

My stomach lurches and I brace myself on the person. “Too fast.”

“And you’re too drunk, let’s go,” a hard, domineering voice replies.

Slowly, I peek up as cold horror grips me. I stare up at Dr. Hayes. He doesn’t really look like a professor I saw earlier today. He still has on jeans, but he’s wearing a t-shirt. Like the night we met.

Why didn’t I ask what he did for a living? Why didn’t I ask a million more questions before making out with him and telling him to take me somewhere private?

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I argue, and try to break free from his hold.

“You want to,” he disagrees, holding up my hand as it laces with his. “Stop being difficult, Emily.”

“Or what?” I demand.

His eyes darken. “Don’t push me, kitten. I’ll put you over my knee, even if you’re the best writer in my class.”

“I am not! Don’t flatter me just because you fucked me,” I hiss.

His jaw tightens as he glowers down at me. He takes a step back, my hand still in his and I find myself following him. When we get to the door, he points at my phone. “Text your friends and tell them you’re spending the night with a stranger.”

“Ew. No. I don’t talklike that,” I hiss.

“You want them to worry about you?” he demands.

I pull out my phone and text a winky face. I shove it in his face. “Feel better now that you know you’re not special?”

He snorts and walks me to a motorcycle. I stare at it stupidly as he puts a helmet on my head and lift me up to put me on behind him. “Hold on. If you’re going to be sick, I’ll pull over.”

That’s the last thing I remember before the drinks I had tighten their grip on me.

five

Groaning, I sit up and rub my temples. My mouth tastes gross, my body kind of hurts, and my eyes don’t want to open. I flop back down and bury my face into the pillow until I notice that the pillow doesn’t smell right.

It doesn’t smell like lavender.

Drawing back, I blink a few times and realize I’m not in my own bed. I look down; my dress is still on, even if it’s bunched around my hips. My panties are on too. Okay, so I didn’t have sex.

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