Page 37 of Forbidden Professor

But then, he texted me at 7:45 to change the location to a Starbucks just off campus. When I arrive, he’s still not there, so I find a table and go over what I’m going to say in my head for the millionth time.

I’m nervous. My palms are sweaty. Other places are sweaty.

I know this is likely my last shot. What I say to Carter will either make or break us. If there even is an ‘us’ to begin with. I try to remain hopeful, my last crumb of hope being that he actually responded.

I stayed up way too late last night waiting for that response, falling asleep on my phone. When I woke up and still hadn’t received a reply, my heart sank.

Maybe it really was time to move on…

And then, the way my heart soared to life when he did respond… well, let’s just say I was so happy I was alone and nobody else witnessed the yelp that escaped from my mouth.

Carter’s presence in my life has become a total and complete distraction.

I should be concentrating on my classes. And I do, I try so hard. But I’ll be right in the middle of studying about anatomy.

Suddenly ten minutes will pass while I let my thoughts drift off into visions of his forearms flexing. Or I’ll read a scientific study about the intricacies of the human hand and get lost thinking about Carter’s fingers.

How they would feel inside my pussy. Flicking the nub of my clit…

Most days find me alone in bed, spending way too much time draining the batteries on my vibrator as I let his name fall from my lips over and over. And even then, I’m still not satisfied.

Only one thing is going to scratch the itch I’m feeling—there’s no denying it.

My obsession with Carter is bad. Real bad.

I know if I don’t do something soon, I’ll never be able to focus long enough to pass a class, let alone all of them.

The pressure is on, in so many ways.

So, I come up with a plan. As I sit there, hoping like hell it will work in my favor, Carter strolls in the door casually, stealing the breath from my lungs like it’s as easy as walking.

Somehow, he’s so much hotter than before.

He’s freshly showered. His hair is still wet, slicked back from his face. He’s wearing Levi’s and a dark green button down with a white t-shirt peeking out, the sleeves rolled up those damned haunting forearms.

I want to lick him.

Clearing my throat, I remind myself to stop ogling him as Carter walks across the room. I flash him what I hope is my most charming smile and not the forced grimace of a psycho stalker chick.

But one look at the expression in his eyes when he spots me leaves me cold. If I’m going to break through his walls, I have work to do.

I watch as he stands in line and grabs his coffee before turning and walking to my table.

“Hey,” he nods curtly, as he sits down.

“Hi,” I say. “Thanks for coming.”

“Yeah, sure,” he mumbles, sipping his coffee.

I decide to plunge right in.

“I owe you an apology, Carter. I never should have called you a coward.”

“Whatever,” he shrugs. I hate his indifference. I want to see some emotion, good or bad. I want to know that he cares. The Carter sitting in front of me is stone-cold and emotionless.

“Look, I respect your job. I do,” I continue. “Of course you don’t want to put that in jeopardy.”

“Thank you for respecting that,” he says, lifting a brow.

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