Page 310 of The Winslow Brothers

Since I’m not the easiest to get ahold of by email, here’s my cell: 555-134-6879.

I have the short essays and grading rubric for you. If you’re still on campus, shoot me a text.

Professor Ty Winslow

English Department NYU

Frankly, I’m just as easy to get ahold of by email, and I know I already gave her my cell, but a nudge to use it proves too hard to resist. All of my willpower has apparently been triangulated to a very specific area—my dick.

A few minutes later, my phone pings with another text message from an unknown number.

Unknown: It’s Rachel Rose. I’m still on campus. Meet you in the lecture hall?

This time, however, it’s a number I’m happy to program into my phoneandrespond to the sender. I know she’s avoiding my office for a reason, and I’m just enough of an asshole to push the limit. It’d be easier for both of us if she came here—to the lecture hall—where I already am. But some things aren’t meant to be easy.

Me: My office work for you?

Rachel: I can be there in about 10 minutes.

Her response is quick and accommodating, and I find myself impressed with her once again. She’s in a whole other league than any other game player I’ve ever met.

Me: Great. See you there.

Without hesitation, I toss my laptop into my leather bag and shut off the lights of the lecture hall.

In a matter of minutes, I’m jogging up the last few steps of the stairwell and heading down the hallway of the second floor. I unlock my office door with ease, flip on the lights, and step inside.

The small box of files I have for her sits in the corner of the room, and I pick it up and set it on my desk, my gaze flicking down to my desk drawer, where those infamous pink panties still remain.

I open the drawer with the intention of just taking a look, but before I know it, her panties and the note I left her the other day are sitting at the top of the box of files.

Fuck, Ty,my more responsible inner voice chastises.What are you doing?

Attempting to return these panties to their rightful owner,I argue back instantly.I’m trying to do a good deed.

Every working brain cell inside me knows that’s horseshit. But the blood supply for those cells is currently headed elsewhere, and yeah…I’m a kind of a fucking douchebag, but I can’t seem to help myself. The woman challenges me beyond my greatest fantasies, and I’m becoming an addict to her reactions.

After a moment of hesitation, I leave the panties where they are, still snug in the box of files, and brace for impact.

“Knock, knock.” An all-too-familiar female voice fills my ears, and I look up to find Rachel standing in the doorway.Oh shit. It’s time.

She’s far more casual today, dressed in jeans and a cream sweater and a pair of brown boots. However, the fit of the sweater and the jeans is so perfectly snug that my gaze can’t help but home in on the way her clothes show off her delicious curves.

This shit is becoming painful.

But it’s as if God himself sculpted this woman with only my desires in mind, and the kind of arousal that produces is unavoidable. It’s literally heaven-sent. Which, considering the fact that she’s Nathaniel Rose’s daughter and I’m not supposed to touch her, makes me wonder if this is some form of punishment for all the bullshit I put my mom through when I was an asshole teenager. Penance, I suppose you could call it.

Her eyes steal a quick once-over of my face and then my body, and my suffering grows even deeper.

Iknowthat look in a woman. I’ve seen it hundreds of times. It’sthelook. The subconscious one that can’t be controlled and tells me she likes what she sees.

It’s the same look I’ve been giving her for days—the one I have no business acting on, considering the circumstances.

“So…the essays?” she prompts, straightening her spine and crossing her arms over her chest.

“Yes,” I answer, clearing my throat. “I have them right here.” I nod toward the box on my desk and busy myself with a whole bunch of nothing on the bookshelf behind me. Normally, I wouldbe a gentleman and hand them to her, but giving her a little privacy during the moment she discovers what’s inside the small box is a higher priority. I am definitely an asshole—but I’m not trying to upset her. I justhaveto see how long she’s willing to play it this way.

“Grading rubric is in there, too, by the way,” I add and silently count to ten in my head, hoping that’s more than enough time for Rachel to realize she can finally wave the white flag on her lies without any drama or a witness if she’ll just take them now.

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