Page 62 of Defiant Beta

Della

“We’re here.”Mr. Vincent pulls up to a stark white and black-accented mid-century style house.

It’s tucked down a quiet road in a part of the city I didn’t know existed until now. The only reason I know it’s mid-century is because of a magazine I once flipped through, otherwise, I’d have no fucking clue.

Getting here was an experience.

I eye the house curiously as my math professor opens my door and motions for me to get out. “Was there a reason you kept doubling back on yourself when we could have made this drive in under thirty minutes?”

Instead, it took closer to an hour.

“You noticed.”

I look at my tweed-wearing math teacher, and I have questions about behavior better suited to a cop or a spy. “Was I not supposed to?”

He gives me a long look. “Come on.”

I shiver when a wind whips through the trees.

Suddenly, I am the proud wearer of the tweed jacket he drapes over my shoulders. I don’t understand why until Iremember I’m still in my hospital gown. Mybacklesshospital gown.

“So, this is your house?” I trail him, holding the gaping lower back closed.

“For now.”

Jeez. This guy treats every question like it's kryptonite.

“This doesn’t look like a math professor kind of house.” I watch him enter a code in the keypad beside the very modern front door. “It’s fancy.”

“And math professors aren’t fancy?”

He says fancy in a way that makes me think he’s laughing at me. I know that can’t be possible because he has the conversational skills of a ferret. A man like this doesn’t have a sense of humor.

He swings the door open, and I follow him inside, asking myself what I’m doing.

The interior is as modern as the exterior. There are bright white walls, exposed wooden beams on the ceilings, and a black metal balustrade leading to the second floor. It is so achingly modern that I expect to bump into someone fromArchitectural Digestsnapping pictures.

Then I look at my math professor, who has a coffee stain on the front of his shirt.

I turn to close the door. “How much do they pay you at the academy?”

I’m not sure what happens next.

Iwasclosing the door while calculating the monthly pay needed to afford such fancy digs. The next moment, I’m on the floor with my math professor glaring at me. “Why didn’t you say you were dizzy?”

“I’m fine.”

I’m not fine. My head is woozy, and there are two Professor Vincent’s standing in front of me. He’s hot, so it wouldn’tnecessarily be a bad thing if he weren’t glaring at me like he thinks I have a chicken brain.

He scoops me up. “Do you know how to ask for help?”

I snort. “About as well as you know how to answer a question.”

His face is granite as he stalks up the staircase with me in his arms.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Your room.”

---