Page 23 of Teacher's Pet
I’d seen this shift before, Ryan could go from lighthearted to defensive in a breath. If I wasn’t careful, the conversation could turn sharp, even personal.
“I’m saying it because I need that time for grading and other students,” I said evenly. “I appreciate your interest in the class, but I can’t always give you extra hours.”
He blinked, then gave a short laugh without humor. “Bullshit.”
My brow knit. “Excuse me?”
He snapped, the humor in his face vanishing. “You seriously want me to believe that’s what this is? And not your wife?” His voice rose, quick, clipped. “Did she complain about me taking up your time?”
I closed my mouth, my mind reeling for an appropriate response that won’t add fire to the flames.
“That’siswhy you’re cutting me off, isn’t it? Yourbitchwife?”
What the fuck?
The word hit harder than I expected.
I pressed my palm against my jaw, trying to control my facial expression.
Don’t get pissed off.
“Ryan, that’s not appropriate. Don’t ever talk about my wife like that.”
He stepped in, his voice quick and edged. “So it wasn’t her telling you to stay away from me? Is that old hag jealous?”
I held my ground, though the heat in his tone made my pulse quicken. “Enough, Ryan.”
“Or what?” His hand shot out, shoving me back into my chair.
“Ryan—”
That flash of temper reminded me of the first day we met. Small frame or not, his presence filled the room. I stood to put some space between us, but he pushed me down again.
“Stop,” I said, taking his wrists, not hurting him, just holding him still. “I don’t ever want to hear that tone from you again. I’m your professor.”
“You’re a coward,” he snapped, yanking free. “Does your wife bend you over? Fuck you with a strap-on? She must, the way you’re acting like her bitch.”
I try to walk back but his nails press against my hands, leaving marks.
My jaw tightened, and before I could think better of it, my hand twitched forward, sharp enough to sting but not enough to hurt. The sound was louder than the slap itself.
Fuck!
Regret hit me instantly, cold and heavy. “Ryan—”
He turned, palm pressed to his cheek. Then, slowly, a grin spread. “Did you just hit me? A student?” His voice was controlled, almost amused.
The apology hovered in my throat, but that grin kept me still.
“You know how fucked you are, right?” he said softly, almost with a smile. “One call to my father, and your career’s over.”
Tension coiled in my chest. It felt like whatever line I’d been trying not to cross with him had just been erased entirely. That first day, his sharpness, the way he tested me, maybe that hadn’t been a fluke. Maybe that was him, through and through.
“I’m sorry, Ryan. I had no—”
He put a finger to my lips. “I won’t tell anyone… but—”
The word lingered between us. His eyes stayed on mine, searching, maybe measuring. Then he gave a light push. Not enough to hurt, but enough to guide me back into the chair.
