Page 4 of Ruthless Temptation
He’s my favorite secret.
Professor Holmes comes to a stop in the center of the room, with his hands folded behind his back. He surveys the room again, and goosebumps prickle my skin when his eyes land on me. His gaze is harsh this morning. He’s upset about something.
Before my world imploded, I chased those looks like a high. I would spend hours making sure my makeup was impeccable, that my hair was flawless, that my boobs looked right in my tank top, that my skirt was just short enough to show a seductive sliver of thigh when I sat.
I would sit at the front and ask him every question I could think of and laugh at all his corny jokes, because I genuinely found them funny. The last three weeks, I’ve been struggling to keep my head above water.
This class is still my safe space.
“Alright class,” Professor Holmes’ smooth accented voice cuts through my thoughts. “Please pass your assignments from last week’s class to the person at the end of each row.”
My mind grinds to a halt. Panic squeezes my throat, and I turn to Cassidy, who has already started sifting through the contents of her bag.
“What assignment?” I ask her.
Cassidy grins, pulling a folder out of her bag. She takes a stack of papers from it and passes it down the row. “Weren’t you at the last class?” She narrows her eyes. “The topic for the essay was on the board for the whole time. He even spent a few minutes discussing what he wanted us to do.”
I shake my head even as my throat grows thick. “Why didn’t you remind me?” I ask, but Cassidy’s already turned her attention to her phone.
Though this isn’t the first assignment I’ve missed in the last three weeks, it’s the first I feel ashamed about. When I track my eyes back to Professor Holmes, I’m stunned.
He’s standing with his arms crossed, glaring at me.
His features are set in a slight, disapproving scowl. That’s all it takes for the wave of embarrassment to pull me under. My chest tightens and I’m hot in the most uncomfortable places—my face, neck and ears.
I want to look away from him, but I can’t. My mouth opens, but I close it when the words don’t come. What would I say to him anyway? Even in my own mind it sounds whiny and pathetic, unintelligent even.
He holds my gaze until all the assignments are stacked at the end of the row closest to him.
“Miss Garcia Vásquez, did you forget to add your essay to the pile?” Professor Holmes asks, and instantly a hundred more eyes are on me. I’m like a deer caught in headlights. “Or are you trying to disrespect this class further by not even bothering to do the work you’ve been assigned?”
My head spins. His words pierce my chest. “Uh, no—I,” I stumble over my words, my gaze bouncing between him,Cassidy and some other students in the class. “I’m not trying to disrespect the class, sir.”
I’m confused about that last bit.
“I didn’t say you were trying.” His scowl deepens. “You already have. Showing up to my class late for the third week in a row, not to mention dressing like a crackhead.”
My jaw drops and heat blooms across my cheeks.
Raucous laughter erupts from the students. I’m frozen in place with a death grip on my handbag. My eyes burn while I stare at him. It’s been harder to care about my appearance as of late, but the fact that he would notice and call me out in front of the entire class? I want to disappear.
When the laughter has died down, he speaks again. “Stay back after class, Miss Vásquez. We have a lot to discuss.” The severity of his tone has sweat beading on my lip.
I swallow thickly, covering my face with my hands.
Just when I thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse.
3
Nausea swirlsin my stomach as I watch the students file out of the lecture hall.
Thankfully, I skipped breakfast this morning, else it would be on the floor. Things are embarrassing as it is. If I puked, I don’t think I would ever live it down.
In addition to making a further fool of myself in front of Professor Holmes, I’m certain my classmates would hold it over my head for as long as they could—I’m already at their mercy because of my thick accent.
“Good luck,” Cassidy says, squeezing past me on her way out of the aisle. “Beg him, maybe?" She shoulders her bag and smooths down her middle part. “He doesn’t seem like the type to fail you. Maybe he’ll give you an extra day to submit it.”
Her words offer me little consolation. I didn’t think Professor Holmes the type to insult me in front of the entire class either, but here we are.
