Текст книги "Finding My Prince Charming"

Автор книги: J. S. Cooper

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 9 страниц)

Chapter 6

“Catch you for lunch?” Anna made a face as we paused outside the door to my class. “I better go or I’ll be late.”

“Sounds good.” I smiled. “Have a great day.”

“You too.” I watched her hurry off and breathed a sigh of relief.

We were finally back on the right track. I knew as soon as Jason had come up to me at the restaurant that we were going to have trouble. Even though Anna and I were best friends, she was still ridiculously insecure and slightly envious of me. I understood why, but it still hurt me whenever she started ignoring me because guys paid more attention to me than her. And it wasn’t that I was so much more gorgeous than she was. In fact, I thought that Anna was one of the most beautiful girls I had ever known, with her long black hair and intelligent hazel eyes. I felt very boring with my light brown hair and brown eyes. I was of average height and build, and I knew that Anna was slightly self-conscious because she had recently lost a lot of weight.

I slowly walked into the classroom, wanting to take in my surroundings. Everything was so different in London. The building itself was supposedly an old residence of some Lord and everything seemed so grand.

“Lola,” a voice called out to me, and I looked up and saw Sebastian grinning at me.

I walked over to him slowly but quite happily. He looked even more handsome than I had remembered. His green eyes shone at me like emeralds, and he was wearing a plaid shirt that seemed to emphasize the slight twinkles of brown.

“How are you?” He stood up as I reached his seat and pointed to the seat next to him. “Please.”

“Thanks.” I sat down and unbuttoned my jacket. “I’m good. How are you?”

“I’m tired.” He yawned slightly. “Excuse me. I was up all night going through the textbook.”

“Not the entire textbook?” I looked at him in amazement. He didn’t look like he was a nerd.

“My brother will expect no less of me,” he sighed. “And some of these paintings I should know already.”

“Oh, have you taken the class already?”

“No, we own some of them. Well, I don’t own any of them, but my family does.”

“Your family owns some of them?” I grinned at him. “What do you mean? Like prints?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I mean we have some Cezannes and Monets in our dining room.”

“Dining room?” My eyes widened. “You have world-class paintings in your dining room?”

“Well, really it’s the great hall, not the dining room.” He laughed. “And so I should really be top of this class. I’m sure I’m the only one who has grown up with art in their homes to this extent.”

“Hey,” I chided him, “we have some great paintings of dogs playing poker in my house.”

“Well now, I correct myself.” He smiled back at me. “You shall have to tell my brother that you also are an art connoisseur.”

“Your brother? He’s not going to be checking up with you after the class, is he?”

“No, not after the class.” He laughed. “My brother teaches the class.”

“Oh good God. That’s awful.” I rubbed his shoulder lightly. “I’m sorry about that.”

“What can I say?” He leaned towards me and looked directly into my eyes. “It’s not going to be the most fun of classes for me.”

“I bet.” I swallowed hard as I stared at him. He was so good-looking and there was something so familiar about his features. When I looked at him, I felt like I was connecting with someone wise. I didn’t feel a sexual chemistry with him exactly, but there was something about him that intrigued me greatly.

“But such is life. No one ever said it was going to be fun.”

“That’s true.” I nodded in agreement. “That is very true.”

“Good morning, everyone. Welcome to my art history class,” a loud accented voice called out, and I felt each individual hair on my back stand up. “I hope you are all ready for a term of surprises.”

I slowly turned to the front of the class and froze as I saw who the professor was. “Fuck,” I mumbled under my breath, waiting for him to recognize me.

“I am your professor. You may call me Xavier.”

He looked around the room, and I knew the moment that he saw me. His eyes dilated and I saw a flash of shock before it disappeared and he continued surveying the class. He then looked back at me and his eyes narrowed as he saw that I was sitting next to Sebastian.

“Fuck,” I mumbled again as I realized that Sebastian was his brother.

“You okay?” Sebastian whispered at me, and I nodded quickly and gave him a quick smile, hoping that my face hadn’t turned red.

“Let’s get started.” Xavier placed his laptop on the table and stood in the middle of the room. “Prostitutes. Yes, let’s start with prostitutes.”

My face burned a deep red as his eyes met mine and he gave me a cruel little smile. I wasn’t sure where he was going with his conversation, but I was scared.

“What is a prostitute?” his voice boomed, and I felt like everyone was staring at me. “Anyone?”

“A girl who sleeps with men for money,” a boy at the back of the class shouted out.

“But why does she sleep with a man for money?” he responded.

“Because she’s a whore,” the boy responded back and the class laughed.

“How do we know someone is a prostitute?”

A girl near the front spoke up timidly. “She stands on street corners.”

“Yes, some stand on street corners. But what about a woman on a corner symbolizes her as a prostitute?”

“Her clothing,” the guy at the back called out. “Whores usually dress like sluts.”

“Hey, that’s not fair,” a girl in front of me responded. “You can’t call a woman a slut because of her attire.”

“What do you think?” Xavier looked directly at me, and I stared back at him with a blank expression, not speaking. “No opinion?” he continued while staring at me. I shook my head slowly, and he looked at me in disappointment. “Folks, you cannot be shy in here if you wish to pass this class.” He looked away from me, and I looked down at the desk, my face burning in shame and embarrassment.

“Don’t let him get to you,” Sebastian whispered to me. “I told you he’s an asshole.”

“Thanks,” I whispered back, starting to feel annoyed. Who did Xavier think he was?

“I’m sure many of you are wondering why we are talking of prostitutes.” Xavier walked back to the desk at the front of the class. “And I will explain. As most of you know, we are studying Impressionism in this class. The era in art that transformed people’s opinions about the woman’s body as a whole. As most of you should know, Neoclassicism was popular in the second half the nineteenth century. This art was more solemn, classical, and it referred back to the Grecian way of life. The lines were severe, noble, stark, and precise. That is what artists and purveyors were used to, and then along came some upstarts with a new way of painting and portraying the beauty they saw around them. Can anyone name any of the forefathers of Impressionism?”

I stuck my hand up, not wanting him to think he could railroad me.

“Yes, you. What’s your name?” he sneered at me, and I felt my blood boiling over. What was his problem? Did he want everyone to know that we had a history?

“Lola. My name is Lola.”

“Were your parents fans of Nabokov?” he asked lightly.

“I’m not sure who that is.”

“Come now. You do not know who Vladimir Nabokov is?”

“No, Professor, I do not.”

“I said you can call me Xavier.” He bowed slightly. “In this class, there is no distinction between student and teacher. We shall all learn from one another. We are all adults, yes?”

“Can I answer the question now?” I spat out, knowing that I was sounding bitchy.

I could see some of the other students looking at me, wondering why I was being so rude. Especially to him. It hadn’t escaped my notice that several of the female students had brushed their fingers through their hair and even reapplied lipstick. Xavier looked handsomer than I remembered, with his dazzlingly sharp green eyes and jet-black hair. He stood tall and confident in his manhood and sexiness. I knew that several of the girls were swallowing hard and trying to ignore the buzz of lust that emanated when they stared at him. I knew that because I was one of them.

“You have not asked me the question yet.”

“What question?” I breathed, hoping he wasn’t going to turn out to be some crazy professor and publicly shame me.

“But, Lola, how quickly we forget?” He stared at me and licked his lips slowly. I watched the tip of his tongue and shifted in my seat uncomfortably.

“Who is Vladimir Nabokov then, Xavier?” Sebastian’s voice rang out next to me, and my heart sank as I realized that Xavier had been talking about the question he had asked me and not about our night of passion.

“You do not know, Sebastian?” Xavier tilted his head. “And before people ask questions—yes, Sebastian Van Romerius is my brother.”

“Unfortunately,” Sebastian spoke up and the class laughed—me included.

Xavier stared at me with narrowed eyes as I laughed, and I made sure to laugh loudly as I defiantly looked back at him.

“Lolita, seducer, nymph, whisperer of men’s fantasies, forbidden love, dark love, taboo.” Xavier’s voice boomed as he spoke, and I felt my skin going cold as I avoided his glance. “That is what Vladimir Nabokov wrote about when he wrote Lolita. But this is not a literature class.” He smiled widely as he laughed gently. “I do suggest to everyone to read the book, though. It’s a great piece of literature. But let us continue with the class. Lolita, you may answer the question now.” He grinned at me, and my face flushed.

“It’s Lola, not Lolita.”

“Ah, my dear, my apologies. I got caught up in the moment. Something I’m sure you know about?”

“Manet, Monet, Cezanne, Degas, Renoir, Pissarro. They are all Impressionist painters.” I ignored his earlier comment. “I can tell you some more if you want.”

“No, no.” His eyes flashed with something akin to respect. “I see you know your Impressionist painters. Good, good.” He turned away and turned on the projector at the front of the class, and all I could think about was what a patronizing jerk he was. He walked over to the wall and turned the lights off.

“Spooky,” someone called out when as the room went extremely dark right before the projector lights came on. An image of a painting was now on the front wall.

“Does anyone know the name of this painting or its significance to our conversation?”

“The lady in the painting is a ho,” a voice called out.

“Why do you say that?” Xavier responded back.

“She’s sitting there naked with two men.”

“If there had been one man, would she still be a whore?”

“Yes. She’s naked.”

“So then we equate nakedness with whores?”

“She’s naked in public.”

“So a woman who is naked in public is a whore? How many people agree with that?”

Several hands shot up, but I kept my arms at my side, not sure why we were talking about whores in an art history class.

“I see. What if she had been naked inside a hotel room?” He looked around the room. “With one man. But she didn’t know him. What would you think?”

“I’d want to know if she was hot and how much she costs” Jason called out, and a gaggle of girls around him laughed.

I shook my head and rolled my eyes, I wasn’t sure why Anna always seemed to be interested in the worst guys. Not that I had a better track record. Shit, the last guy I had slept with was in the front of the class about to publicly out me for something that wasn’t even true.

“Would you pay?” Xavier’s tone grew serious. “What would that make you if you were paying for sex?”

“A man who doesn’t want to be bothered with a girlfriend but still wants to get laid,” the kid retorted, and Xavier laughed.

“Touché.” He sat on the desk, stretched his long legs out, and looked out at all of us students.

Everyone in the room was staring at him in amazement. He certainly knew how to draw attention to himself. The only two people who didn’t seem completely captivated by him were Sebastian and myself.

“Le Dejeuner sur l’herbe, originally titled Le Bain, is considered one of Manet’s most shocking pieces of art or, I should say, it was considered a shocking piece of art when he exhibited it in 1863.” He pointed towards the screen at the back. “Can you imagine living in the 1800s and seeing this? The shock value of a nude woman sitting casually and lunching with two men was too much for many at the time, and it was rejected by the Salon jury, a rejection that Manet used to his advantage.”

I leaned forward, mesmerized by Xavier’s voice and obvious intellect when it came to art. When he spoke, the painting behind him seemed to come alive. I felt my body humming with excitement. This was why I had come to London—this feeling of really learning and being around others who loved art as much as I did. Even if the professor was someone I had never wanted to see again.

“‘Le dejeuner sur l’herbe’ means ‘the luncheon on the grass,’ so you can see that the title of the painting is quite literal.”

“So she’s not a ho?” the guy at the back of the class called out again, and everyone, including Xavier, laughed.

“But what is a whore?” Xavier smiled. “Many believe the park depicted in the painting is the Bois de Boulogne, a large park in the western outskirts of gay Paris. A park that is well known for illicit sex and prostitution.” His tongue darted out of his mouth again and he looked at me. “So what is to be believed? Is she a whore or is she not?”

“Why do we think she’s a whore?” I shouted out. “Why are we judging her when we don’t even know her?”

“She’s naked,” someone cried out. “She wants to get some.”

“Maybe she is just comfortable with her body, with her femininity. Why should she be ashamed of that? Even if she wanted to have sex with one or both of the guys, why would that make her a whore? Don’t guys do that all the time? If it were a naked guy with two girls, no one would be calling him a gigolo.” I huffed out.

“Such a visceral reaction, Lola.” Xavier’s expression changed to one of humor. “You talk as if you know the lady in the painting. You defend her as if she were family.”

“Maybe Lola just wants to have a threesome,” Justin called out and laughed.

I stared at him with disgust. “I don’t want to have a threesome, not that it’s any of your business. But look at the painting carefully. Her pose isn’t provocative. The men don’t look aroused or in lust. They all look as if they are they’re just enjoying a picnic and she just happens to be naked. She is beautiful and unashamed.”

Xavier nodded and then started talking. “She is so unashamed that she stares at the viewer as if to say, ‘And? And so what of my nakedness?’ But for many, it was not just the subject matter that turned them off of the painting. It was also the technique that Manet used. A technique that differed from the customary Neoclassicist lines. A technique that other artists admired. And Manet became their leader and carried them through the Impressionist revolution.”

“So Impressionism means that whores are no longer whores in paintings?” the boy at the back of the class called out again, and I could feel myself growing annoyed with him.

“Impressionism means that not only did we see a shift in the art that was created, we also saw a shift in the way we saw the world. Art is not just something to admire. It is something to breathe and learn from. It is our history and our future. It is our very essence captured and contained for the world and our ancestors to see.” Xavier’s eyes closed as his words flowed easily like a fine wine down the throat.

“As you can tell, he’s really into art,” Sebastian whispered to me.

“Yeah, he seems to be really into art.” I smiled back at him, noticing now that they did have the same green eyes, though Sebastian’s were open and happy while Xavier’s were closed off and full of distrust.

“Class, today I want you to think about what art means to you, what it has taught you. I want you all to present and talk about your favorite piece of art tomorrow. It doesn’t have to be Impressionist. Tomorrow, I want us all to get to know each other.” He smiled. “And now, you may go. This is the only day you will get to leave early.”

Students jumped up eagerly, and I saw one boy leaving the room before Xavier had even finished talking.

Sebastian packed up his things and looked down at me. “What are you up to now, Lola?”

“I’m probably going to go to the library.” I shrugged. “I’m meeting Anna for lunch so I need to stay around the building.”

“Perhaps we can go and get a coffee?”

“That sounds like it would be very nice.” I nodded at him.

“What would be very nice?” Xavier’s voice was right next to my ear, and I shivered.

“Lola and I are going to go for a coffee,” Sebastian said, answering his brother. “And how are you today, Xavier?”

“Fine.” His tone was clipped. “I’m afraid coffee is out. I need to talk to Lola.”

“About what?” I looked up at him finally, and his green eyes were full of mystery, revealing nothing to me about what he was feeling.

“You inquired about an assistant position?”

“I did?” I shook my head at him in denial. “I think you have the wrong person.”

“The admissions department forwarded me a list of names of students who were interested in becoming assistants to help save on tuition.”

“Oh, yeah.” I bit my lower lip as I remembered. “What about it?”

“I want to talk to you about becoming my assistant. See if you are suitable.”

“Suitable?” I made a face at him, and I saw Sebastian rolling his eyes.

“Yes, suitable.”

“Do you want to interview me or something?”

“Yes.” He stepped back. “I will be waiting.” He walked back to the front of the class, and Sebastian laughed.

“Sorry. He doesn’t really have a way with people.”

“You can say that again.”

“It’s what comes of having everything handed to you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “Though I can’t really talk.”

“I guess you are brothers.” I stood up and grabbed my bag. “I guess I better go before he threatens to fail me already or something.”

“Don’t worry too much. He’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing. His bark is worse than his bite.”

“If you say so.”

“Trust me. He is very smooth. He wouldn’t get half the women he does if he didn’t know when to pour on the charm.”

“Oh, he has a lot of women?” A surge of disappointment ran through me and I wanted to slap myself.

“It depends what you call a lot.” He laughed heartily. “Let’s just say that our mother is very worried that he will never get married and produce an heir to carry on the family name.”

“Oh.” That’s weird, I wanted to say, but I kept my mouth shut. Who was I to talk about crazy families? Maybe they were from a family or country where it was important to have people carry on their names. Maybe they were still stuck in the olden days? It did seem like they were rich if Sebastian had grown up with masterpieces in his home.

“But I will see you tomorrow, yes? I will save you a seat.”

“You’re not English or French, are you?” I blurted out.

“How did you guess?” His eyes twinkled at me as we walked to the front of the class.

“I think I kind of knew when we met the other night. Your mannerisms and your speech ... There’s just something a bit different.”

“You’re correct, of course. I did go to school here, but I still carry the tint of accent from my country.” I wondered if he remembered telling me that the other night and I cringed at how obvious I was being.

“What is the name of your country?”

“Sebastian, don’t you have things to be getting on with?” Xavier walked up to us and gave his brother a look. “Mother would be disappointed to know that you aren’t concentrating one hundred percent on your studies.”

“I’m just talking to a new friend, Xavier. It’s allowed, you know.”

“Maybe you should think about what is best for your country and not what is best for your bed, dear brother.”

“Xavier!” Sebastian’s voice was outraged, and I felt my heart sink into my stomach. This was it. Xavier was going to tell his brother that he knew me and then Sebastian was going to look at me in distaste.

“Run along, Sebastian. I don’t have all day and I do believe that Lola would like to get this interview out of the way as well.”

“Good luck, Lola. I apologize for my brother. This is his first time as a professor. I think he’s letting it go to his head.”

“That’s okay.” I smiled at him warmly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait.” He smiled at me one last time before glaring at his brother and walking out of the room.

I stood there watching him and didn’t stop staring at the door, even after he had walked through it. I felt my heart rate increasing rapidly as I stood there waiting for Xavier to say something. But he remained as silent as I did. Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer and turned to look at him. He was watching me with hawk eyes and pursed lips.

“What’s your problem?” I couldn’t resist saying the words that were in my mind. “You’re such an asshole. Do you know that?” I glared at him and noticed his lips twitching. “Are you going to answer me or not?”

“What do you want me to say, Lolita?” he finally spoke and raised an eyebrow at me. My stomach did flip-flops as I stared at him, unable to forget and ignore how attracted I was to him.

“My name is Lola, not Lolita.”

“And I suppose you’re going to tell me you’re not a prostitute either?”

“You’re a fucking asshole.” I grabbed my bag. “I’m out of here.”

“Running away again?” His voice was tight as he grabbed my shoulders to stop me.

“Don’t touch me.” I shook him off me, ignoring the tingles that ran through my body.

“Leave my brother alone.”

“Excuse me?”

“He’s young and impressionable, and I won’t let a gold-digger get her hooks into him.”

“A gold-digger?” My mouth fell open in shock. “Are you joking? You’re really going to stand there and start insulting me again?”

“I’m not insulting you. I’m just letting you know that I have your number.”

“You have my number?” I repeated, dumbfounded.

“I know what sort of girl you are, Lola Franklin,” he sneered, and he moved his face closer to mine. “I’ve got your number all right.”

“There is no way in hell I’m staying around to listen to you insult me, Professor Van Romerius.” I quickly turned around again and walked towards the door.

“Wait.” His voice was commanding, and I stopped involuntarily, a part of me hoping that he was about to apologize.

“What?” I watched as he walked up to me casually. He looked like a lion about to attack his prey. I swallowed hard as I realized I was the prey.

“I just wanted to do this.”

He stopped in front of me, and before I knew what was happening, his lips were crushing down on mine and his hands were on my lower back, bringing me into him. My breasts crushed against his chest and I felt as if my soul were leaving my body as his tongue consumed me roughly, as his hands caressed my back. My hands found their way to his head and I ran my fingers through his silky tresses, allowing myself to forget how much I hated him as my hunger took over.

He tasted so goddamn delicious—even better than I had remembered. His lips were sweeter somehow, plump and sweet like ripe grapes. My brain was screaming at me to pull away, to stop his invasion of my mouth, but I couldn’t. My body didn’t want to run away from his touch, even though my mind did. But Xavier did it for me. He broke off the kiss slowly and pulled away from me. I waited for him to say something scathing, something that would make me hate him again, but instead he lightly touched my lips with his fingers and stared at me consideringly.

“You really shouldn’t let strange men kiss you.”

“I don’t think I let you. You didn’t really ask.”

“No. You are right. I didn’t.” He nodded slightly and a harried expression crossed his face. “I do suppose you are right.”

“You shouldn’t be kissing your students.” I started getting angry, wanting to show him that I had some power as well. “I’m sure it could get you fired.”

“Perhaps.” He nodded and the humor was back in his eyes. “But I’d rather kiss you than have you try to trap my brother.”

“How do you know I wouldn’t be trying to trap you?” I snapped, annoyed again.

“You could never trap me.” He laughed, a slow, long, dry laugh. But there was no humor in his eyes. “I’m older and smarter than Sebastian. That is why I need to protect him.”

“And when you fucked me the other day, who were you protecting then?” I tried to keep my voice strong as hurt course through me.

“I fucked you because I wanted to feel myself inside of your sweet body,” he murmurred as he looked me over slowly. “No other reason.”

Our eyes stayed locked for a few minutes as we just stood there staring at each other, and I felt my knees start to tremble. It was almost too much. He was too much.

“I’ll leave your class.” I took a step back.

“And go where?”

“I can join the literature program.” I swallowed. “My friend Anna is in it. She told me they need more people.”

“You didn’t even know who Nabokov is,” he sneered. “I don’t think the literature program will be a good fit for you.”

“I can’t stay in this class if you’re going to insult me.” I shook my head to clear my thoughts. My brain was starting to get cloudy from being so close to him.

“I didn’t know I had insulted you.”

“What?” I looked at him in disbelief. “You’ve basically called me a whore and a gold-digger, and you don’t know that you’ve insulted me?”

“Your skin is too thin.”

“Can I go?” I sighed and waited for his response. I didn’t want to deal with him. I needed time to think.

“I haven’t interviewed you for the position as yet.”

“Forget it.” I shrugged. “I don’t want it anymore.”

“Come, now. Surely that’s not true.”

“I don’t want to work for or with you.”

“I should be hurt.” He laughed, but his eyes were blank. “But I’m not.”

“I’m sure you’re not.”

“You start tomorrow at eight.”

“What?” I frowned, wondering if I had heard correctly. “What do you mean?”

“Was I not clear? You should come to my office tomorrow at eight a.m.”

“You haven’t even interviewed me yet.”

“You were the only applicant, so you win.”

“I didn’t win anything. I told you, I don’t want the position.”

“Are you scared, little Lolita?”

“Scared of what?” I took another step back as he took a step forward. I couldn’t allow him to touch me again. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from responding if he touched me again.

“Scared because I know who you are.”

“I don’t know what you think you know.” I looked him in the eye. “And I’d never be scared of an asshole like you. I accept the position.”

“Good.” He smiled and walked back to his desk as if nothing had just happened. He picked up his briefcase and pulled out his cell phone. “What’s your phone number?”

“Why do you want my number?”

“So I can text you my address.”

“Why do I need your address?”

“Because that is where my office is.”

“What? It’s not here?”

“No.” He shook his head. “It’s in Knightsbridge.”

“Can’t I just meet you here?”

“No.”

I frowned. “But why were you in a hotel the other night—”

“What is your number, Lola?” He cut me off and handed me his phone. “Input it here, I’ll text you my address, and I’ll expect you in the morning. Don’t be late.”

“I don’t even know what to say,” I mumbled as I put my number into his phone.

“No need to say anything.” He took the phone back from me and put it in his pocket.

“What am I going to be doing for you?”

“We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”

“Oh God, you don’t expect me to be your assistant-slash-lover, do you?” I blurted out. “I’ve read books about this, you know. Man in power hires poor, innocent girl to be his assistant, but really she’s his sex toy to have sex at his whim. Just because I slept with you once doesn’t mean you can bend me over a desk at your will. Contrary to what you may think, I’m not a slut and I can’t be bought.” I took a deep breath and continued, ignoring the sudden light shining in his eyes. “You’re my professor. You can’t do this. I can get you fired. This is sexual harassment.”

“See, Lola,” he spoke quietly, “this is why you shouldn’t study literature.”

“What?” I frowned at him. That was his response to my entire diatribe?

“What kind of books are you reading?” He laughed. “I’ve never heard of any great literature with the premise of ‘easy girl becomes sex slave to powerful man.’ Put down the Harlequins and learn about real life, Lola. I neither want nor need you to do any sexual favors for me.”

“I ...” I mumbled, flabbergasted at his words. “I don’t read Harlequins.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want you to go getting any dreams in your head about this situation. I know how you girls are. You will never have a relationship with me or my brother.” His eyes flashed at me. “And while I admit you were good for a night, I’ve no need to repeat it.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“I’ll see you in the morning, Lolita.”

And with that, he sauntered out of the room, leaving me standing there, wondering what the hell was going on.

* * *

His View

I was excited for the first day of class. I wanted to see her face when she realized I was going to be her professor. Would her face go red? Would she run out of the room? Maybe she’d pull me out of the classroom and argue with me. Maybe I’d push her against the wall and lift her up and press myself into her, so she could feel how much I’d missed her.

“Don’t be crazy, Xavier,” I lectured myself. I knew I was treading in murky waters. Lola was going to be my student. I was her professor. It was already pretty scandalous that we’d slept together. I’d be crazy to sleep with her again as her professor—but then, I liked crazy. I had only taken this job as a favor to the president of the university. And it was a study abroad program. I was sure that the rules weren’t as strict about professors and students dating. And it wasn’t like I was in it for the dating part anyways.

* * *

I walked into the classroom and called out my name. I saw Lola right away. I felt my cock hardening as soon as I saw her. She looked at me in shock and I tried not to grin. Then I saw my brother, Sebastian whispering in my ear and I felt a jolt of jealousy. Had she already moved on? I frowned as I watched them together. Their body language indicated that they already had some sort of friendship. I was furious inside. I couldn’t believe that she had already found my brother. I had been sitting at home all weekend, excited about the possibility of seeing her again, but she had already moved on.