Forbidden Attraction (Forbidden Trilogy) (2 page)

AS I WALK into class, I immediately see Liam sitting toward the front of the class and he has a seat reserved next to him. He gives me a half smile as I sit down. I can sense his apprehension and I wonder what is bothering him. He has been like this for the past two weeks.

I have asked him about it, but he just keeps putting it off on the stress of football. I am starting to worry, but I am pulled from my thoughts when our professor walks in.
Holy cow
. We have hit the professor lotto. I have never seen a professor who looks like he could be a GQ model.

He has inky black hair that is tapered on the sides and longer on top that makes you want to run your fingers through it. My eyes peruse the rest of him and I am equally impressed: piercing cerulean blue eyes, chiseled facial features, a five o’clock shadow hinting rugged but manly, lean body, muscular broad shoulders, and narrow hips. To add to his perfection, he is wearing a crisp white button down shirt that provides a subtle hint of his ripped abs, a purple tie, and black tailored slacks that hang delectably low on his hips while showcasing his powerful quadriceps. His clothes look to be above his pay grade. He looks more like a CEO than a professor. When he opens his mouth to introduce himself as Professor Michaels to the class, I am done. The timber of his voice is low with a hint of rasp that sends tingles through my body.

As I look around the room, I see the female population of the class sit a little straighter in their seats to get a better look at our captivating professor. Some of the men roll their eyes at the blatant attention he is getting. I suspect they are jealous. Liam briefly looks for my reaction and I immediately feel guilty. I have been caught ogling our professor, but I would have to be dead not to notice how sinfully gorgeous he is. It is just an observation. Professor Michaels goes through the syllabus to discuss expectations, due dates, and answer questions. He then introduces his teacher’s assistant as Donovan Whitmore. He is tall, lanky, and nerdy looking. He gives a confident wave to the class and I like him immediately. Some TAs try too hard by acting as though they are the professor themselves, but I don’t get that vibe from him. He begins by giving us information on his background and ends with telling us about his role in the class.

As class comes to end, Liam jumps up, kisses me on the forehead, tells me he needs to see his coach, and he wants to talk to me later. We agree to meet at the Starbucks on campus at six o’clock. I gather my books to put back in my messenger bag and look up to see Professor Michaels surrounded by three female students who apparently couldn't ask all their questions during class. I roll my eyes before they meet his. His lips are curved slightly upward as if he just read my thoughts. I give him a slight smile and head out of the door.

THE DAY PASSES by in a blur. I attend two more classes, economics and accounting, before heading to Starbucks to meet Liam. I get there before he does so I order us his favorite—grande chai tea latte with whip cream. Just as I find us a seat in the back, he walks in. He looks even more stressed if that's possible. He takes a seat across from me and I can see that his eyes are glistening.

"Liam, what is going on?" I ask while taking a sip of my tea. "And don't tell me it’s football."

"I slept with someone else," he blurts out. "I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

I’m speechless and my stomach feels like the bottom has just dropped out. Tears spill down my face as my mind struggles with every emotion from anger to hurt.

"I am so sorry, Shiv. I don't want to hurt you, but I think we need to see other people," he says. “This is our last year before graduation and we need to see if our love is meant to be. I love you, but I want the full college experience."

"How can you say you love me and do this to me? I followed you here so we could be together," I scream. "Now you want to throw it all away?”

"You mean a lot to me, Shiv, I’m just not ready to settle down. If we are meant to be, we will be again later."

He skipped right over the acknowledgment that I came to this school for him. “You’re delusional. I’ll never forgive you for this. Have fun with your sluts that are looking at you as a future paycheck because what we had is over. I will not be like her!"

"Babe, please. Calm down. People are staring."

"Fuck off, Liam. I don't give two shits about these people."

Liam's eyes are as wide as saucers at this point. I rarely curse—not out loud anyway. My private thoughts don’t count. My use of profanities is a testament to how angry I am and he knows he has just put himself in the same category as my father.

"I will not be like her," I whisper this time. My throat feels like I have swallowed acid. Liam understands my meaning and does not push me further.

I rush through the crowd, tears dripping nonstop. I know everyone has just gotten a show, but at this moment I don't care. I gave him five years of my life and he just discarded my love like yesterday's trash. He has crushed me.

I’m thankful that my old Toyota Camry does not give me any trouble today. I make it back to my condo in record time. As I place the key in the door, it swings open widely. A petite brunette stands in the door with a smile on her face.

"Hi, I’m Bailey Nichols," she says. "You must be Jordan's roommate Siobhan.

"Yes, just call me Shiv,” I say simply. I’m not in the mood for pleasantries or conversation. I just want to head to my room so I can finish crying my heart out. "Nice to meet you.”

“Okay Shiv. It’s nice meeting you too. Hope to see you Saturday. Jordan will give you the details," she says before continuing out the door.

I answer with a quick nod and rush to my room before I have to explain my tears to Jordan. I need some time to myself. As I throw myself across my bed, there is a soft knock on my door. Jordan doesn't wait for me to answer before barging in.
So much for having some time to myself.

"Liam called me. I am so sorry, Shiv. I can't believe he’s done this to you."

"What exactly did you he tell you?" I ask while sobbing.

"He just told me you guys broke up and I needed to be here for you when you came home."

"Oh how considerate. He broke up with me, Jordan, and he slept with someone else."

She is outraged as I continue to divulge the events leading to the breakup, including how he has been moody and apprehensive for the last two weeks. She rants for twenty minutes about Liam’s philandering behavior and her plan to castrate him to inhibit his hormonal urges.

I can always count on her to make me feel better. I tell her about my hot professor to lighten the mood.

"At least you’ll have a distraction when you have a class with him," she says jokingly.

"What are you talking about?" I sniffle.

"Just focus on your hot professor."

I roll my eyes and laugh. "I think the professor will have more than enough unsolicited focus on him," I retort. "Now tell me about Bailey and what she meant, hoping to see me on Saturday."

Jordan explains she and Bailey share the same major. They’ve had a few classes together the past two years and even more this semester. Saturday, a couple of their fellow classmates are getting together to hang out at Bailey's house. She lives with her parents, but they are currently out of the country so she’ll have the house to herself. Jordan feels this will be a great opportunity for me to get drunk and forget about Liam. We'll see. She knows that I don't drink often—and never to get drunk, but this ordeal may be an exception.

I DRAG MYSELF out of bed, hating that it’s already Wednesday. I’ll have to face Liam again in class. Yesterday, I attended my morning class, business law, and then stayed sequestered in my room for the rest of the day. I did not even come out to eat.

Jordan brought dinner to me because I refused to get out of bed. She said she was going to allow me one more day to mourn the loss of my relationship with Liam and then I needed to move on.
Yeah right.
Being forced to see him two days a week is going to kill me. I go through the motion of getting ready for class, grab a cup of coffee, and head out the door.

My plan is to get to class early so there is plenty of seating to choose from. I can’t sit next to Liam and pretend everything is okay. I realize this plan is in jeopardy when I see him walk into class just ahead of me. Will he follow me wherever I sit in order to smooth things over? He must sense my presence behind him because he glances over his shoulder and our eyes connect. He gives me a slight chin lift of acknowledgement before wrapping his arms around the shoulders of some big bosomed blonde walking next to him. I hadn’t noticed her until now. I wonder if she is the bimbo he slept with.
Insensitive bastard.
This arrogant jackass is not who I gave my heart to. I don’t even recognize this version of him.

He walks right past the row we sat in last class period and heads to the back of the room with the blonde still at his side. They take a seat in the last row—no doubt to do inappropriate things during class. She’s all over him.
God, I hate him right now. I can’t believe I didn’t know he was capable of such coldness.
Deciding that I have had enough of this visual torture, I turn away quickly, managing only to run right into Professor Michaels, successfully knocking all his papers out of his hand. I am mortified. I drop to my knees in an effort to help him pick up the mess I’ve created.

My chest is heaving and I am straining to hold back my tears. The professor leans down next to me and I can feel his breath next to my cheek.

"Don't you dare let him see you cry. He’s not worth your tears," he commands.

"Yes sir," is all I can muster.

The professor gives me a sympathetic smile and I’m taken back by his forwardness. Then it dawns on me that he’s aware of my breakup. He obviously sees the new accessory attached to Liam’s hip. The tart is making sure everyone notices she is with him. Now I’m even more mortified. For the rest of the class period, I try to focus on the lecture and not the disregard Liam is showing for me in the back of the class. The professor makes eye contact with me periodically to ensure I’m following through. As soon as class is over, I race out the door without making eye contact with anyone.