To Professor, With Love (3 page)
Shaking my head, I offered Dr. Frenetti a tense, confused smile. “Where did you hear that?”
“His coach contacted me today.”
My teeth ground together. What do you know; the arrogant douche had whined to someone about me. Why was I not surprised?
Dr. Frenetti’s face showed some serious disapproval, and unfortunately, he already had one of those faces that looked condemning without any help. With a large, flat nose, permanent frown wrinkles marring his forehead, and fleshy jowls that sagged with outright censure, he looked positively reproachful as he scowled.
Ignoring the urge to slink back into my seat and start apologizing for my failures, I forced a stiff nod. This was about Noel Gamble’s shortcomings, not mine. Still, it felt as if I was confessing a sin when I answered, “He’s not doing well, no.”
Without waiting for my invitation, Dr. Frenetti seated himself in the chair opposite mine and left me standing uneasily in front of him. I shifted a step, uncertain if I should sit too. It was a good thing I finally did because what he said next left me too weak-kneed to remain upright.
“I had my doubts when the board hired you, Aspen. Someone so young and inexperienced...” He shook his head and sighed. “I
knew
it would cause problems. But the reference your old professor gave us was impeccable. She spoke so highly of you I hoped it would all work out. Except I’m not sure you quite understand the gravity that flunking this student would have. We were undefeated this season until the playoffs. And you might not see it yet, but football is the backbone of this university.”
Oh, I saw it all right. I just didn’t see how that should affect my grading.
“The sooner everyone in the entire English department realizes it, the better. If the team gets the divisional championship next year, our recruiting power goes through the roof, which means more students taking more English courses and more money coming in, hence a better chance for pay raises...bonuses. In essence, you’re helping yourself and
everyone
on campus if you help this boy. He’s the key to a better university, Aspen. His passing grades are the only thing keeping him here. He absolutely cannot lose his scholarship.”
I had to pinch my leg to keep myself from rolling my eyes. But seriously? One guy—who wrote really sucky essays—was the key to everything? Drama much, old man?
Overdramatic speech or not, my poor little ears rang with shock. I had realized from the very day I’d come here that sports on campus trumped everything else, but to hear the English department
Dean
speak so candidly about it disappointed me. What about an honest grade? Integrity? Education?
I silently counted to ten before speaking. “So, you’re telling me to pass him no matter how badly he’s
truly
failing?”
“Of course not.” With an irritated huff, the dean frowned and pinched his flabby lips together. They looked like two pink pancakes, one stacked on top of the other. “But I’m certain there’s something you can do to make him
not
fail. You’re a teacher. For God’s sake,
teach the boy
.”
Oh, no, he did not. No one questioned my teaching abilities. “I
am
! Dr. Frenetti, I—”
“Well, obviously you’re not doing it well enough if he isn’t picking up the curriculum. Yours is the only class he’s failing. Why
is
that?”
Probably because every other lemming professor on campus was passing him, no matter how awful he was actually doing. Maybe they’d already received the same lecture I was currently getting.
“I...” I shook my head, and my face heated to a scorching degree.
How dare he? How dare he make this
my
fault? I couldn’t even defend myself. Being the newest faculty member on campus, I couldn’t exactly go complaining to anyone about him, either, without risking my job. Besides, who the hell would I know to complain to that didn’t share his skewed opinions?
God, I hated that I could never defend myself against anyone.
“Aspen, I’m concerned about you.”
I wanted to slap him. The jerk wasn’t concerned about me. And I didn’t appreciate his phony tactic to get through to me. Questioning my abilities as a teacher had pissed me off enough.
Folding his hands together, he leaned forward. “I don’t want anyone to hold anything against you if it’s your fault Gamble loses his scholarship and has to drop out. After a few years here, when you try to get tenured—which is something I know you want since you’ve already mentioned it to me—you’ll need the other faculty members to go to bat for you. They won’t if you single-handedly ruin our first real chance in
twenty
years to win a divisional football championship.”
Ice ran through my veins. And here came the threatening tactics. Wow, he wasn’t going to pull a single punch, was he?
Rubbing my forehead, I nodded my humble compliance. “I understand.”
“Good. I hoped you would. Now I’d like you to—”
A knock on the door interrupted us.
Great. I wondered who it could be now. My guess was the Grim Reaper coming to take my damn soul away. When I glanced toward the doorway, though, I wished it
had
been the Grim Reaper, because he could’ve at least put me out of my misery.
Noel Gamble’s presence only added to it.
“Well.” Managing to look surprised, Frenetti popped to his feet and grinned engagingly at the new arrival. “Hey there, Noel. What a pleasant surprise.”
I rolled my eyes and then flushed when Noel glanced my way and caught my immature response to Frenetti’s brown-noser greeting.
“I really enjoyed that last showdown against South Central,” Frenetti was telling him. “The pass you threw at the end and won the game was amazing. I swear you were going to get sacked.”
Noel gazed at the older man a second. Then he flashed a quick glance my way before turning back to the dean. “Well...I did get sacked as soon as the ball left my hand.”
“But you still got it into the end zone and into your receiver’s hands. That’s all that mattered. And what was that, anyway. A thirty-yard pass?”
“Forty-two yards.”
Frenetti whistled. “Quite an arm you have there, son.”
Noel nodded respectfully. “Thank you, sir.” He glanced at me again. “Is this a bad time?”
“No, no.” Frenetti—the ass—answered for me. “Come on in. I’m sure you and Dr. Kavanagh have plenty to discuss. So I’ll leave you to it.”
Wait? What? We did?
The dean sent me a speaking glance before shutting me inside my office...alone...with Noel Gamble. The walls instantly closed in around us and my chest followed suit, squeezing in around my lungs until I was sure I’d asphyxiate any second. I could almost feel phantom hands holding me down and covering my mouth as a strong body pinned me to the backseat of his car.
“Who was that guy?” Noel asked, turning away from the closed door to send me a perplexed glance.
He in no way acted as if he was about to attack, so I forced oxygen through my clenched teeth, calming my racing nerves. Then I narrowed my eyes, wondering if he really had no idea who Frenetti was or if he was trying to play me. Finally, I shrugged, figuring it didn’t matter if he was acting out a role or if he was honestly here under his own steam. Either way, I was going to have to “work with him” as Frenetti had put it.
“That was Dr. Frenetti,” I said. “He’s the dean of the English department.” When Noel only blinked, his expression blank of understanding, I sighed impatiently. “He’s my boss.”
“Oh. So, how’d he know who
I
was?”
I think it was the fury igniting in me that kept me from exploding into a ball of mushy panic, because suddenly, I no longer cared about being alone in a small room with this man. And I no longer worried about how I was going to catch my next breath. I only wondered how hard it would be to sneak a dead body out of here and dispose of it for good.
“Who
doesn’t
know who you are, Mr. Gamble?”
His nostrils flared as he drew in a breath. I could actually see him rein in his temper as he worked his jaw and focused on the keyboard on the top of my desk. His calming process must’ve worked, because the only thing he said to me was, “Right.” Then he glanced at the chair Frenetti had abandoned but didn’t sit down. “So, uh…I came to talk to you about my last paper if you have a minute.” He cocked me a smirk. “Like you said I should.”
I nodded, not making eye contact. “Well, apparently, I better make a minute for you since my boss just threatened my job if you were put on academic probation because of me.”
“He did?” Noel looked genuinely shocked as he glanced toward the doorway where Dr. Frenetti had been standing. Squinting in confusion, he swung back. “Why would he do that?”
I closed my eyes briefly. “Why do you think, Mr. Forty-Two Yards?”
His face reddened. It was hard to tell if the color came from anger, shock, humiliation, guilt, embarrassment, or what. Clenching his teeth, he bit out, “I didn’t go to anyone to complain if that’s what you’re implying.”
It really didn’t matter if he had or hadn’t. I’d gotten my warning regardless. Now I had to behave by
the Man’s
stupid, unfair rules.
But no one said I couldn’t take my anger out on the student I was being forced to pass.
“You know, I find it ironic that
you’re
the one writing subpar assignments and
I’m
the one getting a slap on the hand for it.”
If Noel Gamble had feathers, I swear they would’ve ruffled. He looked so affronted I actually wanted to cheer on my ability to piss him off. “Look, I’m not asking for special treatment just because your
boss
happens to like the way I play ball.”
“And yet you’ll be getting it anyway, despite
both
our wishes.”
“You know what? Fuck you. You told me to come here if I needed help. So here I am. But you obviously don’t want to help me. So, thanks so much for your worthless time.”
When he turned away, I panicked. Pissing off the dean of the English department during my first semester as a professor would not bode well for my future. I had to soothe Noel Gamble’s ruffled feathers. Now.
Clenching my teeth, I surged to my feet and muttered, “Gamble, sit down.”
“Hell no.” Without pausing, he yanked open the door and lifted a hand to send me a jerky, middle-finger wave of dismissal over his shoulder. “Excuse me for
bothering
you, Professor.”
Damn it, he and I would both be screwed if he walked out that door.
“Do you want to pass my class or not?”
Finally, he paused and glanced back. When I caught the glint of vulnerability and stubborn pride in his tense expression, I melted. Shit, why’d he have to go and do something human like that? Strong, obstinate people who slipped up and showed a weakness always melted me like sugar in warm water.
“Sit down,” I murmured in a quiet, apologetic voice. Motioning toward the chair, I more calmly added, “Please.”
Jaw knitted hard, he closed his eyes and muttered something unintelligible under his breath before he re-shut the door and slouched low into the chair with a petulant glare. Drumming his fingers impatiently on his jean-clad knee, he lifted an eyebrow, silently saying,
Well? Teach me already.
I had no idea how I was going to accomplish this, but I was determined to make Noel Gamble
earn
the passing grade I was being forced to give him.
"Everybody is a genius. But, if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it’ll spend its whole life believing that it is stupid.” - Albert Einstein
~NOEL~
Throat bone dry while the acid in my stomach did somersaults, I stared through narrowed eyes across an eerily clean desk at my English teacher and her delectable mouth, which had driven me crazy since the first day of class when she’d taken her place behind the instructor’s podium.
That skeeved me out more than anything. Nothing about Dr. Kavanagh was my type. I preferred blondes with gorgeous long, flowing hair. My Literature professor kept her dark mass scraped back and hidden away in a tight holy-roller bun secured at the base of her neck.
I was a lover of long lean bodies that liked to show off their impressive curves with fashionable, revealing clothes. Kavanagh was tiny, and probably too rounded for my taste. Or at least I figured she had chub rolls she wanted to hide. Why else would she wear clothes three sizes too large for her?
And I liked confident sensuality in a female, someone who knew she had it and moved as if she wanted every guy in a fifty-mile radius to stop whatever he was doing just to gawk at her whenever she sauntered by. Kavanagh didn’t have a single saunter in her repertoire. She had the sensuality of a nun, and she didn’t seem to like guys at all. Not that I believed she was a dyke as Tenning had suggested. I just viewed her as an anti-sexual being. Genderless. At least, I wanted to.
Which was another reason I hated being so aware of her as a woman whenever she was around. While I was imagining how her sweet, plush lips would feel wrapped around my favorite body part, I knew she had nothing but freaking literature on the brain.
“I actually tried, you know,” I said, attempting to focus on her green eyes and not her mouth. “That was probably the best damn paper I ever wrote. And I didn’t cheat like I’m sure half the class did. I read the book, the Cliff Notes, sample essays. I even watched the weird-ass movie. I did
all
the fucking work.”
Silently seating herself in the chair opposite the desk from me, Dr. Kavanagh gave me a tight smile. “And yet you completely missed the entire point of the assignment.”
Well, shit, you think?
I jerked my hands into the air. “Maybe because I didn’t
understand
the goddamn point. I mean, what the hell did you want me to say?”
I knew I should’ve toned down the language, but she had me turned inside-out. And I’d only been in her office for two minutes. How this one tiny little person could get me so instantly and completely riled, I didn’t know. But here I was, mad, turned-on, ashamed, alarmed and frankly disturbed by my attraction, while I was equally pissed at her for knowing exactly how much I didn’t deserve to step foot on this campus because I was too freaking stupid.
And, fuck, had she put on lip gloss or something since I’d seen her this morning in class? Her mouth looked shinier than ever. I caught myself looking at it again and jerked my gaze away. Damn it, bitchy teachers should not have lips like that.
She sighed and interlaced her hands before resting them on top of her desk. “It wasn’t about what I wanted you to say; it was about what you
needed
to say.”
And there went all my composure. Again.
“What I
needed
to say?” I surged to my feet and clutched my hair as I began to pace the five feet of room I had in her snug office. “
What I needed to say?
What the fuck does that even mean?”
Dr. Kavanagh remained cool and collected, damn her, seated in her chair as she calmly watched me unravel into a hot pile of anxiety. “It means you didn’t do what you were asked to do. I wanted you to make a correlation between a character in the story and
yourself
. You made no such connection. In fact, you didn’t talk about you at all.”
I snorted. “Maybe I didn’t
feel
a connection with a bunch of rich-ass idiots from the
twenties
, whining about lost love while they spread around adultery like it was some kind of candy. How am I supposed to correlate anything when there is
nothing
to correlate?”
She fell back in her chair and sent me a frustrated frown. “Mr. Gamble…” With another sigh, she shook her head and ran her hands wearily over her face, which unfortunately made me focus on her lips.
God damn, that mouth should not be legal. I could picture it pursed so perfectly around my cock, could almost feel the wet slide of her tongue running up my entire length as she sucked me in deep.
Shit, now I had wood.
Fortunately oblivious to my crude, unwanted thoughts, she stiffened her shoulders, sat forward again and looked me straight in the eye. “Truly talented literature is truly talented for a reason. It always—always—finds a way to reach every person who reads it. It takes a theme about the human condition and makes it its little bitch.”
My eyebrows shot up into my hairline. What the hell? Shaking my head, I blinked. “Did you just say—”
“Yes!” she snapped. “I did. Because it’s true. Take one word about feelings or emotions and you’ll be able to find a theme for it in
The Great Gatsby
. I promise you.” When I did nothing but gape at her, she arched a curious brow. “You do have emotions, don’t you?”
“I’m having some right now.” And they were totally freaking me out, but fuck, I really liked watching her perfect, too-pure mouth forming dirty words. It was like some awful, humiliating sickness. I wanted her to do it again.
Say bitch again. Please. Just one more time
.
But she didn’t.
“Good.” Her stare was direct. Knowing. “Let me guess. You’re feeling frustration. Anger. Hate.”
“Uh...” I lifted an eyebrow.
Close, but not quite
.
“That’s perfectly fine. You can use those. Make them bond with someone in this book and tell me all about it.”
As her words sank in, I frowned. Something hot and seeking inside me melted. Defeat. “How?” I asked quietly, feeling like a complete idiot because I still didn’t understand, would probably
never
understand.
She blinked. “What do you mean how? If you’re really frustrated, mad, and full of hatred for me right now, write about it, explain why, then explain where someone in the story shares these same sentiments and why they experienced them. Make the two one and the same. Bash me all you want on paper, just show me that correlation I want to see, and I will give you a better score.”
I snorted and shook my head. No way. No effing way. “I just don’t get
why
I have to write about my fucking feelings?”
She let out a frustrated growl, which only turned me on more. “So I know you understand the story and what happened.”
“Well, I didn’t understand the story. Goddamn it. I told you. I have nothing in common with—”
“Yes, you do!” she roared back, smacking both her palms on top of her desk before pushing to her feet to glare at me. “Everyone on the planet has at least one thing in common with at least one character in that story. Now go prove it!”
Seething, I just glared at her.
She closed her eyes and rubbed at the center of her head. “Okay,” she mumbled as if giving up the fight.
When she licked her lips, I almost lost it. Christ, this was getting embarrassing. Her mouth was going to be my downfall. If she asked me, I would probably take her on her nice, clean desk right then and there. I could so clearly see myself tossing her down, gathering up her frumpy skirt, wedging myself between her thighs and just hammering it home.
I also wanted to wrap my hands around her throat and strangle her for making me feel like such an idiot.
It probably wasn’t healthy to have two such drastic emotions roaring through me at the same moment, but there they were. Absolutely roaring.
The good professor sank back into her chair. “How about this? I’ll make your paper as easy as I can on you.”
Yeah, just cater to the idiot
. I glanced away, my jaw knitting with mutiny. “I don’t need—” Damn it. Yes, I did. It’s why I was here, because I needed help.
“I’ll give you a theme to use. So...let’s pick a theme. Any theme.” Her eyes opened, the lines in her skin around them deeper than before. “Greed? Power?” She lifted her hands as she shrugged. “I don’t know. What do you feel whenever you play football?”
My face heated with outrage. “Oh, thanks a lot. I like how you mentioned my football right after saying greed and power.” Leaning ominously over the desk to glare, I poked my index finger into my own chest. “You think my entire reason for being on this campus is just some greedy, selfish
power trip
? Well, you don’t know shit, lady. You don’t know me at all.”
She pulled back in her chair, her green eyes huge as they blinked rapidly. Finally, she glanced away and her tongue darted out to wet her lips. Yeah, yeah, the move made my dick pulse with gluttonous need, but I was too pissed to care. At the moment, I hated what she was doing to my ego more.
In a much calmer voice, she murmured, “I’m sorry if I offended you,” which totally shocked the shit out of me and made me back up a step to sink into my chair and gawk back. “But I honestly have no idea what football is to you. So, why don’t you tell me? One word. What is football...to you?”
My breathing came hard as I glanced down at my fisted hand in my lap. “Desperation,” I said without meaning to.
Shit. Why had I said that? It was the honest-to-God truth. But why would I confess it?
To her?
When I dared to glance up, I was surprised to find she looked equally startled. Her mouth had fallen open. “I…” She blinked, her eyes wide with shock. “I wasn’t expecting you to say that.”
Turning my gaze away, I ripped my hand through my hair and cursed silently. “Yeah, well, I didn’t mean to.”
Amusement lined her voice. “And yet I have a feeling it’s the most honest thing you’ve said since you stepped inside my office.”
My glower swerved back to her, but she merely lifted that damn challenging eyebrow of hers, daring me to contradict her.
Hissing out a breath, I slumped deeper into my seat. “So, what do I do with the theme of desperation then?”
Seemingly eager all the sudden, Dr. Kavanagh sat forward, her eyes lighting with an excited gleam. “Well, now is the easy part. You find a part in the story where someone feels desperate, on edge, as if nothing is under his or her own control. Explain why, then tell me how you understand this emotion and how you can relate to it by listing all the reasons
you
feel or have felt desperate, on edge, and like nothing is under your control.”
That should be easy. I felt that way most every day. About everything. Hell, I was feeling that way right now, about her. But still...
Closing my eyes, I whispered, “Christ.” The woman might as well ask me to bare my soul to her. Opening my lashes, I shot her a frown. “And you don’t have any qualms over the fact this assignment is utterly intrusive and infringes on a person’s privacy?”
She beamed. “None whatsoever.” Her bright smile threw me off guard. It was…lovely.
Hmm. Strange. Dr. Kavanagh had a lovely smile. It took my breath away and left me reeling.
I didn’t mean for it to happen, but my lips quirked in reluctant admiration. “You’re kind of evil, Professor.”
That seemed to please her. She straightened her back and preened. “Hey, I bet I just nudged you into writing the best damn paper you’ve ever written.”
Damn, I loved the way she said
damn
.
This time, I chuckled. I liked how she kept shocking me today. She acted so prim and proper in class, as if a curse word had never left her saintly lips.
“Maybe,” I murmured, looking at her in a new light. “We’ll see. How soon do you need it?”
“As soon as possible.”
I rolled my eyes. “No pressure or anything.” With a sigh, I pushed to my feet. “Okay, Dr. Kavanagh. I will have the best
damn
paper I’ve ever written in your hands as soon as possible.”
“Excellent.” She stood as well. “That’s all I ask.”
Jesus. She was a snarky little thing. I didn’t want to dig that. But I totally dug that.
I hesitated, and an awkward impasse passed between us. If she had been a man, I probably would’ve held out my hand to shake and thanked her for the second chance she’d just given me. Hell, if she’d been an older woman, or maybe just any
other
woman, I might’ve done the same thing. But with her, right then, it felt…forbidden. Naughty.
Hard-ass, straight-laced teacher or not, there was something about the soft curve of her porcelain pale face with an almost invisible splash of freckles dusting her cheeks and nose to go with her succulent lips that stirred me. I instinctively knew I should never touch her.
She must’ve sensed my unease because she shifted and cleared her throat, not making eye contact. “Well, then. I assume that’s all you need.”
“Yeah.” With a single bob of the head, I murmured, “Thanks.” I turned, but just before I left the small room crammed with shelves of books, I paused and glanced back. “And I’m, you know, sorry...about calling you a bitch earlier.”
This time, both of her trim, dark eyebrows lifted. She pressed a hand against the center of her chest. “What? You’re rescinding what might possibly be the nicest compliment I’ve received from a student all semester?”
I snorted out a laugh but nodded. “Yeah, I am. It was rude and undeserving. And I apologize.”
Her lashes responded by beating in overtime against the tops of her cheeks. When moisture glistened like a fine sheen over her green eyes, I panicked. Shit, I didn’t want to make her cry.
But wow. Who knew I could actually make the hard-ass, expressionless Dr. Kavanagh cry? She must not be nearly as tough as she put herself out there to be. It made me wonder just how soft she could get.
Which was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
She held it together, thank God, and nodded. “Apology accepted,” she murmured as she motioned toward the door to let me know I was excused.
Wavering another second, I studied her delicate features, still amazed she was old enough to be a college professor. If she didn’t act so hoity-toity and wore such frumpy clothes, I probably would’ve mistaken her for an underclassman and hit on her by now. I wouldn’t have stopped my pursuit either, not until she gave in and let me have a piece of her, because my type or not, there was something about her that drew me in.
