Bad Professor (An Alpha Male Bad Boy Romance) Read online

  I raked both hands through my hair. "Oh my god, I have to go buy a turkey!"

  "Wait, now?"

  "Yes, now, before the store runs out of the right size." I gathered up my book bag. "My father's gotten it into his head that he wants a real Thanksgiving gathering this year. I spent half of last night trying to figure out what fruit looked best in a cornucopia. How insane does that sound?"

  Ford laughed, then stopped on a long, barely audible sigh. "Actually, that's sounds wonderful."

  I watched his face and saw the shift from amused to wistful. "Why? What are you doing for Thanksgiving?" I asked.

  "Nothing," Ford shook his head. "It's no big deal. Liz is volunteering in the city and doesn't want to be away from school long enough to drive up here for the weekend, which I totally understand. Still, the microwave dinner selections for Thanksgiving were pretty bleak."

  My pulse jumped into a riotous jig but I managed to speak calmly. "My father is determined to have a big Thanksgiving meal. And he still wants to thank you for braving the frat party check with him the other night. I'll have him call you, but you should plan on coming to our house for Thanksgiving."

  "Are you sure?"

  I rolled my eyes, "My father will be happy you're there."

  "Will you be?" Ford bit his lip as if the question had escaped.

  I couldn't breathe so I nodded until I could manage to say, "Just don't say anything about my short story."

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ford

  I folded the title page of every article so that I couldn't see the student names. It helped me judge the writing and check if my journalism students had mastered a neutral tone. Jackson taught me the trick he had learned from tackling hundreds of creative writing essays and stories.

  Clarity's short story rose to the surface of my mind again and I leaned back in my office chair to avoid it. The characters were clear in my mind, the overlapping paths they took a common knot that tied my thoughts to them.

  I shook it off and groaned at the stack of grading. "I have to stop giving my students homework that gives me homework."

  I snatched up the next article and knew by the first sentence it was Clarity's. Her open curiosity was contagious and her leads were getting better. She needed to work on simplifying her language, but her enthusiasm kept me reading for three paragraphs before I realized I hadn't written a single comment.

  What could I say to her?

  It was impossible to erase all the thoughts that had popped into my head the night I met her. If only I didn't need my job so much.

  My mind drifted back to the cocktail dress she was wearing when the door to my office crashed open. "Sleeping on the job?" Jackson asked.

  "You know, for a bookish, lit. Professor, you’re loud enough to wake the dead." I settled back in my office chair and unclenched my fists.

  "And you're a little too jumpy. What's on your mind?" Jackson strolled around my narrow office, hands in pockets, studying the bookshelves.

  "What's on my mind? You came to my office, remember? Unless your entire plan was to give me a heart attack."

  Jackson chuckled then turned back to point at the bookshelves. "A little Spartan, don't you think? I thought you were finally settling in and resolving to be a Landsman man."

  I swallowed the instant distaste that thought brought up. "Maybe I just have something against crowded bookshelves. Maybe I'm Feng Shui."

  "Feng full of shit," Jackson said. "I'd take it personally if I didn't know how much you miss journalism. But you really should get rid of the temporary vibe in here if you want your department head to stop sharpening her axe."

  "She can't fire me before the holidays." I grinned.

  "Speaking of the holidays, what are you doing for Thanksgiving?" Jackson leaned on the corner of my desk.

  "Apparently I'm grading articles." I gestured to the slipping stack on my desk, then caught it before it toppled. "Any more tricks of the trade that could speed this up?"

  "So you don't have any plans for Thanksgiving? I know Liz is staying in the city."

  I sighed and stacked the papers back into a neat pile. "Liz could probably use the break but she won't give herself one. She thinks just because I'm helping her out a little here and there she has to work like a dog."

  Jackson crossed his arms. "I wouldn't call covering her rent and paying for her car a little, but stop trying to change the subject. We're not going to let you starve alone on Thanksgiving."

  "Sorry, but I have plans." I swallowed hard and hoped he didn't ask for details.

  Jackson studied my face for a moment with a curious smile. "So, Alice and I are going to Dean Dunkirk's for Thanksgiving. He's invited a small group and told me you were on the list."

  "Oh, good, that'll be great. I wasn't sure I was going to go but now it sounds good," I said.

  "You weren’t going to go before I told you we were invited. What's with the secrecy?" Jackson stood up and tapped his chin as he studied me again.

  I held up both hands in surrender. "I'm not a big fan of turkey, alright? You caught me."

  "This wouldn't have anything to do with the dean's daughter being your student, would it?"

  "Speaking of students," I jumped out of my office chair, "I have to get ready. My students and I are attending the alumni/donor dinner tonight. I have to wear a tuxedo."

  Jackson allowed me to shoo him back to the door so I could get the garment bag off the hook. "You're really going? But you hate those people."

  "Smug, entitled, rich folks that only want to spend money so people notice them? Nah, I love 'em. Besides, my students need to report on it for the school newspaper." I unzipped the garment bag and pulled out the rented tuxedo.

  "So that means you have to go to?" Jackson asked.

  "It was the only way the college president would allow students to mingle. I suppose he's afraid they're going to spike the punch or pull some other prank." I sighed, "God, I hate being a chaperone."

  Jackson laughed and made himself comfortable in my office chair. "The student newspaper crew is a pretty responsible bunch. Isn't Clarity Dunkirk on staff? According to some of my kids, her name alone is chaperone enough. Poor girl, I bet she doesn't get to break out and have much fun being the dean's daughter."

  "She's too focused for fun, way too mature," I muttered.

  "What was that?" Jackson drummed his fingers on the edge of my desk and smiled up at me.

  "You any good at shining shoes? My dress shoes haven't seen the light of day in years," I said.

  Jackson shook his head. "Nope, sorry. What else you got?"

  I sat down on my small couch and opened my shoe polish kit. "I have to pair up the staff. It's going to be a co-written assignment, make 'em learn how to work under a shared byline."

  "Oh, that I can do," Jackson sat up and hunched over my desk. He wrote out the names of the students on the newspaper staff, then cut names out. Then he tossed them in a hat and held it to me.

  I decided no one was going to look at my shoes, so I reached for the folded names instead. Jackson typed them up and we got down to the last three names before we realized there was a problem.

  "You're going to have partner up too, otherwise it's uneven," Jackson said.

  "Fine, yeah."

  "Thomas and Allison. That leaves you with Clarity." Jackson hooted with laughter. "Luck of the draw, eh? Or maybe you're just trying to get in good with the Dunkirks so you get extra pecan pie at Thanksgiving."

  "Isn't it about time you go home to your wife?" I stood up and held my office door open for Jackson. "I've got to change."

  "Never change, man, that's what they want. Fight the power!"

  I shoved Jackson out of my office and locked the door. I wavered between the garment bag and my computer. Either I retyped the list and was late or I just went with it.

  I hit print. Anything else would admit I had trouble being near Clarity. And, knowing Jackson, he would ask our mutual students about the dinner and find out if I switc
hed partners.

  Luck of the draw, I thought. Now the only question was if my luck was good or bad.

  #

  "So we missed the dinner part?" Thomas asked as his stomach grumbled.

  "You didn't miss it. You weren't invited," I said. "Dinner was over one hundred dollars a plate, which is why it was for alumni and donors only. The college president has been nice enough to invite us for the reception so you can mingle and find interesting stories."

  "Can we drink?" another student asked.

  I squeezed the bridge of my nose. "If you are twenty-one-years-old, then you are legally allowed to drink. I will assume each of you can make a responsible choice. Can we get on to the assignment now?"

  "Shouldn't we wait for Clarity?" Thomas asked.

  Allison piped up. "She's coming with her father."

  I handed Allison the list. "Here are you partners. Remember that co-writing is about balancing opposite or complimentary viewpoints. I suggest you start by getting to know your partner. There was an uneven number of students, so I'm taking part in the assignment as well."

  I congratulated myself on sounding casual, then turned and caught a glimpse of Clarity.

  Instead of her normal low ponytail, Clarity's hair was swept up into a complicated knot that still could not contain all her dark-red curls. Gold earrings danced on either side of her easy smile and a wave crashed inside me. Delicate straps were the only interruption along the creamy expanse of her bare shoulders. The neckline plunged until I held my breath. Despite the floor length fall of the black dress, her slender curves were revealed with each step.

  Besides the subtly flashing gold earrings, the only jewelry Clarity wore was an emerald, beaded bracelet—the exact same shade as her eyes when she caught me staring.

  "Professor Bauer, sorry I'm late. My father likes to make an entrance," Clarity said.

  "All my fault," Dean Dunkirk chuckled, "she was never one to fuss in front of a mirror, but these darn bow ties always give me trouble."

  Clarity's image burned in front of my eyes even as I turned to her father. "Dean Dunkirk, they didn't give you a free plate at the dinner?"

  "Nothing's free when it comes to raising money for a new theater complex. Not even the drinks, so you all can stop worrying. If you're willing to pay what they're asking for them, I'm not going to stop you." The Dean of Students smiled at my gathered newspaper staff. "Your professor has given you one hell of a challenge: find something interesting here that won't step on any toes. Remember, a lot of people here guard their privacy for good reasons."

  "Like pretending they're old money," Thomas whispered to Clarity.

  She smiled but shook her head. "Well, I'm ready to mingle."

  My newspaper staff split up into partners and went into the decorated dining hall. Clarity said goodbye to her father and then turned to me with one auburn eyebrow raised.

  "It's a shared byline assignment," I said. "Everyone was assigned partners."

  "Except there's an uneven amount of students," Clarity's exquisite shoulders slumped. "I always liked co-authored articles because the counterpoints are so interesting."

  I was going to release her from the assignment and let her write her own article, but she looked so dejected. "Actually, I'm your partner." I held out the list to prove it. "Jackson, I mean, Professor Rumsfeld, helped me draw the names from a hat."

  "What, no one draws straws anymore?" Clarity asked.

  I gave in and offered her my arm. "It's probably unfair to the others, really. You have an inside track already."

  She took my arm and we walked into the dining hall. Elegant flower arrangements graced every table. An orchestra quietly took their places on the far stage and a crystal chandelier sparkled over the polished dance floor. Most guests mingled near the bar or the silent auction.

  "Professor Bauer, how nice to see you again." The older woman smiled as she stopped us.

  "Mrs. McGuire, I'm so glad you enjoyed your tour of Thompson Hall," I said.

  "Now, now, aren't you going to introduce me to your lovely fiancé? Hello, dear," Mrs. McGuire shook Clarity's hand and winked. "You know, my Derrick is fifteen years older than me, and if you ask me, it's the secret to our long marriage. Nearly forty years! It's a smart woman that chooses a mature man."

  I could feel Clarity's blush and the temperature rose between us. "No, Mrs. McGuire, Clarity is one of my students. I'm here chaperoning the student newspaper."

  She patted my arm and shook her head. "Oh, pish. I know a good match when I see one. Oh, dear, my husband's waving me down. I hope to see you on the dance floor!"

  Clarity and I stood arm-in-arm, unmoving, and I didn't know what to say. Then her father appeared. "Did Mrs. McGuire mention dancing, because that's exactly what I came over here to talk to you about," Dean Dunkirk said.

  Clarity slipped her hand from the crook of my elbow. "I'll dance with you," she told her father.

  "Sorry, darling, I'm already spoken for." Dean Dunkirk nodded over his shoulder at a white-haired woman in a deep purple dress. "But we don't want an empty dance floor, so come on you two."

  Clarity caught my arm again and tugged me after her father. The orchestra thrummed to life and the music covered my swearing. I took Clarity in my arms, making sure my elbows were held out in a still circle.

  "Not a big dancer, huh?" Clarity asked. She shifted my hand to her waist and stepped closer. "I know I'm your student and all, but this is college, not junior high."

  I caught the fresh, floral scent of her hair and forgot about dancing. Her dress dipped low in the back and my thumb brushed bare skin. "Any ideas for an article?" I asked, desperate for a coherent thought.

  Clarity smiled and starting listing possible subjects but I didn't hear a thing she said. Her dress flowed against my legs and her easy grace smoothed over my clumsy steps. The only lifeline I had was Clarity did not feel the same. She talked as if there wasn't a burst of sensations every time our bodies brushed.

  As soon as the song ended, I could see Dean Dunkirk beaming. He was leading his dance partner across the floor to join us. Clarity turned to smile at her father and I slipped away into the crowd. I headed for the bar like a man stumbling out of the desert.

  "A scotch, neat. Very professor-ish."

  I turned to see Jackson's wife smiling up at me. "Hello, Alice. So, Jackson suckered you into coming."

  She nodded. "And it's been lovely. Though, I have to say, your appearance on the dance floor might be the highlight of my night. You never once stepped foot on the dance floor at our wedding."

  "Didn't want to show up the groom," I said.

  Alice laughed. "Well, I bet you were only tempted into dancing tonight because of your beautiful partner. You two looked wonderful together."

  The scotch burned my throat and I coughed. "We're not together. Clarity is one of my students; she's on the student newspaper staff."

  Disappointment sped across Alice's face like a cloud then gave way to curiosity. "How old—"

  "Ah, Ford Bauer, we keep running into each other. Who knew?"

  My spine stiffened as Barton joined us. He and Alice smiled politely at each other and then looked at me. I cleared my throat. "Wesley Barton, meet Alice Rumsfeld. Her husband is an English professor."

  "An English professor?" Barton asked as he kissed Alice's hand. "I hope he recites sonnets to you."

  "Only as much as I recite the law to him," Alice laughed.

  "A lawyer. Beauty, brains, and an empty drink. Here, allow me." Barton signaled the bartender, who left another couple waiting as he poured a second wine for Alice.

  "Thank you, Mr. Barton."

  "Please, call me Wesley," Barton said with a warm smile.

  Jackson appeared before anyone noticed my clenched fist. I considered following through with the punch just for the hell of it, but remembered both my department head and the college president were present.

  "Wesley Barton, this is my husband," Alice said. She threaded an arm through J
ackson's and leaned into him.

  Next to Alice's slim and compact figure, Jackson was too tall and gangly. Barton gave him a sardonic smile. "Nice to see you again, professor."

  "Why are you here?" I asked.

  Everyone blinked but Barton recovered in two seconds. "My friend, Michael Tailor, has a son starting here next year and I'm always willing to help a good cause."

  "Does he have a nephew that plays football? Brian Tailor?" Jackson asked.

  I scowled, wishing the conversation would end so I could get my friends far away from Barton. "The running back," I said.

  Barton cocked an eyebrow at me. "You really do notice everything, eh, Bauer?" He smiled at Alice, though she had caught the grim expression of her husband. "The Tailors have a long history with Landsman College, and my friend makes many generous donations. Perhaps there is something the English Department needs? Do people actually read books anymore?"

  Jackson lifted a foot to step forward but Alice steered him away. "How about a turn around the dance floor? Still remember those lessons we took before the wedding?" she asked her husband.

  "I need to wait for a waltz or I'm lost," Jackson lied, eyeing Barton again.

  Alice, tucked under her tall husband's arm, pulled him off balance so he had to move. "Too bad Ford's pretty partner is gone, otherwise they could show you how it's done."

  "Dancing with a pretty partner?" Barton turned his narrow gaze on me. "And here I thought you were all work, work, work. Which lovely lady is it?"

  "Back off, Barton," I snarled as soon as Jackson and Alice were out of earshot. "You've got a lot of nerve coming up to me here and acting as if everything is fine between us."

  "But it is," Barton smiled. "It was just business. Ask anyone of the donors here: making money is a team effort and you just weren't willing to play."

  "That bullshit doesn't make what you did right and I don't care who your friends are," I snapped.

  "Oh, but you do. People like us run things and there is nothing you can do about it." Barton sipped his drink and smiled at the other guests. "The truth is that Michael's son, Junior, is dumber than a tree stump. He once almost drowned using a beer bong. But, because of who he is and who his father knows, he'll be accepted at Landsman College without a problem. Just wait and see. Maybe I'll suggest he look at a career in journalism."