She drops her gaze like she’s deeply embarrassed, despite having practically bared her entire soul to me the moment we met. Like she doesn’t know what my fingers feel like curling inside her or my dick pushing in?—
Tension threads through my neck, knotting in my shoulders, as I abruptly halt those memories. Fucking hell, this is a disaster.
Nobody in the class moves a muscle. I suspect many of them, likely freshmen, are afraid that my soured mood will spill onto them, and they’ll become the objects of my irritation.
Returning my focus to the syllabus, I speak directly to Elle one final time. “You’re dismissed, Ms. Anderson.”
“What?”
“Three strikes. Please see yourself from my classroom.”
She huffs, defiant to her very core. In my peripheral vision, I watch her gather her things but pretend I’m focused on the attendance policy in the syllabus, pointing at Sabrina to read it out loud.
While she talks, my skin feels like it’s being stretched, goose bumps prickling every inch. My heart pulses hard in my throat, and I don’t relax even a little until the sound of the door swinging shut behind Elle’s exit echoes through the rafters.
9
ELLE
Humiliation burns my skin,like an open flame being held against me. I stand outside the auditorium while class continues, debating silently whether I should even stay enrolled in this fucking school at all.
I’ve never had anyone go so far out of their way to embarrass me—threetimes. Then again, nothing men do surprises me, so I’m not sure why I find it so bothersome now.
I certainly wasn’t expectinghim. He’d been leaning against the stage, his brown hair all slicked back and neat, making him look more boyish than the beige sweater vest and pleated trousers he wore.
But it was the severity on his face when he said my full name that caught me off guard. Like he wasangryI hadn’t shared the entire thing or pissed I was there at all.
Whatever. I’m a student, and regardless of some fleeting encounter, I have as much right to be in an elected course as anyone else. So when the class begins to file out, signaling its end, I slip inside and down the aisle, watching as the professor—Sutton Dupont, according to my course schedule—disappears behind the stage.
“If you’re looking for Dupont,” an attractive man with warm, light brown skin and bright blue eyes says, seeming to arrive out of thin air before me, “he hides in his office between classes. The whole theater department is in the annex of the Lyceum.”
“Oh.” I blink, nodding. “Um, thanks.”
“He keeps syllabi in there too if you can convince him to give you one.” The guy smirks, extending his hand. “I’m Lexington. The thorn in Professor Dupont’sotherside.”
“Why’s that?” I ask, taking his palm just barely, letting him shake once before his arm drops.Has he hooked up with him too?
Just how much do you really get around, Professor?
“Fury Hill founding family stuff. Feuds go back centuries. It’d take too much effort for me to really care though.”
I make a noise of disbelief. “Yeah, I usually go out of my way to bring up things I don’t care about too.”
A big, goofy grin stretches across Lexington’s face. “Pleasetell me you’re staying in this class. I can already tell you’re gonna be a lot of fun for Dupont.”
“The only man I let tell me what to do is my father,” I say, pushing past to move through the auditorium. “And he’s not here right now.”
There’s just one door backstage, and when I shove it open, it leads to a narrow hall with the occasional dead cockroach and dozens of wooden doors that seem to go on forever.
Not much of an annex if you ask me.
I jump as the exit swings shut; the sound of the handle latching into place bounces off the corridor, and I follow it with short steps, reading the names mounted on the walls as I pass them.
An overhead light flickers as I walk under it. I grip my backpack tighter, reaching the last door on the left.
This one lacks a label, but I can see a faint glow beneath the frame. Swallowing, I reach for the knob and turn it quickly, inviting myself in.
Sutton stands just out of reach, the door missing him by a hair as it swings open. A bowl of apricots and overly ripe bananas sits on the corner of the large mahogany desk behind him, next to a small orange prescription bottle and a stack ofLa Musica Deuxièmeplaybills.
