My question hangs in the air, an unspoken challenge as I cross my arms.
“Diego. Diego Kahale.”
His gaze racks over me, taking in my custom knee-high boots, dark, fitted jeans tucked inside the rim of the custom leather, and a sweater and blazer to complete my look.
Despite being a science student, I’m Italian. I inherited my Mother’s penchant for fashion, and we sometimes visited couture fashion houses when we summered back home. His expression suggests appreciation. The corner of his mouth turns into a smirk as he chooses a seat near the back.
“Well, Mr. Kahale.”
The ice in my voice is sharp enough to draw a few stunned looks from the other students, compared to my warm introduction to the class.
“In this class, we respect each other’s time and commitment to learning. Arriving twenty minutes late is unacceptable. Would you care to explain?”
He stretches out, his arm draping across the back of an empty chair next to him, unfazed.
“Traffic was a nightmare.”
The casual shrug that follows undermines the sincerity of his words. The other students’ eyes volley back at me with anticipation so thick that I want to pull against the suddenly too-tight neckline of my sweater, but I refrain from doing so.
“Traffic?”
My skepticism is apparent.
I pause, considering my next words carefully.
“While I appreciate your eventual presence, Mr. Kahale, let’s make this the first and last time. This course demands serious commitment. I won’t tolerate late arrivals, which disrupt this learning environment. Not to mention, are disrespectful to your fellow students.”
I turn the tables on him, sending all eyes his way, and a slow smile spreads across his face, knowing exactly what I did and why I did it.
He nods, though his expression suggests he’s enjoying the attention, not at all embarrassed at my attempt to single him out and make an example.
Something I learned to do a long time ago, after a particularly brutal semester at community college, where kids didn’t care about getting a degree except for a select few.
The room settles back into a cautious silence, but the damage is done. If I don’t immediately show control and leadership over my classroom, I will lose their attention and respect for the rest of the semester.
It’s something I’m unwilling to let happen, not over some pretty boy who obviously doesn’t care about this class. As I resume the lecture, outlining the rigorous projects, lab requirements, and exam dates, he raises his hand.
“Professor . . . ?”
“Rossi,” I clip, casting him daggers before running a hand over my smooth ponytail to convey my disapproval.
His gaze traces the movement until my hand rests against the podium’s edge. If this guy is trying to rattle me, he’ll have to try harder. At my age, I’ve been propositioned enough by men of all ages to know when they’re interested.
“Excuse me, Professor Rossi, beautiful name, by the way. Do I detect a hint of an accent?”
He smirks, gathering a few annoyed huffs from his fan club in the front row.
“Do you have a question for the classroom pertaining to the courseload, Mr. Kahale, or are you simply intent on interrupting? I’m sure your parents paid a lot of money for you to be here and expect you to pay attention.”
I fix him with a look that conveys my growing impatience. He looks around the room, licks his lips, and leans forward. The student in front of him leans to the right at his unwelcome proximity.
“Although I appreciate your concern for my family’s financial capabilities, I can assure you that their expectations of me are rather high, nearly unattainable.”
He chuckles, shaking his head slightly as if entertained by our exchange and fueling my irritation.
“But let’s not have that stand in the way. I assure you, Professor Rossi, all my attention is on you.”
A hushed murmur ripples through the room at his innuendo. I straighten, my resolve hardening like carbon under extreme pressure and high temperature.
