Greg clears his throat. “Honestly, Rosie, the truth is… I wanted to ask you to theLast Chance Dance.”
My jaw drops. I haven’t paid any attention to any student events because none of them matter to me. I’m usually too busy with work or school or my dad.
“You don’t have to give me an answer now,” Greg continues, “but maybe you’ll think about it?”
Silence. The entire lecture hall is quiet, like our conversation is their entertainment.
My face heats and my heart hammers against my chest.What the hell is happening?
“Rosie,” Professor Wilder’s voice drops even deeper, “Greg asked you a question. Do you want to go to the Last Chance Dance with him?”
Is there some kind of escape button in here? I’d really love a bottomless pit right now.
Snakes? No problem!
Spiders? Yes, please!
Anything to get me out of here!
Truthfully, I don’t know what I want. I mean, nothing can happen between Professor Wilder and me, and Greg is a nice kid with a promising future. Most girls would feel really happy to go out on a date with him. I should say yes for those reasons, and not because I’m desperate to see what Professor Wilder doeswhen I talk to another man. That would be petty and silly, and trying to make him jealous is a schoolgirl’s game.
Then again, I am a schoolgirl.
“Yes,” I say, glancing back toward poor Greg, who doesn’t have a clue what’s going on, “I’d love to go to the dance with you.”
I shouldn’t smirk as I look directly at Professor Wilder, but I’m dialing back into that girl who stripped off her clothes last night on a whim.
I think I like her.
The normally placid, kind, studious man with soft, introspective eyes growls low in his throat as he burns a hole in the side of Greg’s head and grinds his teeth like another man is drooling all over his meal.
I love it!
Does it make me a bad person that I love it?
It probably does.
Am I okay with that?
Right now, I kind of am.
“You made your choice already, didn’t you?” I tap my pencil against my chin as I stare up at my grizzly bear professor. The one with the massive shoulders and the defined nose I accidentally scrubbed my pussy against the other night.
My clit twitches just thinking about it.
He growls low under his breath, crosses his arms over his chest, and paces back down the lecture hall steps toward the podium. “Last class we discussed the nuances of love and biology. We were determining whether love was a feeling that grew from emotion or rather if it was a biological phenomenon that was perpetrated through hormones. I asked you all to write a paper discussing whatreal lovemeans. Would anyone like to share what they found?” His tone is flat, and his eyes dart backand forth between the class and Greg, who’s sliding notes to me as he talks.
They’re nothing serious, but it’s a cute gesture. I can’t remember the last time I passed notes back and forth in class. Everyone texts everything.
‘Do you like sweet tea?’
I scratch back a response as Professor Wilder speaks, wondering what it’s doing to him, knowing I’m not fully engaged in his lecture like I usually am.
‘No, but I love lemonade. Do you?’
The notes are cute and innocent, but our professor doesn’t know that, and given the way his jaw is locked, I’m guessing he’s beyond irritated.
“Greg, you’re very vocal today. Why don’t you tell me what you determined, given your research? How does one determine real love?”
