He looks up at me through dark-colored lashes and holds the stack of books out for me to take. I try to tell my brain to grabthem and make a beeline for a desk near the back, but my body is frozen at the sight of this man down on his knees before me.
Heat warms my face, and I am begging whatever deity is out there that he can’t tell as I feel the blush creep down my neck to my chest. His gaze flickers to the neckline of my blouse, and I go from begging whatever force is out there to cursing them.
This guy probably thinks I’m a bumbling idiot.
I take the books from him, my fingers brushing his, making me nearly drop them again. He gets to his feet and runs his thumb over his bottom lip, trying and failing to hide his smile.
“Thanks!” I squeak before zipping past him.
Sam follows close behind me, and I hear him giggling to himself. I grit my teeth as I notice the only available seats are at the front.
Sam and I claim two slightly off to the side, and I feel eternally grateful that we’re not smack dab in the middle since there seems to be a high possibility that the entire class saw whatever disaster just happened.
“Oh my god!” Sam exclaims. “You just completely forgot how to function.”
“Don’t,” I warn.
“I have never seen you act like that before!”
“It was embarrassing,” I hiss between my teeth. “And you’re making it worse.” I put my face in my hands, trying to cool down my still-burning cheeks. “Let’s just forget that it ever happened.”
I take a deep breath before slowly setting up my desk. I pull a brand-new notebook and pen case out of my bag and line everything up neatly on my desk, while Sam half-haphazardly dumps his messenger bag on his desk in his quest to find a writing utensil. I cringe as what feels like the entire class turns our way at the racket Sam is making.
The stranger who starred in what will surely go down as one of my most mortifying moments starts to make his way toward the front of the class.
“No, no, no,” I quietly beg. But whatever force is out there clearly doesn’t give a shit about my pleas.
“No way,” Sam breathes, another giggle breaking loose.
The man stops at the front of the classroom and looks around before his eyes settle on me. He slowly unbuttons the cuffs of his sleeves and starts rolling them up his forearms without breaking eye contact.
Do not look at his muscles, I demand myself, though by the silence that has settled over the class, I can tell no one else is following suit.
“I told you!” Sam whispers, though it’s not as quiet as he thinks it is. “He’s hot.”
I resist the urge to shush him like an angry librarian because ourprofessorwas still staring me dead in the eyes, that smirk from earlier back on his face. The blush that had just faded starts to creep back in.
He scoops up a stack of papers and starts to pass them out to the front row. “My name is Professor Stirling,” he says, looking over theclass with a stern look that makes students’ spines straighten around me. “You can call me Professor Stirling.”
Yikes, I doubt people were lying when they called this guy a hard-ass.
I take the time to really look him over as he continues to pass out papers. He’s tall. A giant, really. He towers over me at 5’6, making him at least 6’0. His dark brown hair is styled away from his face in a classic cut, which makes the scruff he’s letting grow in very aesthetically pleasing. Okay, it’s hot, there’s no other word for it. His eyes are such a vibrant green, they’re nearly emerald. And worst of all. He’s fit. Like, incredibly fit, goes-to-the-gym-every-day ripped. His biceps are bulging in his button-up, and I can vaguely see the outline of washboard abs through the fabric of his shirt.
I quickly glance around, noticing I am not the only one inappropriately drooling over this man.
“Is he even old enough to teach a course in a Master’s program?” Imumble to Sam.
“Who cares?” He grins back, fanning his face.
“Welcome to Counseling Theories. This course will cover the concepts and processes of therapy, providing you with a comprehensive framework and helping you navigate the complexities of human experience so that you may select appropriate interventions for patients. If you have any questions, feel free to email me or speak with me during office hours. If you see me out at a bar, do not ask to hang out; the answer will always be no.”
“Jesus,” I mutter.
“Still hot,” Sam says behind his hand.
Professor Stirling looks over at us.
“Stop, he can hear you,” I hush him.
