Shaking her head, Raven said, “She’s definitely not passing the class.”
I shrugged. “Not sure what I can do about that. Maybe Dallas can help negotiate some makeup work or something.”
“They’re sleeping together,” Raven blurted out.
Oh, boy.
“He’s taking advantage of her,” she continued. “He kicked her out of the class in front of everyone. That’s how we all found out. She confessed everything and showed us the text messages.” Raven leaned forward, whispering, “She even had a dick pic.”
I wasn’t sure what I’d expected, but this was definitely not it. The last thing I wanted to do was step into a professor-student situation.Been there, done that. “I still don’t understand why you need me,” I told her. “If anything, this feels like a legal issue.”
“We discussed your article during one of our women’s empowerment meetings.”
The last year had been a whirlwind for me. I’d penned an article entitled, “It’s Not Me, It’s You.” It had gone viral, earning me a ton of new fans and my fair share of enemies. Mostly bitter men. What had started as a simple letter to women who blamed themselves for the deterioration of their relationships had ended with talk show appearances, speaking engagements, book deals, and a slew of job offers.
“She knows you’re The Breakup Expert,” Raven added.
That nickname had followed me from elementary school—when I’d done Janet King a favor by dumping stinky Hugh Frank during morning recess—to now. And I’d used that name and skillset to build my brand.
I smirked. “Does she know I’m not that nice? If she’s looking for someone to hold her hand while she cries, I’m not the one.”
Raven sighed heavily. “I just want her to be okay. She’s not herself.”
I met my niece’s concerned gaze. Standing, I walked around my desk and stopped in front of her. “Baby girl, I know you’re worried about your friend. But, if I’m being honest, this sounds a little farfetched.”
“Why do you say that?”
Hunching a shoulder, I explained, “Because sometimes young, impressionable women make up things in their head. Especially if a professor is handsome or serves as a father surrogate or reminds them of someone back home.”
“He’s hot, though. A lot of us—” Raven cleared her throat. “I mean, them…” She scratched the back of her neck. “Trust me, a lot of the women at my school wouldn’t mind doing him.”
I arched a questioning brow. “Really? Is he a teaching assistant?”
“No.”
“Fine professor” felt like an oxymoron. I’d only knownonein my lifetime. “How old is he?”
“He’s your age.” She picked up her phone and typed something. A few seconds later, she held it up so I could see his picture. “It’s not a good pic. He looks way better in person. Disarming.”
Taking the phone from her, I studied the man. Brown skin, light brown eyes, chiseled face, serious expression, stuffy suit. He wasn’t bad on the eyes, but he wasn’t blow-your-mind fine, either. “I don’t get it. He’s bland to me. Definitely not someone I’d risk my collegiate career on.”
Raven took her phone away from me. “You don’t understand. This pic does him no justice.”
“Whatever you say,” I said.
“He’s so knowledgeable.”
“Well, heisa professor,” I retorted. “I’d expect him to be intelligent.”
“And he challenges us to do more for our communities, to learn more about our history. His Hip Hop and Sociology class is the best class I’ve taken! Other universities are trying to woo him away, but he won’t leave, because his family is here.”
I frowned. “Are you sure yourfriendis the one who has the crush on him?”
“I’m sure, Auntie.” Raven flashed sad eyes at me. “Please? Can you at least talk to her?”
Sighing, I told her to go get Dory. A few minutes later, both of them stepped into my office. “Hi, Dory.” I motioned for her to take a seat. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m in love with my professor.”
