Free Bad Professor (An Alpha Male Bad Boy Romance) by Claire Adams Page A

Ford
asked as I walked into the lecture hall.
    "Yes,
thank you! Kurt Vonnegut sums it up so well. I loved how he described the shape
of stories. Especially Cinderella ,"
I said.
    Ford
smiled, and for a moment I forgot about the multiple levels of students behind
me. There was only his stubbled grin, and the crinkled lines of it around his
smoky gray eyes. The man had black lashes that could ensnare me.
    "Are
you going to tell me what you're working on?" he asked.
    I
turned to walk up to my seat. "Who says I'm working on anything? Maybe if
you didn't give us so much homework ..."
    The
students nearest me snickered and called out their agreement. I felt a tug in
my chest. It always felt awful to separate us back into our roles. He was a
professor and I was a student, except when he smiled and the outside world
receded.
    I
missed most of his lecture that day, but I knew it wouldn't bother me to watch
him again on the recording my laptop made. My notes were a jumble of attempted
phrases and minute descriptions, a mess of writing that had nothing to do with
journalism.
    As
long as no one noticed, I was recklessly following my own instincts. If anyone
saw me acting so free-spirited and irresponsible, I knew the unsaid comparison
to my mother would drive it all away. Writing a creative short story felt wild,
impractical, and wonderful as long as I had it all to myself.
    With
that thought in mind, I scooped up all my things and crammed them into my book
bag. The other upside of my secret project was it helped me to avoid thinking
about Ford. Sure, one of the characters resembled him in flattering ways, but
writing about him was safer than flirting with the real thing.
    "Hey,
Clarity!" Thomas jogged to catch up to me in the foyer of Thompson Hall. "How
about a coffee? Unless you're heading out to get some fresh air. Want some
company?"
    It
was a beautiful, November day, with bright sunshine that held the last dregs of
summer's warmth. Everyone was flooding out of the building and onto the lawns
to feel the sun on their faces. All I wanted to do was scramble back down to
the library basement and be left in peace.
    "Sorry,
Thomas, I've got to study. See you around," I called as I headed across
the courtyard to the library.
    I
took a different route just to make sure Thomas didn't follow me. He was shy,
but persistent, and I wasn't sure how far he would pursue me. I was just
translating that thought into a memory for my main character when I came around
the corner of the archive stacks and almost screamed.
    "What
are you doing here?" I hissed instead.
    Ford
leaned his head back on the hidden armchair and smiled. "Isn't it obvious?
I'm waiting for you."
    "How
did you know I was coming here?" my whisper cracked with irritation.
    Ford
stood up and motioned for me to take the arm chair. When I shook my head and
crossed my arms tight across my chest, he sighed and explained, "I
questioned your friend, Thomas. I'm sorry to say, but he's the best kind of
source: anxious to talk if he likes the subject. You do know he likes you,
right?"
    "Leave
poor Thomas out of this. Why are you here, Ford?" My breath caught. I
always called him by his first name in my head. That's how we first met and I
felt I had some claim to his given name as long as I didn't say it aloud.
    Ford
paused at the sound of it too. A smile played around his lips, only to be
swallowed away. "I'm just curious. Thomas, on the other hand, is worried. He
thinks you're working too hard. But, if the smile I saw as you came down those
steps is any indication, you like whatever you've been working on."
    I
ground my teeth and scowled. "I did until you came along and interrupted
me."
    Ford
gestured to the open armchair. "Please, don't let me get in your way. Like
I said, I was just curious."
    I
inched past him, refusing to inhale the intoxicating scent of his soap. The
last time I caught a whiff of sandalwood in a candle store, I had gotten weak
in the knees. I stopped and we were caught,