Teach Me: A Bad Boy Professor Romance (The Me Series Book 1)

by Penelope Marshall

  CHER

  I stepped out of the shower and wrapped my towel around me, listening intently for any movement in the room. I hoped he'd left so I wouldn't need to face him again.

  The room was silent, so I ventured out, peeking through the crack before I took the first step onto the carpet. He'd left, but the anger from earlier still wafted about the room like a lingering ghost.

  Class with him as my teacher for the rest of the year was going to be a bitch and, frankly, I didn't know how I was going to get through it with my dignity intact—without losing my cool at least once or twice. My gaze shifted over to my mother's picture, her warnings so vivid in my head—why hadn't I listened to any of them?

  I crawled into bed, laying my head on the pillow before closing my eyes. I took in a deep breath of his cologne which still clung valiantly onto the threads of my sheets.

  Why did I let him in?

  I promised myself I would never let a man in, and the minute I did, I selfishly couldn't accept what he was able to offer. I lifted the sheets over my face, trying to hide from my glaring shame.

  I wouldn't shed any tears for him; I was stronger than that, or at least I would pretend to be. I could make it through one year, staring at his chiseled jawline and entrancing eyes. No problem.

  What am I saying?

  It was totally going to be a problem.

  Fuck me!

  I shut my eyes tightly, praying I could go back to sleep, my mind heavy with worry. I laid there for what seemed like hours, watching the shadows on the walls grow lighter as daylight began to peek through the window.

  I was suddenly startled from my trance by the alarm ringing from my phone. It was time to face the music, and I wasn't any closer to being prepared than I was the moment I laid my head on the pillow. Pushing myself up, I flung my head forward to toss my half curled hair into a bun on the top of my head. What was the point of looking my best for a man I couldn't have?

  With shoulders slumped, I rifled through the closet, looking for something to wear, and came across a pair of jeans and another loose sweater. It was perfect for how I felt. I slid the thick jersey material over my head and headed for the bathroom to brush my teeth.

  As I stood there, gliding the toothbrush back and forth, I noted the bags under my eyes which had accumulated over the night's sleepless hours.

  I looked horrible. Showing up to class resembling a beast would make it so much easier for him to move on without a second thought and, goddammit, I wanted to at least be a second, or third thought passing through his mind.

  I threw some mascara on my top lashes, foundation on the giant bruise on my forehead, and a swipe of pink lip gloss for a hint of color other than the pale, ghost white I was flaunting. A tendril of hair fell from my bun and onto my face, and as I lodged it behind my ear, I remembered how he had gently swept my hair aside the night before.

  I shook the memory from my head before heading out the door and decided to take the long way to class since I had enough time. I strolled down the uneven path that edged the lake where the kayakers practiced every morning before dawn. Now that they had gone for the day, the face of the water was peaceful, without a ripple in sight. It was the kind of peace I was praying for. I leaned against the wooden fence and closed my eyes to breathe in the crisp morning air.

  "You look like you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders," a caring voice echoed from behind.

  I whipped around—startled.

  "I'm sorry, my dear. Did I scare you?"

  My eyes pored over the woman's kind face, and unimposing presence. "No, it's okay, really."

  "Did you want to be alone?" she asked, gripping the fence as she closed her sea blue eyes, and tilted her head back, letting her dark black hair flow down her back.

  "That's a funny question to ask me right now, actually."

  She turned to me, her soft smile glowing radiantly. "Don't you just love it here?"

  "Yes. Yes, I do. I often come here when I'm suffocating."

  "You wanna talk about it?"

  I chuckled away my anxiety. "Oh, no, I wouldn't wanna burden you with my trivial angst."

  "A burden? Please! Let me live through your youth for a few moments this morning. You would be doing me a great favor."

  I looked into her solemn eyes, wanting so badly to confide in her. She seemed genuine, and I desperately needed someone genuine. "It's just…" my words trailed, realizing I was about to tell a complete stranger my tragic tale of woe.

  I shook my head. "It's nothing, really."

  She winked at me. "A man, huh?"

  "That obvious?" I rested my elbows on the hardwood, letting my hands hang over the edge.

  "I've lived a long time, my dear, and I've had my share of heartbreaks. I can spot one a mile away."

  "I just thought I was ready," I blurted out.

  "We always think we're ready, but there never really is a good time to fall in love, is there?"

  I shook my head. "In love? No! Love—" I paused. "—never"

  She shifted her gaze from the water. "Mmhmm. Sure."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" I laughed.

  "There's just something in your eyes that's familiar to me. It's a look I had when I met my husband."

  "Oh, really, and how long have you two been married?"

  "Decades, but he's passed now."

  "Oh, I'm so sorry."

  "No, dear. Don't be sorry. I was lucky enough to hold him for a time, and I wouldn't change that for the world."

  "That's sweet."

  "He was! Now back to your guy."

  "Well, he's not my guy. I did something I promised myself, and my mother I would never do, and now—"

  Her head whipped to the side, focusing her attention on me. "Are you okay?" Worry washed over her face.

  I couldn't admit to her what I'd done. Even though she was a complete stranger, I felt some semblance of connection with her—almost motherly. It was something I probably needed at the moment and, oddly enough, I didn't want to disappoint her.

  "Why do men leave?" I asked, twiddling my thumbs.

  Her face calmed, and her gaze shifted back to the water. "Why does anyone leave, dear? It's the paths we choose in life that determine our course, and the course of those around us."

  "I wish you were there to tell my father that. Maybe he wouldn't have left," I replied, holding back the dam to the tears that were always waiting to burst whenever I spoke of his betrayal.

  "A man should never leave his children, especially a daughter. He's the first man to teach her how she should be loved. I'm sorry he left you, dear, but you can't be scared to love—to take a leap of faith."

  "I just don't want to be hurt like my mother was."

  "You look pretty hurt to me now, so what's the difference?"

  "I can stop it here, and know I won't get hurt again."

  "True. You could, but is he worth the chance for happiness?"

  I looked back at the water, watching as a soft wind blew a large ripple over from the water's edge.

  "I—I think—"

  She pushed herself off the fence and stepped back onto the path. "You don't have to answer me, dear. I've taken my leap and loved like no other. You have to decide if you want to take yours."

  And with that she turned and kept on her way down the path, leaving me there to contemplate our conversation.

  Shit, class.

  I was late again. I rushed through the middle of the quad to get to the English building. The halls were already empty, and the sound of my sneakers squeaking against the freshly mopped tile floor echoed loudly, alerting each passing class of my tardiness.

  All eyes were on me the minute I stepped into class, where Regan had started his rendition of Romeo's soliloquy under the balcony. I tried my best to make it to my desk without interrupting, catching sight of Reese's murderous glare as I passed, which I returned with a sneer just as vile.

  His jaw was black and blue, evidence of the one punch Rega
n threw to protect me.

  Fucking bastard. I hope it hurts.

  I was sure he would never report the incident because he knew I would gladly tell my side of the story. A story he probably didn't want the NFL draft committee to hear about.

  Taking my seat, I kept my eyes on the engraved initials decorating the corner of my desk. I couldn't look up at Regan. I wouldn't. Especially while he was spewing Shakespeare's most romantic prose.

  "It is my lady, O, it is my love! O, that she knew she were!" Regan recited, staring directly at me.

  "Yeesh! Who needs this crap in real life?" Reese asked with a tinge of irritation in his voice.

  Regan stopped and looked at him. "Obviously, you've never met anyone who makes you want to recite poetry created by your utter longing for them."

  "Obviously!"

  "Then I'm sad for you, Reese."

  Reese's face scrunched as he slammed his notebook shut. "I don't need this shit," he bellowed as he tried to stand from his desk.

  His massive body made it impossible to slide out, so he spent the next few seconds struggling to pry himself from its grip. The class giggled at his efforts, turning his eyes red with fury. He grabbed his books and stormed out without another word.

  "Looks like I'll be getting a drop request in my inbox today." Regan smiled then continued.

  The words effortlessly spilled from his lips, almost as though he actually felt them. Maybe he did? His words were drowned out by the swooning taking place all around me, but what woman's heart wouldn't skip a beat at the fine specimen of a man pacing the floor in front of us, quoting one of the most romantic books ever written.

  If I was truly honest with myself, and I wasn't trying to be, I was swooning a little myself—even though I was still upset from our last encounter. I found myself lost in his eyes and in the way he moved, imagining I was undressing him with each step he took.

  God, I still want him.

  I sat back in my chair, appalled I hadn't learned my lesson. I looked out the window, trying to block out the sound of his voice coupled with the sound of my stomach churning. I definitely couldn't survive the rest of the year this way. Maybe I should follow Reese's example and drop the class as well?

  REGAN

  I went on with class, trying my best not to look at her. I had to drink an entire glass of scotch just to get her out of my head long enough to fall asleep, and I didn't want a whole new image burned into my memory to have to forget.

  I couldn't believe how mad I was at her. After all, she had her issues, just like I had mine—how could I fault her for that? I would need to chalk up the affair to a lesson learned, and keep on the path I was on before I crossed hers. It was only going to be a few months' worth of class, not counting vacations. I could do this. I could be her teacher, and not bat an eyelash.

  Fuck I'm a terrible liar.

  I couldn't even deceive myself. The minutes ticked by and before I knew it, class was over. Everyone got up and left like usual, but Cher sat there in a trance, looking out the window.

  I didn't want to have to speak to her as it was hard enough to be in the same room, but I needed to get her attention. She needed to leave—I needed her to leave.

  CHER

  "Cher," Regan's voice filtered through my thoughts. "Cher."

  I turned from the window to find Regan crouched down in front of my desk, looking up at me. My eyes darted back and forth searching for witnesses, but the room was empty.

  "Where'd everyone go?"

  "Class is over."

  "But I just got here."

  "You were late."

  I looked back out the window. "Oh, right."

  "How are you feeling today?"

  I turned back to him. "Not well."

  He stood, resting his hands on my desk, hovering over me with his tantalizing presence.

  "You look well rested," I said, inspecting his eyes for bags, or any evidence of a sleepless night.

  "I slept well."

  "Must be nice," I huffed, my shoulder brushing his arm as I stood.

  He grabbed my wrist, keeping me from leaving. "Stay and talk to me."

  His words caused a quiver between my legs I had no control over, and all I wanted to do was obey him and stay.

  "No!" I pulled my wrist away. "I'm pissed at you."

  "Pissed about what? You practically told me to leave," he said in a low voice as he walked to the door and closed it.

  "I'm pissed because I took a leap, and you weren't there to catch me."

  "A leap?"

  "Yes, a fucking leap."

  He stood there staring at me, so I did the only thing I could do—the only thing I knew how to do—run. "I think it's best if I drop your class."

  He nodded. "Maybe it is best."

  His answer was hurtful, but not unexpected.

  "Drop off the slip in my box. I'll sign it. I can't do this anyway. I can't pretend every day," he said, moving toward his desk, trying to keep his eyes off me.

  I moved toward him—intrigued. "Pretend what?"

  He shook his head, not wanting to answer me.

  "I don't want to talk about it."

  "At least have the decency to finish a goddam conversation with me."

  "Why does it matter anymore?"

  "It matters to me," my voice cracked as tears began to prick the back of my eyes. "You fucking matter to me." I pressed my hand against his chest, his heart beating hard against my palm. "Pretend what, Regan?" I whispered.

  He looked up from his papers, gazing intently into my eyes. "Pretend that I haven't fallen in love with you, Cher."

  Silently, I took in the softness of his confession.

  "Could it be possible to fall in love so quickly—so deeply that I hadn't realized?"

  He pressed his palm to my cheek. "Realized what?"

  I had to break down every wall I'd built to say the words to him—every wall my mother had helped me build. He snaked his arm around my waist, pressing his hand to the small of my back, pulling me between his legs.

  "Realize what, Cher?"

  My lips parted as I stared into his eyes. "I've fallen in love with you, too."

  His hand moved from my cheek to the back of my neck, holding me in place as he gently pressed his lips to mine. At that moment, I didn't care what obstacle we had to face to be together. I was willing to face them all—face them all with him.

  He broke our kiss. "I've checked my contract, and as long as you aren't in my class, we can be together."

  A weight lifted off me, and I felt like I was floating on a cloud. "Really?"

  "Really."

  "I'm so—"

  Suddenly, the door creaked open. We were caught. I hid my face in his neck, too embarrassed to turn around.

  Regan's grip didn't loosen a bit. "Can I help you, Sir?"

  "Yes. Are you, Mr. Donovan?"

  The shallow voice crept into my brain, reviving memories I had filed away years before—memories I couldn't place. My fingers raked across Regan's shirt, clutching a handful of it in my palm.

  "Yes, I am. How may I help you?"

  The voice neared. "I'm Mr. Lex, Reese's father."

  Regan's right arm fell away from me as he leaned forward, presumably to shake the man's hand. "Mr. Lex, how may I help you?"

  "May I speak with you in private?"

  I pulled away from Regan ready to run out the door, but he opposed my escape. His left arm clinging on tightly around my waist. "No, you may not. What is it that you need?"

  Mr. Lex cleared his throat. "I wanted to talk to you about the incident last night—in the parking lot—with some tramp trying to throw herself at my son."

  "A tramp, huh?" Regan's hold tensed around me.

  "Yes, my son said you swooped in to protect her, thinking he was trying to assault her. I'm here to assure you he would never do such a thing. He has his choice of any woman and wouldn't damage his career by touching some dime-a-dozen hussy who decided she didn't wanna put out at the last minute."<
br />
  I was embarrassed, not wanting to turn and face him.

  "Why are you here?" Regan growled.

  "No need to get mad. I'm just here because he said you'd mentioned something about charges being filed. How much to make this go away?"

  Regan stepped back, pulling me with him. "Are you serious, Mr. Lex?"

  "Please, call me Brian."

  Brian?

  That's when it happened. The revelation. The voice, coupled with the name my mother hated above all names—Brian—my father.

  In a flash of heat, I pushed myself off of Regan and whipped around, facing the man who had tormented my life with one single act of selfishness. I watched his face turn pale as he stood there staring at me. His familiar blue eyes brought back every memory of the short time I'd spent with him. They were the same blue eyes Reese had.

  "You," he said with an astonished look on his face.

  "Me!"

  "You look just like her."

  "Like who? The woman you left destitute?"

  "It wasn't—"

  I interrupted. "We had nothing. Nothing, goddammit."

  "Your mother knew who I was; she could've asked at any time," he replied coldly.

  Tears began streaming down my face. Regan stepped toward me, but I held up my hand, motioning for him to stay where he was. I needed to do this on my own. I needed to confront the man who had forever stifled any possibility of me having a normal relationship.

  I wiped the tears from my cheeks. "So, Reese, my brother—what a bang up job you did with him. Maybe I was lucky you were only able to screw me up for the few years you were able to. Who knows how I would've turned out."

  "C'mon, that's not fair. You were a little girl. You didn't know the kind of hell your mother was to live with. She was a bitch."

  I couldn't believe he was smearing my mother. The only person who loved me enough to set her life aside and raise me.

  "If my mother was a bitch to you, it was probably because you deserved it. Now that I've met you I can see why!"

  He stepped toward me, stretching out his hand. Instinctively, I backed up, swatting it away. "Don't you touch me. Don't you ever touch me."

  "I think it's best if you leave, Mr. Lex," Regan growled as he stepped between us, crossing his arms like a bodyguard keeping the riffraff at bay.