Page 12

Sam

Is Tucker right about me? I think so. Having his attention again after all these years has sparked something inside me. Desire, maybe? But isn’t that a natural reaction to a man like Tucker? Any woman with a pulse would feel even the slightest attraction to him.

I’m so messed up. Daddy issues, my therapist would tell me. Dr. Carson said I seek male approval because I never got it from my father.

Tucker’s wrong for me on every level. I shouldn’t even be thinking about him this way. He’s just another student—the cocky asshole who took my virginity. You never forget your first. And Tucker sure as hell was memorable.

Flipping through the papers on Professor Frazier’s desk, I skim the quizzes I’ve already graded.

Tucker is my last afternoon appointment.

Leaning back in the leather chair, I let out a breath of air and stare at the ceiling for a second, attempting to relax.

My hands tremble, anxiety bubbling in my chest.

I can’t handle another headache between juggling multiple jobs, school, and my dad. Tucker will push my limits. I know he will. The carnal look in his eyes on Monday told me so.

He wants me.

I still want him.

I was in shock for hours after he touched my thigh in Professor Frazier’s classroom. He was so forward, making his intentions known. Or, at the very least, trying to convince me to bend to his will.

I’m the straitlaced girl who studies hard, gets good grades, and is the teacher’s pet. I earned the teaching assistant position, and Tucker will try to jeopardize my role. He has to get his way, no matter the cost. Guys like him don’t understand the meaning of no.

I have zero self-control around Tucker. The moment his hand caressed my skin and his fingers slid up my thigh, I couldn’t breathe, let alone think.

Keep it together.

You can do this, Sam.

Distracted by my thoughts, I look over when someone knocks on the open door.

Tucker’s standing in the entryway with a wicked smirk on his lips.

He’s wearing a navy tracksuit, the pants hanging low on his hips, and a fitted Strick U hockey tee.

I stare far too long, which earns a chuckle from Tucker.

My mouth hangs open, my gaze focused on all the wrong parts of him. Or maybe the right ones, depending on how you look at it. Oh my God, what is wrong with me? Have I gone without sex for so long that I’m turning into a horny teenager around him?

This has to stop.

Tucker taps the wood hard and then strolls through the door, broad-shouldered and oozing sex appeal. He closes the door and locks it behind him. And I still can’t breathe.

What is he doing?

Say something, Sam.

With a crooked grin on his handsome face, he sits in front of me, leaning back in his chair.“Samantha, are you ready for me?”

Am I ready?

No.

I can’t stand to be in the same room as Tucker. One look from him, and I’m crossing my legs, too aware of how wet he’s making my panties.

Clearing my throat, I sit up straight and retrieve a blank quiz from the inner flap in the organizer on my desk. I shove it across the desk in front of Tucker. “You have one hour.”

He glances at the paper, then looks up at me while licking his lips. Why does he keep doing that? I want to tell him to stop. Our relationship has to remain professional. I don’t even like him. He’s a horrible asshole who fucked me and then walked away like it meant nothing to him.

Because it meant nothing to him.

I was just sex.

He was the man who ripped off the Band-Aid of my virginity. I knew what I was getting with him, even though I hoped for more. Maybe I hate him for all the wrong reasons. But I don’t think he deserves a second chance.

He will earn his grade.

“Stop distracting me,” Tucker says, sliding his chair closer to the desk. “I can’t focus when you do that.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Do what?”

“Twirl your hair around your index finger.”

I stop twisting the strand of hair and lower my hand to my lap. Until he mentioned it, I wasn’t even aware I was doing it. Call it a nervous tick, I guess.

“Stop looking at me and pay attention to your quiz,” I shoot back, a defiant smirk turning up the corner of my mouth. “Now you have fifty-seven minutes. The clock is ticking, Tucker.”

He smiles so wide it illuminates his face, reaching up to his light blue irises.

Tucker has eyes you can get lost in, the perfect shade of blue that reminds me of a cloudless sky.

The dimple in his right cheek creases his tanned skin.

I like it when he smiles instead of smirks.

There’s a boyish quality about him, even though he’s all man and muscle.

That is until he speaks…

“Don’t make me bend you over this desk and spank you.” He leans forward, his elbow on the edge of the desk, his lustful gaze luring me in. “Unless that’s what you want.” He lowers his voice, though this time it’s more sensual. “I remember how you like it.”

I cough, practically choking from his remark. I need to get out of here, but I can’t leave. He hasn’t even written his name on the quiz.

“Tucker,” I warn, my voice trembling.

“Samantha,” he whispers, pressing his palms on the wood to lean over the desk, invading my space.

I stop breathing the closer he gets, unable to think straight. He knows how uncomfortable he’s making me, but he keeps going until he reaches for a lead pencil in the mug next to my computer.

Relief washes over me.

Still tight, my chest slowly deflates, my breathing returning to normal.

He grips it between his fingers, his cocky smirk returning, and then sits back in his chair. “I need something to write with,” he says. “Unless you want me to work off my grade in other ways.”

Holy mother of dragons.

“Fifty minutes,” I choke out.

He nods as if saying he gets the hint, his eyes leaving mine to read the paper. I watch his every move, studying him like any other subject.

The editor at The Strickland Gazette has taught me to observe and report. How to spot little cues and tells that help good reporters become great.

I dream of working for The New York Times or The Washington Post. That’s why I double majored in law and journalism. A well-rounded education should help when I apply for positions after graduation. At least, that’s my hope.

After I snap out of it, I enter grades into the computer.

Professor Frazier is very hands-off with his classes, so I’m expected to do everything for him.

Busy with his law practice downtown, Professor Frazier only checks in with me once a week.

And with the clock ticking, he will be here any minute.

“Time’s almost up,” I say, breaking the silence in the room.

Tucker peeks up at me, pencil clasped between his fingers, and smiles. He pushes his quiz toward me and winks. “Go easy on me.”

“You’ll get whatever grade you deserve,” I assure him because I’m not doing him a favor.

Good looks and cocky smirks aren’t enough for me to make an exception. Tucker has to earn his grades. He won’t get any handouts from me. Every single thing I have worked for. Rich kids like Tucker must learn that hard work pays off in the long run.

“I can’t fail this class,” he says, “or I’ll be off the team.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Not my problem. Your grades reflect your effort. If you put nothing into this class, you’ll get nothing out of it. That’s how life works.”

“I don’t remember you being such a hardass,” he says.

“You didn’t remember me at all,” I challenge, now angry with him.

He sits back in his chair and kicks his foot up on his knee, smirking. “Oh, so that’s it… you’re punishing me for doing exactly what I promised.” Tucker shakes his head. “I told you back then it was nothing more than a hookup. You were okay with it. And now you’re taking it out on me.”

“Losing my virginity in a frat house was memorable but for all the wrong reasons.”

Horror scrolls across his face. We sit in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes before Tucker speaks again, “You didn’t act like a… there wasn’t any… you should have told me.”

He disposed of the condom so fast he probably didn’t notice the blood on it before he sent me on my way. Would he have cared back then? I doubt it. Not after he’d gotten what he wanted. But I can’t pass all the blame to Tucker. I wanted him to be my first for some idiotic reason.

“I had experience doing other things, just never had sex with anyone… until you.” I rise from the chair and straighten my skirt, running my hands down the front of it.

“It’s in the past, okay? But don’t expect me to do you favors just because we were together years ago.

It meant nothing to you. It means nothing to me,” I lie.

“So, let’s move on and forget it ever happened. ”

“That’s the problem.” He jumps to his feet. “I can’t forget you.”

I laugh. “You already did. It should be easy to go back to how things used to be before you found me on Strick Net.”

He’s about to speak when Professor Frazier pushes open the door and stumbles into the room. “Why is the door locked?” He shoots daggers in my direction, and my blood runs cold.

Damn it, Tucker. He locked it. And now Professor Frazier will chew my ear out over it. We’re not supposed to be behind closed doors with students.

“Umm…”

“Sorry, Prof,” Tucker interrupts. “That was me.”

Professor Frazier nods, crossing the room to meet us. Then, his gaze shifts to me. “Don’t let it happen again.”

I cringe at the coldness in his tone.

“Thanks for letting me make up the quiz,” Tucker says. “See you in class,” he says to Professor Frazier.

He exits the room faster than he appeared, leaving me alone with Professor Creepy. Ever since my interview, he’s given me weird vibes. But this position pays better than my other jobs.

“Samantha…” Professor Frazier says, taking a seat behind his desk. “Do we need to discuss the rules?”

“No, sir,” I mutter. “I didn’t know he locked the door. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. The hallway was noisy when he walked in. I shut the door so he could take the quiz without distractions.”

“Don’t let it happen again.” He sets his briefcase on the desk and clicks the lock, pushing the top open. “I have some work to do. After you enter the grades into Strick Net, you can go home.”

I smile. “I updated everyone but Tucker. He just finished.”

He points at the chair Tucker recently vacated. “Have a seat.”

I do as he instructs, reaching for the red pen on his desk, but before I can lift it, he covers his hand over mine. A ripple of shock and fear floods my veins.

What is he doing? I stare at him, eyes wide and confused.

“Don’t mistake my absence for ignorance, Miss Marchand. I’m always aware of what’s going on at this school. Do you understand?”

What the hell is his problem?

A pang of anxiety crushes my chest, stabbing me. My life is hard enough. I don’t need another complication.

“Yes, sir,” I say.

He releases his hold on my hand, allowing me to sit and grade Tucker’s paper. I see why Tucker asked me to take it easy on him. I circle the bright red D at the top of his paper and add it to the stack of quizzes inside the pocket of my organizer.

He will need my help passing this class.

Too bad he won’t get it.