Page 2 of The Naughty Professor

Chapter Two

Felix

“Sterling,” Thorne said, his voice low but carrying in the ruined lab. “Don’t forget—you’re speaking at the remembrance service this afternoon. I’ll be speaking too.”

My stomach dropped somewhere around my shoes.

The service. Right. For Dr. Alastair Greene, the history professor who’d collapsed mid-lecture two weeks ago, never to rise again.

I’d been close to Alastair. Weekly lunches, long debates about whether history repeated itself or just rhymed.

I’d volunteered to say a few words, thinking it was the least I could do.

Now, Thorne was telling me he’d be speaking too.

My brain short-circuited at the thought of sharing a stage with him. Thorne Carr. Professor of Philosophy. Tall, steady, heartbreakingly handsome in that salt-and-pepper way that made me want to curl into a ball.

Before I could respond, Joan clutched Thorne’s arm with one hand, tilting her head so her perfectly cut bob grazed his shoulder. “Oh, Thorne,” she said, her voice dripping like syrup. “This must have been so difficult for you. Losing a mentor like that…”

I tried not to roll my eyes. What Thorne saw in her—if he saw anything—I couldn’t imagine. Joan had two settings: pretentious and more pretentious.

Thorne, ever the gentleman, gave her a solemn nod. “Alastair was a good man.”

Juniper coughed loudly into her fist. “Don’t worry, Dr. Sterling,” she said, stepping closer and patting my shoulder like she was my bodyguard. “I’ll make sure you get to the service on time. Wouldn’t want you wandering into the wrong memorial and giving a eulogy for a strange dead guy.”

Joan turned her gaze on Juniper, and if looks could kill, they would have vaporized my teaching assistant on the spot. She sniffed and tugged at Thorne’s arm. “Come, Thorne. We should…prepare.”

He gave me a brief glance, unreadable, then allowed himself to be led away.

The moment the door shut behind them, Juniper muttered, “Does she rehearse her fake sympathy in the mirror, or does it just ooze out naturally?”

I snorted. Tried to stifle it. Failed spectacularly, and laughter bubbled out of me like one of my ill-fated experiments.

Juniper grinned, pleased with herself. Then she tilted her head. “You know, if I were into hot daddies, Dr. Carr would be at the top of my list.”

My laugh died mid-chuckle. Heat flared up my neck and into my ears.

Juniper noticed instantly. A slow, wolfish smile spread across her face.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “You’re into him. Aren’t you?”

“I—what—I don’t…” I stammered, waving my hands like that would erase the crimson flooding my cheeks. “That’s ridiculous. Utterly. He’s—he’s—”

Words abandoned me. My throat seized. And then, because my body apparently hates me, I sneezed.

“Ahh-CHOO!”

Juniper blinked.

“Ahhh-CHHHHHHOOOO!”

Another. Then another. A full volley of them. I tried to speak between them, but it was like my sinuses had staged a mutiny. My eyes watered, my nose ran, and I was fairly certain I’d startled the skeleton model into a second death.

Finally, after what felt like a century of convulsing, I dragged in a shaky breath. My entire face throbbed, and I was sure I looked like I’d been pepper-sprayed.

Juniper, the devil herself, patted my arm delicately. “Bless your heart, Dr. Sterling.”

* * *

Juniper and I walked across the commons, my shoes squeaking against the polished tile. At the far end, a wooden sign rested on an easel with block letters:

Remembrance Service for Dr. Alastair Greene →

My throat tightened.

Juniper stopped dead. “Ugh. Funerals. Can’t stand them.”

“You’re leaving?” I asked, horrified.

She shrugged. “Didn’t know the dead guy, Dr. Sterling. No point in crying over someone else’s mentor. Besides, I’ve got an online order of vibrators to box up.” She patted my shoulder once, brisk as ever. “You’ll be fine. Try not to sob into Professor Carr’s lap.”

Before I could sputter a reply, she spun on her heel and disappeared down the hall.

I stood there for a moment, abandoned, then took a shaky breath and stepped into the room.

Rows of chairs filled the space, though only half were occupied.

A giant framed photo of Alastair sat at the front, his smile bright, his tweed jacket unmistakable.

Around it, smaller photos were arranged: Alastair laughing with students, chalk in hand at the blackboard, grinning over coffee mugs in the faculty lounge.

A massive bouquet of white lilies framed the display, the scent heady and funereal.

In the very front row, Joan and Thorne sat side by side, heads bent toward one another as they studied the pictures. Joan whispered something, her hand brushing his arm, and Thorne nodded gravely.

Then he turned his head. His gaze found me.

I froze.

And then—God help me—he beckoned.

Thorne Carr. The man who’d never included me in anything, not so much as a hallway chat. Now he was inviting me to sit beside him.

I felt my legs moving before my brain caught up. Slowly, awkwardly, I made my way to the front row. Every squeak of my shoes was deafening. Joan’s eyes tracked me like a sniper.

I slid into the chair beside Thorne, trying not to hyperventilate. His presence radiated warmth, and my heart thumped against my ribs like it wanted out. Joan’s side-eye burned into me, her smile tight and brittle.

The Dean of Students shuffled to the podium, tapping the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, if we could come to order.” His voice cracked with age, but the room quieted.

“It is a profound loss,” he began, “to have lost Dr. Alastair Greene. His death was sudden and unexpected.” A pause. “Though perhaps not entirely unexpected, given that he had been with the university for fifty-seven years.”

A murmur of bittersweet laughter rolled through the crowd.

The dean continued, “He was like a father to me, and to many of us here. His legacy lives on in the generations of students he taught, and the colleagues he inspired.”

He gestured to the side. “Now, one of his students has asked to share her thoughts.”

A petite young woman walked nervously to the podium. She clutched her notes, her voice trembling at first but strengthening as she spoke.

“Dr. Greene was…like a grandfather to me,” she said. “I took his History of Civilizations class my freshman year. I was homesick, overwhelmed, and he noticed. He’d check in on me after class, ask if I’d eaten, remind me I belonged here. I’ll never forget his kindness.”

I swallowed hard, blinking fast. Out of the corner of my eye, I stole glances at Thorne.

His jaw was tight, and his eyes glistened, tears brimming as the student spoke. My stomach flipped.

When the student finished, the dean returned. “Thank you, my dear. Now, Dr. Thorne Carr, a close friend of Dr. Greene, would like to say a few words.”

Applause rose gently as Thorne stood. He buttoned his jacket, smoothed his tie, and walked to the podium. The room hushed.

He gripped the edges of the lectern, taking a steadying breath. “Alastair Greene was more than a colleague to me,” he began, his voice low, warm, resonant. “He was my mentor, and my friend.”

A tear slipped down his cheek, and my heart cracked open.

“When I first joined the faculty, Alastair welcomed me like a son. He showed me not just how to teach, but how to care for students. He believed education wasn’t about information, but transformation. And he lived that belief every day of his life.”

He paused, his hand tightening on the wood. “Eight years ago, when I was in a car accident, it was Alastair who came to the hospital. He sat by my bed, night after night, telling me stories, keeping me awake, making sure I knew I wasn’t alone.”

The entire room melted.

Joan sat rigidly, expression carefully composed, her gaze darting toward her purse. When she thought no one was looking, she slipped it open and peeked at her phone. My jaw tightened. What on earth did Thorne see in her?

“At the hardest moments of my life,” Thorne continued, voice thick with emotion, “Alastair was there. When I divorced my husband, Mark, four years ago, he was the one who listened. Who reminded me I was still whole. That love wasn’t lost forever.”

My head snapped up. Husband?

The word echoed like a gong in my skull. Husband? Gay? I blinked, certain I’d misheard. But no—he’d said it plainly, his voice unwavering.

My eyes darted to Joan. Her face had hardened, lips pressed into a flinty line.

Thorne finished, and without another word, he stepped down from the podium. Instead of returning to his seat, he strode straight past Joan and me, face in his hands, shoulders shaking. He disappeared through the double doors, leaving the room stunned in silence.

I sat frozen, dust motes swirling in the air, the scent of flowers cloying in my nose.

The dean stepped up to the podium and cleared his throat. “Thank you, Professor Carr.” His voice wavered as he looked out over the crowd. “And now… Dr. Felix Sterling, who was also close to Dr. Greene, will say a few words.”

My blood turned to ice.

How in God’s name was I supposed to stand up there, two minutes after discovering my hopeless crush was not only gay but fresh off pouring his heart out and fleeing the room like a tragic Greek hero?

My brain was static. The only coherent thought echoing through my skull was: Don’t faint. Don’t faint. Don’t faint.

Somehow my legs pushed me upright. The chair squealed against the floor, betraying me with a shriek.

I shuffled toward the podium, every step stiff and unnatural.

My sleeve snagged on the arrangement of lilies, tugging it sideways.

The flowers swayed ominously, shedding a few petals onto the carpet before righting themselves. A gasp rippled through the room.

“Sorry,” I muttered, my voice cracking into the microphone. The sound echoed back at me ten times louder.

From the corner of my eye, I caught Joan leaping to her feet. Her heels clicked sharply as she darted toward the double doors, chasing after Thorne.

* * *