by Ashley Love
He gives me a slight nod back before sighing and turning back to his research. "What are you working on?" he asks, somewhat grudgingly.
I look up at him and find him looking at me guardedly, like he wants to know but he doesn't want me to think he really cares.
"My thesis," I respond simply, looking back down to my paper, somewhat on edge myself.
"What's that?" he asks, and I look up at him about to respond but he cuts me off, a cocky smirk on his face. "A really long paper that has no purpose whatsoever except to torture you?"
I give him a condescending smile, setting my pencil down. "Something you'll never get far enough in your academic career to write."
"I don't need to go to college," he says, stretching his arms over his head and then sighing. "Which you would know if you came to the show."
"You're an idiot if you think this boy band thing is gonna last forever," I respon, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning back in my chair. We're sparring now. This could take hours, but it's a nice respite from studying.
He grins at me. "I've got leverage," he says, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm versatile."
"No, you're a sparkly dance boy," I laugh and he narrows his eyes at me. He opens his mouth to retort but then I hear the fax machine going off.
I practically bolt from my chair, zigzagging through bookshelves before getting to the small table holding the public fax machine. I bounce on the balls of my feet when I see it's my paper and I turn away, waiting for it to finish coming through before looking. The suspense is killing me. I want to know what he thinks. I want to know if I did well. More than anything I want him to tell me I did well.
After what seems like an eternity, I finally hear the machine stop and I turn around, gripping the long roll of paper that is coming out of the device. I hold the paper in my hands, trying to find the beginning but I stop when I see all the little scribbles of writing in the margins.
I furrow my brow as the words "ill-thought" and "rambling here" jump out at me. I run the long paper through my hands, reading more of the scribbled criticism, none of it as praising as I was sure it would be. My entire body is tense, my heart racing as a panic settles in my chest. I make it to the first page, going through the entire thing, reading every harsh word, every scathing remark. I'm panting by the time I get to the end, where the following words are jotted below my final paragraph
This is unacceptable work. Your sources are weak and your language is sub-par. I suggest starting over. Send me your improved draft ASAP - Prof H.
I stand in shocked silence, my mouth slightly open, my breath coming in short pants. And it all just hits me then: being kicked off the trip of my dreams, losing a man who was perfect for me, and now...now my paper, this thesis that I have poured my heart and soul into, all of it just decimated, blown to bits right before my eyes.
And I just can't take it anymore. I can't do it. All this disappointment is just too much as I slide down the bookshelf, tears stinging my eyes. Why does everything always have to be so hard? Why can't for just once in my life things work out and not require a constant struggle for attention and excellence?
My breathing is hitching now and my fingers are fisting in the paper, crumpling my professor's criticism in my palms as I pull my knees to my chest and sob bitterly. Every pent up emotion just pours from me as I rest my elbows on my knees and cradle my head in my hands.
"Okay, Scarlett...seriously I can't make this into ten pages—" Harry appears from around one of the shelves of books and stops dead in his tracks at the sight of my crumpled, sniveling form. He just stands there, frozen and I turn my face away from him, ashamed of my emotion but still unable to stop the flow of tears. Great, just fucking great. This is all I need, for the pop prince to see me this way, to give him the opportunity to kick me when I'm down.
"Oh," he says, shifting awkwardly and I feel him crouch next to me, his large hand resting hesitantly on my shoulder. "Um...it's okay. What's wrong?"
His voice is strained and his touch is clumsy and it almost makes me laugh. He tries so hard sometimes. His fingers pry my hands from around the long ream of paper, the shreds of my former thesis, and he looks over it briefly. I watch his brow furrow deeper and deeper as he reads along and I cover my face with my hands in embarrassment, hiccuping as I begin to sob harder.
"Scarlett," he whispers, his voice soft and I just can't stop, pressing my hands to my face and shaking my head at him. This is fucking horrible.
I gasp slightly when I feel his arm slide under my knees, pulling my body over and into his lap. Before I can fully understand what is happening to me, I'm cradled in his arms, my face tucked into his neck. He's rocking me slowly, shushing me gently as one of his large hands holds my hip while the other combs through my hair. My nose is pressed against his pulse point and my senses are overwhelmed with the deep, woodsy scent of him.
I'm astounded at his compassion. After all that I have done to him over the past three days, all the scathing remarks, all the bitch work I had him do. It all just crashes down on me and I feel terrible. I'm not used to this. I'm not used to guys being there for me when I'm freaking out. I'm not used to guys taking care of me.
"Don't listen to him," he whispers into my hair, his breath stirring the hair at my temple, and my hand fists in his shirt. "He's a dick and he wouldn't know art history if it bit him in the ass."
I cough out a laugh because really my professor is one of the greatest in his field, but Harry doesn't know this. He's just trying to comfort me. This realization causes me to gasp and then a new flow of tears works its way through my body, shaking my frame with the force of it. I've been a complete bitch to him and here he is, holding me, taking care of me.
He's shushing me, rocking me slowly, humming in my ear and I finally calm down a little, pulling my face from his neck to meet his eyes. He smiles softly at me, one of his hands smoothing across my cheekbone, wiping my wet face. His bluish green eyes are soft and deep and I feel like I can see forever just looking at him. I shift my head and my nose nuzzles his a little and he smiles more, nuzzling back.
My breath hitches as I look at his lips, plush and pink and all I want to do is...
His lips suddenly descend on mine and it's all I can do to keep from moaning into his mouth. His hand slides down my cheek to hold my jaw gently, his mouth slanting over mine. I'm shocked, not only by the kiss but by how sweet he tastes, how good he tastes. I don't even realize I've gasped until his tongue slides in, mingling with mine, tasting me thoroughly before retreating and I find myself almost whining at the loss.
He pulls back just slightly, nuzzling my nose with his again and grinning at me. And that's when I snap back to reality. My eyes widen and I scramble from his lap, pressing my back against the bookshelf across from him and I just look at him, panting. What the hell did we just do?
What the hell did I just do?
7
After the week that I've had I need a fucking drink. I need ten drinks. I need to not be Scarlett the Scholar for the night. I need to not be the one with the answers. I need to not be the tutor that kissed her seventeen year old student. Ugh.
After the incident in the library I had successfully avoided any contact with Harry that didn't involve me giving him a handout. He had stopped coming by my room to ask me questions and as far as I know is just as embarrassed about the whole thing as I am.
I'm not used to guys taking care of me. I was perfectly content to just sit there against the bookshelf and sob for awhile before going back out but no, he had to swoop in and be all knight in shining armor. And his lips, God, the way he kissed me. But I have to stop. I have to fucking stop. He's seventeen years old. And he's my student. And he's a brat. A spoiled, pampered, little...good kisser, holy shit!
I slam my mascara on the counter of the bathroom, closing my eyes and trying to compose myself. When did he go from being the whiny, annoying little douchebag to someone one that I can't get out of my head? What happened to my intense loathi
ng for him? I have to stop this. I can't keep thinking about how soft his lips were, his long slender fingers threading through my hair, brushing my cheek, and God, the way he tasted.
Like I said, I need a fucking drink. Some of the wardrobe girls are hitting a few local clubs and agreed to let me tag along. They all knew how close Khefren and I were, and they figured I just needed to get him off my brain, but honestly ever since...
Well, let's just say Khefren's lips weren't the ones I was thinking about.
We left the lobby of the hotel about twenty after eleven, three girls dressed like whores. Like I said, I don't want to be a teacher tonight. I want to be twenty-three years old, a college student. I want to get fucking wasted.
And I do. Mixed drinks and shots for the first hour and I feel warm and bubbly and good. For the first time all week I just feel good. Well, maybe not the first time. Ugh, I throw back another shot.
"Damn Scarlett!" It's Megan, one of the girls I came here with, leaning over my shoulder to hand her money to the bartender. "Who knew you were such a heavyweight?"
"I'm not," I say thickly, the alcohol burning in my stomach. "I just am tonight."
She squeals, throwing back her shot and grabbing my arm to pull me to the dance floor. The place is completely packed, bodies pressing against each other and it's hot and sweaty but it's nice. Men are swarming around us, copping a feel and I usually would glare at them but my tipsy brain just soaks it all in, letting me smile flirtily back at them.
Megan turns away from me, backing her ass into me as she sways to the music and I let my head fall back, letting the thumping bass roll through me. It isn't long before we both have male partners, guys just sliding up to us, grinding against us.
My current partner is tall and lean and he has good rhythm, hips working steadily against me. God, I need to get laid. My mind is fuzzy and unclear and all I can think about is the ache in my stomach, the want. I wanna get fucked tonight.
"Oh my God!" Megan exclaims, but it's barely audible over the pounding music. "Look, its Zayn!"
She's pointing to the platform and I see Zayn smiling down onto the floor, glass in his hand, dark hair spiked up. Megan is jumping up and down, waving at him, her huge breasts threatening to bounce right out of her top. Zayn spots her and waves back, grinning wildly at her. He turns back and hollers at someone and my eyes widen when I see Harry's smiling face peering around someone, pushing his way to the railing. Our eyes lock and his smile fades. I turn away abruptly, pushing my way through the crowd back to the bar. It's time for another drink, or maybe three.
I lean against the bar, waiting for the bartender to come back by. My vision is a little blurred and my head is swimming. I really shouldn't drink anymore for awhile. I really shouldn't have let him kiss me in the library.
"Three shots of Patron," I yell over the music and the bartender quirks an eyebrow at me but obliges, lining me up. I hand him a wad of cash, not really caring how much I give him and throw them back—one, two, three—my head spinning like a top, my insides churning.
I open my eyes when I feel a hand on the small of my back and a low voice whispers in my ear, "Can I buy you a drink?"
I smile, that burning in my stomach coming back and it's not the alcohol. I wanna get fucked tonight. I turn, a smile pulling at my lips but it immediately fades when I see Harry, smiling down at me.
"Get away from me, Harry," I hiss, stumbling a little as I try to make my way around him.
His face registers shock and a little hurt, but I don't care. I'm on a mission. Scarlett the Scholar is getting fucked tonight. I just need to find the right guy.
I make the rounds, dancing with a few guys, flirting and just letting myself go. But every time I get close to asking one back to my room, I see him, grinding up on some random girl, his eyes flitting to me every once in awhile, jealousy and concern marking his features. And I move on, trying to put as much space between us as possible.
I'm feeling a little woozy now, dancing with a short muscular guy that has his hands all over me. My skin is on fire as I grind against his crotch, wanting to feel him, actually trying to get him hard. His hands are slipping under my tank top, inching the hem higher, and I want this. I want to just shut my brain off and do this. I don't care who it is.
"Mind if I cut in?"
I barely hear the words, my eyes sliding open lazily and it's Harry again, standing next to us.
"Yeah actually I do, kid," the guy behind me says and Harry reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few bills, holding them between his fingers, raising an eyebrow at the guy.
My eyes narrow but it takes me a moment to realize what's happening and in that moment the money is exchanged and my wobbly body is shifted into Harry's, his arms wrapping around my waist. My eyes close as the spicy, woodsy scent of him invades my senses and I let my head fall to his shoulder, hands wrapping around his elbows.
"Come on, Scarlett," he says softly into my ear. "Maybe you should sit down."
"No," I moan, gripping his arms, lifting my head to look at him through half lidded eyes. God, he's gorgeous. His boyish face shows uncertainty and concern, his slender fingers brushing the hair away from my cheek. I tilt my head to the side, running my hands up his arms and he watches me, his face still unsure. He jumps a little when my fingers brush his neck, hands flattening to slide down his chest and feeling the hard muscle underneath his shirt.
This is wrong on so many levels. Wrong, wrong, wrong, my brain screams but my hands don't stop, smoothing around to clutch his back, swishing my hips against his.
He's slow in reciprocation but eventually he's grinding against me, his body moving effortlessly with the music. He moves like nothing I've ever seen, his motion flowing and graceful. His hands smooth down across my hips, guiding me a little, pressing me harder against him.
I spin, pressing my ass against his crotch. My mind chants over and over that this is wrong, but I'm not his tutor tonight. I'm a drunk girl at a club and he's not my student. He's just a guy I'm dancing with, my arms back around his neck and his head dipping to nuzzle my neck.
His hands are still guiding my body against his, his hips rolling into me with the beat of the music and I feel him, solid and wanting, trapped beneath the fabric of his jeans. I bite my lip, working that bulge, my mind hazily telling me that I shouldn't be doing this. Not with him.
But I want this with him. I've been pushing the thought from my mind all week, the thought of him touching me, needing me like I need him right now. I'd kept it at bay, my logic and morals keeping a firm hold on my desires. But tonight alcohol has dropped my inhibitions and all I feel for him is want.
I spin again to face him, finding him flushed and panting. He quickly pulls my body against his, not wanting to lose the friction. I bring my arms up around his neck, pressing myself harder against him and his eyelids flutter. A low moan vibrates in his chest but the music drowns it out. This is so wrong.
"I know this is wrong," I slur and he's looking at me, eyes penetrating me, pleading a little. "But I really fucking want you right now." I laugh a little, dropping my head to his shoulder and this time I hear him groan, because his mouth is right next to my ear. God, I'm so fucking wasted.
"You wanna go back to the hotel?" He says it with a slight tremor in his voice, and I pull back to look him in the face.
His green eyes are dark, lights dancing across his face from the strobes. We're close to the entrance and it wouldn't take much to just slip out unnoticed. I feel him hard against my leg and I want it, I want it so bad, the burning in my stomach so intense, the ache between my legs almost unbearable. I look up at him and bite my bottom lip, nodding my head slightly.
He grins at me, hands slipping from around my waist to grab one of my own hands, pulling me deeper into the club. I'm confused, tugging his arm but he stops after a few feet and he's talking to Joe, the bodyguard that had led me backstage my very first day on the tour. The man just nods to whatever Harry is saying, stepping past both of u
s and leading us out of the club.
Its balmy outside, a warm summer breeze ruffling my hair as Harry helps me stumble to the parking lot. Alcohol has made me giggly and stumbly and it's all I can do to stay upright. He's laughing with me, his arm tight around my waist as we walk to the car and then helping me in to the backseat of the SUV.
I slide in, laying a little across the seat, and grin down my body at him. He smiles back at me and hauls himself inside. I sit up a little and kiss him. I kiss him and stars explode behind my eyes. I kiss him and it's like everything else falls away.
I clutch at his shirt, pulling his body close to mine, my tongue probing against his lips before he allows me entry to his mouth. He tastes so good, so clean and young and that voice in my head tells me I should stop this but I ignore it because his hands are on my stomach, sliding up my ribcage, pressing up under my breasts. I take his hands and place them on my breasts, not only giving him permission but asking for it.
He moans a little into my mouth, hands massaging a little roughly. I grab at his waist, pulling him closer to me and tugging my mouth from his, trailing kisses along his smooth jaw back to his ear. I flick the lobe before sucking his earring into my mouth, rolling the diamond stud against my tongue, feeling him pant against my neck. My hands are roaming his chest as my lips slide down his neck, fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt and feeling his stomach tremble.
His skin is so smooth as I skim my hand under his shirt, tweaking his nipples a little before sliding back down, finger circling his belly button. I'm sucking on his throat now, feeling his Adam's apple bob as he swallows hard. I run a finger down the fly of his jeans and feel him jump under me, his hands moving to cup the back of my head, my lips sliding over his chin.