Crazy in Love (Lovestruck Series)

by Lane Hart

  “Hell yes. Thank you,” he says when he takes the bottle from me.

  “It should be pineapple free,” I tell him.

  “Either way, they’ve now shot me up with enough drugs to combat it,” he jokes before twisting off the top and taking a big swig. His throat works as he swallows, and that does funny things to my girly parts.

  Retaking my leaning position on the cabinet, I open my own drink and take a sip.

  “You don’t have to stay here,” he says. “I mean, you don’t even have a chair to sit in.”

  “It’s fine,” I tell him.

  “Here,” he says, sliding his legs over to the side and patting the now empty space on the bed. “If you insist on staying, at least have a seat.”

  Since my feet are aching from standing, I take the offering, sitting on the bed with my professor. I’m in bed with my ridiculously hot teacher just inches away. So close I can smell his wonderful minty scent and feel the heat of his legs behind my bottom. Without looking, I know his eyes are silently evaluating me. My heart rate suddenly picks up, galloping away like it’s warning me to do the same before I make a fool of myself and lower my grade even further.

  …

  Gage

  What the fuck am I doing? Asking her to sit on the bed so that she’s within touching distance may go down as the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. Why didn’t I just let her leave when she tried to sneak out during Trish’s attack? Because I selfishly wanted her to stay.

  Sure, Reagan stuck around, but it’s obviously only out of concern for her grade. Does she really think I could ever flunk her? I wouldn’t, even if she tanked the research assignment and final exam. Hell, she could be a no show, and I would still pass her. I’ve had a weak spot for her since the moment I spotted her on campus that first Monday afternoon at three p.m. almost a year ago, not that she knows about my stalker tendencies.

  I had been sitting on a bench outside of the English building when she came along and flopped down on the grass underneath a tree several feet away from me. No blanket, no concern for whether or not her dress would get dirty. Her face wasn’t buried in a phone like all the other student population. She simply sat down and tilted her face up to the sun with a smile on her face. Beautiful was a poor adjective to describe her at that moment, looking so natural and…real, unlike my wife at the time, who is fake inside and out.

  For two hours, I sat there and watched her, waiting for her to rejoin the hustle and bustle of the rest of the world. At most, I thought she would sit there for ten minutes, maybe twenty. Not once did she look at a watch or a phone, not even a book. She was simply meditating I assumed, centering herself or contemplating the universe for all I know. Such a contradiction to the stereotypical young women of the modern world, and I was mesmerized.

  So the next day, I returned to the bench at the same time instead of going home. My classes and office hours were over, but I was curious to see if she would return. I assumed the day before had been a fluke. No young girl would spend hours every day simply…existing. But I was wrong. She sat there in the grass for more than two hours that day and the day after that. On Thursday I had to go home for a dinner party Trish had planned, because I knew she would be livid if I didn’t attend. But on Friday, I lied and told my wife I had papers to grade and needed to stay late. It had been raining on and off, so I spent the day in a gloomy mood as well, certain that I wouldn’t see the flowerchild until the next week.

  Grabbing my umbrella, I nevertheless ventured out a few minutes after three p.m. into the downpour and…there she was. Her beautiful, flawless, natural face tilted up to the sky, eyes closed as the droplets poured over her, drenching her mahogany hair and russet colored dress, the same one she’s wearing today, until the fabric molded to her skin, highlighting her full breasts. Occasionally she would wipe the water from her face or run her hands through her hair, and it was the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I wanted her so much that it took all of my restraint not to approach her. The gold ring around my finger suddenly felt like it was squeezing the life out of me. There I was, unhappily married and imagining approaching a student for the purpose of climbing on top of her and fucking her in the middle of campus. Clearly, I thought I was losing my mind.

  For the next week, I avoided her side of the courtyard and insisted on going to marriage counseling with my wife instead. I knew we had a serious problem if I was stalking a random student and thinking of her every second of the day, and especially every night, instead of the woman I was married to.

  Things only went downhill after that, though. I stopped sleeping in the same bed as Trish just so I could have the privacy to jerk off to the girl whose name I didn’t even know. I didn’t want to know it, or I might try to take things further. So I kept my distance, even finding a bench farther away so she wouldn’t see me watching her every single afternoon once I could no longer resist going back to my stalker routine.

  Weeks later, Trish told our therapist that we were sleeping in separate beds and that I refused to touch her, so he suggested we try to spice up our sex life by sharing a fantasy with each other. Hers was that she wanted me to spank her. Since she annoyed the fuck out of me pretty much all of the time, it was no chore for me to indulge her. Then, it was my turn. When I asked her to fulfill my fantasy of roleplaying, to wear a sexy schoolgirl outfit while I fucked her, just like the naughty thoughts I’d had in my head for so long about the unknown girl in the courtyard, Trish flipped out and accused me of cheating on her with one of my students. Shortly after that, I told her I wanted a divorce, certain that things were not going to improve. Trish didn’t trust me, and I stopped caring about her. Our marriage was doomed all because I fell in love with a girl whose name I didn’t even know.

  But then, in January, the same girl from the courtyard walked into my classroom. I was practically shaking with excitement as I went through the roll call, knowing I was about to actually interact with her for the very first time. She would finally have a name. I should’ve tried to remove her from my class, but when I called her name, Reagan Harper, asking her to tell the class about herself like the students before her, she pushed her hair behind her ear and shyly said that she was finishing up her degree. It was her last semester on campus. Which meant I only had a few more months to see her before she disappeared, moving on with her life while I would keep teaching, sitting in my office or classroom, thinking about her until I would very likely go insane.

  Now here we are, on a bed. I had her in my arms earlier today. I held her hand to help her in and out of the ambulance. My life just nearly ended because of a piece of fruit. Yep, my restraint is pretty much non-existent. The only thing holding me back is my career and how it would end if I were caught. See, that’s how far off the deep end I’ve gone because I no longer question whether or not she would reciprocate these feelings swirling inside me. I’m almost certain she would if I made a move. How could she not when I’m completely and utterly crazy in love with her?

  Maybe everything earlier today happened for a reason. This could be my chance to finally see if this is more than just a teacher having a crush on a student.

  The sound of my phone ringing pulls me back to the present where the tempting student is sitting so close my leg is practically touching her ass.

  “Oh, do you want me to hand you your phone?” Reagan asks, unfortunately standing up and putting distance between us. That’s probably best since my control is wearing incredibly thin today for some reason. Maybe it’s the whole near death experience making me want to pull her in my arms and kiss her. Like I could ever stop there once I touched her in such a way.

  I have to clear the lust from my voice before I can answer her question. “Sure, it’s in the front pocket of my pants,” I tell her.

  Reagan tentatively reaches for the pile of clothes on top of the supply cabinet, like she’s reluctant to touch something so intimate as the pants I was wearing earlier. After she finds the device, she quickly brings it
over to me.

  I don’t recognize the local number but answer anyway. “Hello?”

  “Hi, old man. This is Bailey calling for Reagan.”

  Fuck it all to hell.

  “Sure, hold on,” I say before offering the phone to Reagan, who went back to standing against the cabinet. “It’s for you.”

  “Oh,” she replies with a wrinkle of confusion between her eyebrows. “Ohhh,” she repeats when she takes the phone, apparently remembering the asshole from earlier.

  “Hi, Bailey,” she says into the phone with a smile on her face. My heart sinks in my chest because however much I hate the dickhead, he’s not her teacher that’s obsessed with her. He’s just a normal guy that she deserves to make her happy. Besides, I’m still technically a married man with baggage.

  “Okay, I’ll see you then,” she says before hanging up and reaching out to give me my phone back. “Thanks.”

  “Plans later?” I can’t help but ask.

  “Yeah. I mean, usually I wouldn’t, but it’s one of those days where I feel like I should say yes to everything, you know?” she asks.

  Fuck. I’ve missed my opening.

  “Right. Well, have fun.”

  “Thanks. Are you sure you’ll be okay here?” she asks.

  “Of course. They should discharge me soon,” I tell her while my inner douchebag is angry that I didn’t insist that she stay. Two weeks is all that’s left of the semester and then she’ll be gone. “See you Tuesday, unless you decide to come by my office tomorrow morning.”

  “Depends on how late my night runs,” Reagan says before slapping a hand over her mouth. I don’t know who is more surprised by her statement, me or her since I didn’t take her for the kind of girl who puts out on the first date. And I don’t like it.

  “Right,” I reply, clearing my throat before I beg her to stay. “Have a good night.”

  Chapter Four

  Reagan

  I take a deep breath as I clear the curtain and walk away from my professor, who I nearly attacked. Even now my feet don’t want to leave him. I have to force their movements to the exit where a very cute guy is waiting for me; one who saves lives for a living and looks like he lifts cars in his free time to beef up his biceps.

  “Hey, beautiful,” Bailey says as soon as I step through the automatic doors. I spin around looking for him, finally spotting him sitting on a bench to my right. His legs are spread wide, arms stretched over the backrest. He looks scrumptious in his uniform with the top few buttons undone. Yet, I don’t feel the same impulse to jump on him and shove my tongue in his mouth or his cock in my…

  “Hey, Bailey,” I reply, sounding out of breath from the ridiculous thoughts taking over the rational thinking of my brain.

  He gets to his feet and holds out his hand for me to take. When my skin touches his, there are no sparks either. Jeez, so maybe he isn’t the man of my dreams. How depressing is that? A whole day gone, and I’m still a lonely virgin.

  “So, do you want to grab some dinner, or we could pick up a movie and head back to my place?” he asks as we walk toward the side of the building where the sign says, “Employee Only Parking.”

  What the hell do I do now? Turn him down? Go with him and see if sparks suddenly appear? I need to talk to Josie.

  “Actually, do you mind if I use your phone to call my roommate? She’s probably waiting for my call to come pick me up, and I don’t want her to worry,” I tell him when the excuse comes to me. And, yeah, it’s a little white lie since Josie doesn’t live with me and has probably been too busy with her boyfriend to worry about me and my professor’s near death experience.

  “Yeah, no problem, babe,” Bailey replies with a smile before slipping his phone from his pocket and handing it to me. “I’ll just wait by my truck. It’s the big red one,” he tells me before he walks away.

  Stepping over to the side of the building, I dial up Josie whose number I know by heart. It rings so many times that I figure it’s getting ready to click over to voicemail when she answers, sounding like she’s running on a treadmill.

  “Reagan? Can I…call you back…in like…ten minutes?” she asks, and then I hear Lawson in the background shout, “Thirty!”

  “No, this can’t wait,” I tell her. “Quit playing hide the sausage with your boy and answer a few questions.”

  “Are you still at the hospital?” she asks, sounding less distracted.

  “Uh-huh. So tell me quickly, how did you know Lawson was the one? Did a light shine down from the heavens or…or did the angels sing?”

  Josie laughs in my ear. “Well, Lawson was sort of an asshole to me at first,” she says, which causes the man in question to scoff in the background. “But as soon as I saw him, I thought he was the hottest man on the face of the Earth.”

  “Damn right,” Lawson adds.

  “Okay, so you only had eyes for him. Got it. Anything else?”

  “Hmmm. Let me think. Lawson, what did you think when you first saw me that day in your garage?”

  “That I wanted to fuck you,” I hear him say, making Josie laugh.

  “I’m serious,” she tells him.

  “I am too. I really wanted to fuck you. Oh, and my dick was so hard I forgot I even had a girlfriend or her name.”

  Josie laughs again. “Did you hear that? He’s so helpful,” she says to me.

  “Yeah, so you thought he was crazy hot, and he was super horny. Got it.”

  “Pretty much. If he hadn’t eventually remembered he had a girlfriend and told me about her, I probably would’ve fucked him right there in the garage those first five minutes. I mean, my panties went up in flames!”

  “So you had fire crotch going on?” I ask with a giggle.

  “Uh-huh. Oh, how’s Professor McHottie doing? Still breathing?” she asks.

  “Yeah, he should be able to go home soon. And do you remember the hot EMT? Well, he wants me to go home with him. What should I do?”

  “Ooh. He was nice and buff –” she starts, and Lawson interrupts with, “Who was buff?”

  “I’m just not sure if he’s the one, you know?”

  “Hmm,” she mutters. “Well, if you have any doubts about going back to his place and your instant reaction wasn’t to jump his bones, then he may not be the one.”

  “Nope, pretty much all afternoon I’ve been thinking about jumping my professor –” I gasp as the realization hits me.

  No way.

  It can’t be.

  He’s my teacher and way out of my league…but the craving for pineapple, our collision, the psychic saying I would find true love as I turn a new corner in my life all add up to him.

  “Oh my God, Josie! He’s the one!”

  “Who? Your professor?” she asks. “You think he’s your soulmate?”

  “Think about it. The whole clusterfuck of earlier could clearly rival yours with losing the car door,” I tell her. “And how many times this semester have I told you how freakin’ hot he is?”

  “Sheesh. I think you may be right,” she replies before she starts laughing. “Hey, Lawson. Remember the professor I told you Reagan almost killed? Now she’s gotta try to fuck him within a week!”

  “That’s helpful,” I grumble as I try to figure out what to say to Bailey. The more I think about it, the more I’m certain that the man I’m supposed to be with tonight is Professor Daughton. Gage. Hell, even his name is so sexy it makes me nearly come via spontaneous orgasm. At least it’s dark in my little corner so no one can see my nipples that have put on the high beams since I’m not wearing a bra. I hate those bastards and refuse to smoosh my girls into such a painful contraption.

  “Okay, well, I guess I have my answer, so let me go break the news to Bailey.”

  “Who’s Bailey?”

  “Oh, the buff EMT.”

  “Right. So do you need a ride?” she asks.

  …

  Gage

  After I’m finally given the all clear, it’s pitch black outside when I walk out
the front entrance. Other than ambulances, there are no other cars or taxis, for that matter. Just a great big parking lot. Wonderful.

  I’ve just set up the ride on my Uber app when I hear her voice.

  Reagan.

  I’ve maybe only heard her say a handful of things before today, but I would recognize her soft-spoken, sweet words anywhere.

  “Okay, well, I guess I have my answer, so let me go break the news to Bailey…Oh, the buff EMT.”

  What is she still doing here?

  I’m powerless to stop my legs from carrying me around the side of the building, closer to her voice. And there she is, standing in the darkness on a cell phone. Hold on, I thought she didn’t have a phone.

  “Gotta go, Josie. Yeah, I’ll call you back,” Reagan says into the phone while her eyes stay locked on mine.

  “You shouldn’t be out here alone,” I tell her.

  “Oh. Well, I’m not,” she says. “Bailey let me use his phone. He’s waiting for me…”

  I don’t know what possesses me to do it. Anger. Jealousy. Desperation. Whatever it is, I close the space between us and jerk the phone from her hand. Hoping I’m right, I scroll quickly through the douche’s camera roll, and yep…there they are. Thank you, asshole!

  I turn the screen around and hold it up for Reagan to see. The backlight illuminates the surprise on her face.

  “Is that…”

  “Dick pics,” I confirm. Looking at the screen, I swipe through several more, showing each unimpressive one to Reagan before going to the next. Oh, and then we get to his titty shot collection, which I also show her. They’re all fake tits that could be my ex-wife’s for all I know, and none of the dozen or so turn me on like the covered ones standing in front of me.

  “You deserve better than this, Reagan,” I tell her.

  “Is that really what men like?” she asks, holding her hands out in front of her chest to demonstrate the large, fake breasts.

  “Not all men,” I reply. “I actually prefer smaller, perkier natural ones that look spectacular after the rain soaks through the fabric covering them.”