Naughty Professor - A Standalone Teacher Romance

by Claire Adams

  NAUGHTY PROFESSOR

  By Claire Adams

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams

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  Chapter One

  Noah

  Thick flakes were trickling down from the gray clouds when I stepped out into the driveway to take in the snowy landscape. I was in the middle of fucking winter wonderland and suburbia. The entire neighborhood was still decked out in cheery Christmas lights, and a few kids were pulling each other on a sled down the road.

  It took all my effort to not grimace because it was a nice three-bedroom house in a reasonable price range for my bank account. There wasn’t much to buy around Provo, Utah, and Provo Hills University was at least a few miles away. The dean had made sure to suggest this neighborhood.

  The garage door opened behind me. I turned to find Hunter tossing a box carelessly to the corner of the garage where a pile of flattened boxes were gathered already.

  “I’m all finished with the living room shit,” he said, sounding far more exasperated than necessary. “Any more heavy crap we have to bring into this house?”

  I grinned, unable to help myself. “Just my king-sized bed is all. That comes tomorrow, though.”

  “Oh, good. More lifting.”

  Chuckling, I shoved my hands into the front pocket of my hoodie. The cold never bothered me much, but after hours of unpacking a few of the U-hauls, my fingers were chilled to the bone. It seemed like winter was a little more brutal than we were used to.

  “I still can’t believe you’re here,” Hunter said. “You know how weird it is to see your ugly fucking face right now?” His smile gave him away. He could act like a badass in front of anyone else, but not me.

  “As much as it’s weird to see you,” I replied, hooking an elbow around Hunter’s neck in a playful wrestle. “You know how weird it is that my wingman is married and starting a family soon?”

  The air left my lungs when Hunter’s fist landed in my ribs. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, and darted out from my arm to give me a friendly shove. “I don’t want to hear about how I settled again.”

  “Can you blame me?” I asked. “Remember our college days?”

  A grin spread across Hunter’s face. It was the same smile he gave just before we got our asses in trouble back in the day. Ah, the memories.

  “Like yesterday,” he said, sighing. “I remember it just like it was yesterday. The women, the wild parties…and mainly how we took little to no responsibility.”

  Nostalgia filled me, as well, as we stood there facing the snowy driveway and empty trailers. Life had changed way too much for my liking over the years from those beer-haven days filled with endless women. How I ended up as an English professor in Utah was beyond me.

  I loved literature. I majored in it and graduated with honors. It gave me a certain flair with the ladies because I wasn’t just that typical jock rugby player in their eyes. I liked books, too. I liked to read on rainy days in coffee shops, but I also liked to tear up the field and smack the shit out of people and have it be legal. It was a great stress reliever when life got shitty or too intense.

  That was the same intensity that had pushed me out of the sport I loved. Now, I landed wherever the wind blew me – and the snowy drifts had brought me to Utah with a high population of Mormons and no liquor stores open on Sunday. They definitely would fire me for drinking.

  I glanced over at Hunter staring out across the snowy houses. At least he was nearby as a beer buddy whenever his wife wasn’t around.

  I had nothing against Livvy. She was a beautiful brunette that made Hunter happier than I’d ever seen him. I couldn’t ask for anything else for my one and only friend over the years. I never kept friends because I had a tendency to be too much of a dick at times. It was just easier that way.

  “And now, we ended up with mortgage payments and jobs,” Hunter said, nudging me with an elbow. “I’m still surprised you didn’t find some chick up in New Zealand to keep you hooked there. You’re always touting about how they seem so damn into you. What about that one girl? Tanya? I expected things to actually go somewhere that time, to be honest.”

  I shrugged my shoulders indifferently. I wasn’t exactly proud of how many women I had been wrapped around, but the idea of settling down never failed to fill me with icy tendrils. There were far too many to pick from, let alone settle down with one. Monogamy wasn’t natural, in my opinion. Happiness was being free to do whatever and whomever I wanted. Tanya was just another girl… They all were.

  “Not my thing,” I said, trying to sound noncommittal.

  Hunter arched an eyebrow at me. “No shit. I can’t even remember the last time you were in a relationship that lasted more than a week. I wouldn’t even call it a relationship. Something more like an extended fuck buddy.”

  “It’s called ‘being casual,’” I corrected him and offered a sly grin. “Monogamy isn’t normal. People get bored all the time. Why do you think divorce and affair rates are so high? Things don’t last. It’s common knowledge and you know it.”

  The scowl that formed on his face was almost comical. Almost.

  “It’s not common knowledge. You’re full of shit. Period. The reason for the divorce rate being so damn high is because people pick the wrong person to spend their lives with. I married Livvy because she’s everything I fantasized in a woman. Being connected to someone like that is important. It’s a must.”

  “I don’t know if she can say the same thing about you, buddy…”

  I laughed when he pushed at my shoulder. He was still strong, but not as fit I was still. I kept up my training regime every day. I couldn’t let myself go despite what the doctors told me. I easily dodged another shove and headed back toward the garage door with Hunter following behind. I’d probably overstepped my boundaries, but rules were made to be broken.

  Boxes were everywhere. I had no idea how I ended up with so much crap over the years, but there it was – scattered everywhere. It had been a flat-out miracle getting everything over to the United States in one piece.

  “I gotta get unpacked,” I said. “I have shit to do. I have to get ready for my classes at PHU and my meeting with the dean on Wednesday.”

  “You know that school’s rules, right?” Hunter asked, voice a little tight after the playful conversation we’d had all morning.

  I turned my attention away from him and opened a box full of plates, tossing the newspaper wads to the floor. A headache pounded slightly in my temples when I finally turned and looked back up. I read the expression on his face right away. He was being serious. He was worried.

  “What are you getting at?” I asked, setting the plates down on the counter. “That I’m not a Mormon or something? The dean didn’t seem to give a crap about that.”

  “That’s because you’re a famous rugby player.” He put his hand on his hip and lifted his eyebrow.

  “Right.” I sighed in irritation.

  It always went back to that. Fame never ended with retirement. I couldn’t escape it no matter where I turned anymore.

  “I meant that sle
eping with any of those students is going to have your favorite appendage cut off,” Hunter clarified. “I don’t know if that’s what they actually do, but there are some serious rules about it there.”

  I kept my eyes rooted to the box full of plates to avoid his perceptive eyes. I knew that just as well as he did, but I was up for a challenge. I didn’t have my eyes set on students, anyway. There were some rather good-looking female professors there that aroused some interest. Even that was looked down upon, but I had a suspicion that it happened more than the dean was willing to let on.

  Squaring my shoulders, I looked up at Hunter and offered him a smile. “Rules are meant to be broken, bro,” I said, winking. “When have you ever known me to follow any sort of rules?”

  “Never,” he replied, shaking his head in disdain. “It’s your reputation and your dick on the chopping block. I’m just warning you that shit can get real on that campus. You aren’t in New Zealand anymore.”

  “I know where I’m at,” I said.

  Annoyance filled me when I turned to stack the plates in the cupboard with Hunter’s eyes threatening to burn holes in my back.

  I’d never voice how irritating it was that my friend had turned into someone who sounded quite frankly like my mother. She never laid off me about finding someone to settle down with, even though she and my father divorced years ago.

  My dad didn’t give a shit because he was out hooking up young women who wanted a sugar daddy to take care of them, and in return they worshiped him, or at least pretended to. It was messed up on far too many levels to consider.

  I forced the bitterness burning my chest down before it could take hold and send me into a pity party doused in anger. I wasn’t like my parents. I didn’t believe in happily ever after because things always ended – even if you didn’t want it to. My parents’ broken hearts were not of my concern.

  “I sound like your mother,” he mumbled. I turned to look back at Hunter as his voice softened. “Sorry, dude. I’m just trying to help you out, is all. I don’t want to see you fuck up your position here.” He looked down at the ground as if to shield his expression. “You’re lucky you got a degree and actually get to work at the college. That would be like a dream come true.”

  Guilt stabbed me in the stomach. While we had gone out to party years ago, I hadn’t realized that Hunter’s grades were slipping. He had shrugged it off at the time, but I didn’t miss the disappointment and jealousy in his eyes whenever I talked about this job. He was the brainiac between the two of us. He deserved it more than anyone else, but the pieces of the puzzle didn’t fit the way either one of us wanted.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, running a hand through my hair out of nervous habit. “I didn’t mean to rub that in your face, man. Thank you for having my back. I appreciate it.”

  “I’ll pretend I believe you,” he said. “You’re welcome, though.”

  We finished rearranging the living room the way I wanted it by the time the sun set. I handed over a $100 to Hunter despite his protests as we walked out to his SUV.

  “Take it,” I insisted, shoving it back into his hand. “Take Livvy out somewhere nice on me. You helped me out today.”

  “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.” He slipped the money in his pocket as I pretended to ignore how uncomfortable he seemed to feel about me giving it to him.

  He embraced me our usual way – a quick, one-armed hug before pushing me away. I nodded as he got in his truck and drove away into the cold night. I waited a few more minutes, breathing in the freezing air and letting exhaustion seeping deep into my bones.

  There was still so much to do, but I was completely out of energy, physically and emotionally. I hit the garage door button and turned off the lights in the rest of the house before walking languidly to my bedroom.

  Another night alone. I couldn’t help but feel it more than I should have that night. To know that Hunter was crawling in bed next to a woman who loved him left me torn. I might have gotten the degree and the big job, but he had something I yearned for, but denied myself fully.

  Connection.

  The sheets were cold against my skin when I slipped into bed with an exhausted sigh. Moving was an Olympic sport of its own, and I still needed to finish before I met the dean of PHU. I turned on my side and looked over at the boxes stacked neatly in the corner. Moonlight spilled over them, but I rolled away to look at the wall instead. I wasn’t going to lift another damn thing that night.

  “Fuck it,” I mumbled. “I’ll do that shit tomorrow.”

  Chapter Two

  Iris

  The smell of alcohol and vomit toyed with my gag reflex when I opened my bedroom door. I pinched the bridge of my nose to close off the smell as I ventured down the hallway, on the lookout for wet puddles on the floor.

  There was no doubt in my mind where that smell was coming from. It was the same place it always came from.

  I reached the doorframe of my mother’s bedroom. The room was tidy and clean, thanks to my cleaning skills yesterday. The dust and hair on the carpet had been enough to prompt me into pulling out the cleaning supplies and vacuum. The kitchen had been far worse with dirty dishes everywhere and spoiled food with mold growing on it in the fridge. I had no idea how I managed to get through cleaning without barfing.

  Sunlight streamed in through the open shades of the window. My mother was sprawled out on the bedspread, one pale and long leg dangling off the side. The steady rise and fall of her back offered a small measure of comfort. She was alive and breathing, at least. A bottle of fireball whiskey had tumbled down to the floor sometime in the early morning hours. The smell of cinnamon mingled with the other less pleasant smells in the room.

  I walked into the room with my fingers still at my nose. A quick glance into the adjacent bathroom told me where the vomit smell was coming from. Irritation swept through me. I’d have to buy another bottle of bleach to clean up the mess all over the toilet and bathroom tile.

  I took a blanket to cover up my mother’s bare legs. Even in the middle of winter, she still insisted on wearing dresses wherever she went. The skirt of her dress was bunched up high on her thighs from when she had climbed into bed. I touched her leg briefly to feel the chilled skin before tucking the blanket around her.

  It’d be another couple hours if I were lucky before she stirred from her usual drunken sleep. Maybe I would be able to slip away to head back to the apartment and get ready for my next semester at PHU. My mother had a habit of asking me to endlessly run errands, or to get food and alcohol before I left. I wasn’t in the mood to do any of those. I had plenty of things to do.

  The kitchen was a mess with bottles everywhere, but I swept them aside into the trashcan to make room to cook. Enabling. I was enabling as usual while I grabbed a clean frying pan to make some eggs and bacon. Everyone told me to let her drown herself in her sorrows, but I couldn’t, no matter how hard I wanted to let her.

  It was a fucked up feeling to hope she would kill herself after years of threatening it, and wanting to save her at the same time. Either way was a headache that no one in our family wanted to deal with – including my dad. He’d made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with her the last time I tried to ask for money to get her some help.

  “AA meetings are free,” he told me dispassionately, not bothering to look up from his iPhone. “She can go to those. Your mother’s drinking isn’t my concern. It shouldn’t be yours, either, so why you’re asking me for money is beyond me.”

  I had turned into the mother over the years. I shopped. I cooked. I cleaned. I made sure my mother kept herself upright most of the time. Anger tore through me as I cracked a few eggs to whisk them violently in the pan.

  I didn’t have time for this shit, either. I was graduating from PHU in a few months, and I had to repeat freshman English because I’d failed it while trying to help my mother with her issues. My professor at the time had decided to take the tough-love approach to prove some sort of point to me by failing me when
I cried to him about why my essay wasn’t finished. People could be so damn heartless.

  He’d wanted to prove to me that it was important to not fix broken people when they didn’t want to be fixed. I snorted. It was so easy to throw out lessons without personal experience for most people, especially the stuffy-ass professors at PHU.

  I scrambled the eggs while a headache started to pound in my own head. I reached for a bottle of Tylenol right as footsteps shuffled into the kitchen. Dread coiled in my stomach when I looked up to find her wobbling unsteadily.

  “Damn,” I muttered under my breath, twisting the Tylenol cap off. “You’re up early, Mom.”

  “I smelled breakfast,” she replied, using the counter to steady herself. “Can I have some of those for this headache? It feels like my brain is cracking in half. Is that possible?”

  “No, Mother.” I handed her two pills, even though I knew they did more damage than good. I wasn’t in the mood to argue that. It was a wasted conversation at best, and one we’d had a million times.

  “I’m really sorry about last night, sweetie,” she said, her voice soft and sounding almost like someone who might care about me.

  I turned away to focus on loading up a plate for her – a heaping plate of food in the blind hope that it’d help her stay away from being drunk until the afternoon.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said.

  Her chair scooted back from the table, the noise enough to give me a headache to accompany hers. “I’m serious, Iris. I’m sorry for everything. I don’t mean to drink that much, but once I-”

  “Once you start, you can’t stop,” I monotoned back. “Yeah, I know, Mom. Don’t explain it to me. I already know. We’ve had this conversation before, remember?”

  “It’s true though. Honey, I-” I heard a trembling sob, and against my better judgment, I turned to look at her again.

  It struck me hard as it always did to see such a beautiful woman, from her petite frame and curly, blonde hair, become such an emotional wreck. The drinking had taken a scary toll over the past few months. Her pale skin had a yellow tinge to it. Delicate bones seemed to be popping out of her skin.