by Gray Gardner
He would say they couldn’t meet until 5:00, they’d say something about having to stay at work for their internship at Goldman Sachs or Random House, he’d suggest a time when the history offices would be all but empty, they’d comply, show up, and the relationship thus started. The girls would feel all naughty having an inappropriate relationship with their professor, and he would take great comfort in the fact that these girls were so swamped with schoolwork, internships and his TA work that they wouldn’t have time to be clingy and bother him with girlfriend stuff. He would just sleep with them and know that they would have to scurry off to a study group or a class. And then they’d graduate. It had been perfect.
But this semester Brad Adams had requested a chance for the position, and Dr. Frasier really liked him. Smart, clever, confident, and they had fun hanging out with Brad’s elite social club.
“Brad!” he called, downing his scotch and opening the bottle. “Drink?”
“Dr. Frasier, you’re meeting your parents for dinner at The Chop House in half an hour!”
“Shit,” he sighed, slamming his glass down and checking his schedule on his phone. “Fine, then, I guess we should smoke a bowl?”
“Leave now, Dr. Frasier, and you’ll only be ten minutes late!” Brad called, leaning over and pointing a red felt pen at him. “I’ll finish these Western Civ. 101 exams and post the grades.”
“Thanks, Brad,” he quickly nodded, briskly walking past the small TA desk stacked with papers and not slowing as he grabbed his tan trench coat and scarf. His mind flashed only for a split second as to what it would be like to have Miss Tucker walk through his office door and his eyes scanned back over the blue roster folder. Her eyes peered up at him. Shaking those images out of his head, he knew he would never look at the color blue the same way again.
Mary posted her response promptly on the class discussion board, sitting back with her wine and removing her boots slowly, just waiting for the onslaught. Part of their homework required them to post once a week about a posed question and everyone’s responses… and everyone always seemed to pick on her. It wasn’t only that she didn’t have any friends at this school. Everyone went out of their way to hate her at this school.
She didn’t blame them. History was her thing, after all. And if history had proven anything, it was that people ostracized those who were not like them. She wasn’t from around there and everyone seemed to have a fancy New York private school and Ivy League undergrad colleges in their resumes. She’d gone to public high school in the suburbs and a state college and the only reason she’d even been considered as a candidate for the masters program at Eastland was because of her semi-successful book she’d penned about the last battle of the Civil War.
Now enrolled in three classes with only seven more to go, she was well on her way to becoming “legit,” according to her editor, who’d suggested a higher degree if she desired any more success in her writing career. Like everyone else in the country, she’d wondered what it would be like to attend Eastland with all of its tradition and prestige. And now she was here. Fuck everyone else.
Grinning as her computer pinged, she set her wine glass down and prepared to retort each and every snooty response from her classmates as they popped up on the discussion board.
Chapter 2
“You’d better say something.”
Mary looked up from her mini-HP and ceased in her note taking. She looked over at the nice, rugby-looking boy who always sat on her left in her Historiography class. He was always making short, funny cracks at people’s expense and making her smile.
“Excuse me?” she whispered politely, raising her brow. She kept her voice as quiet as could be. She never spoke when the professors were speaking. Wait… the professor wasn’t speaking. Turning her eyes forward, she gasped as he stood with his arms folded across his chest, a scowl on his face. Everyone stared at her. Shit.
“I said,” he repeated in a much louder voice, causing half the class to jump. “That while the Battle of Columbus is considered by general history to be the last battle of the Civil War, and while General Lee did surrender at the Battle of Appomattox, technically, Miss Tucker is entirely correct. The last battle of the Civil War was the Battle of Palmito Ranch in Brownsville, Texas. I was simply wondering, Miss Tucker, if you wouldn’t mind elaborating a little for us instead of replying with angry little sarcastic jabs as you did Monday night on the discussion board online.”
Professor Frasier watched as her cheeks flushed and she bit her lip. God was she really that shy or was she ashamed for being so prickly on the discussion board? Now he was dying to know.
“Um,” she squeaked, turning her eyes up and rubbing her hands on the desktop. “Like I said, er, wrote, uh, posted, the war hadn’t officially ended yet and while the war was lost, it is considered a confederate victory…”
Everyone moaned and began shouting at once. Professor Frasier held up his hands and tried to get the arguing to cease when he realized that the only one who actually had the right to argue was staring down at her desk again. How could he even pass her if she wouldn’t defend her points? Let alone give her an A?
“All right, that’s time, see you on Friday!” he loudly announced, knowing it would quiet the ranting. He turned and removed his glasses, rubbing the palm of his hand over his eyes. He hadn’t felt so out of sorts since his first day at Eastland. First, she ignored him, then she wouldn’t speak, and when she did… God damn it, she had an accent. A soft, sweet, southern accent that he absolutely hated.
He threw his papers into his satchel and turned. “Miss Tucker, could I speak with you again, please?”
The remaining students in the class gave him tight grins as they zipped up their bags. Well, she’d certainly scooted out of class quickly. He grabbed his navy sweater and roughly pulled it over his head, storming out of the doorway.
The drizzle from the morning had long since stopped, so Mary swung her blue and white golf umbrella at her side as her heels clicked across the sidewalk leading to Roosevelt Avenue. It was still getting dark pretty early, so she kept to the lit pathways of the campus instead of cutting across the open field as a shortcut. She was just rounding a row of large bushes that led to the half empty parking lot when she got the surprise of her life.
“Miss Tucker!” someone shouted, grabbing a tight hold of her elbow.
She shrieked as she was jerked around, defensively swinging the umbrella and whacking a tall man on the shoulder.
“Ow! Jesus!”
She suddenly gasped and the umbrella dropped to the ground. Holy shit, it was Professor Frasier. What the hell was he doing sneaking up on her like that? Wait, why did he look so angry?
He released her arm and rubbed his left shoulder, wondering how a little thing like her had such a hell of an arm. He quickly regained his composure as he noticed her attire. Again, impeccable black Vivienne Westwood heels, tight black jeans, and a low V-neck pink sweater, belted at the waist. He cleared his throat and scowled. “When I ask you a question in class, Miss Tucker, I expect an answer.”
She swallowed as she looked up at him through long, black lashes, cheeks flushed yet again. The look of penitence. She quickly nodded but he wasn’t letting her off that easy. A suspicion was developing in the back of his mind.
“What was that?” he snapped, turning his head as if to hear her better.
She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, then looked back up at him. “Yes sir.”
“Is this going to be a continuous problem in my class, Miss Tucker?”
“N-no sir,” she quietly replied, looking down.
“Look at me, not your pretty little shoes,” he commanded. She was difficult to read even when she was looking at him, but he wanted her to know he deserved her respect.
Good God, she thought. Why couldn’t she look him in the eye? Why did he make her so nervous? She pressed her lips together and forced herself to look up at him. Great, he did not look happy.
He ran his hand o
ver his whiskers as he peered down at her, those blue eyes looking like maybe they might start crying. He didn’t want to make her cry. He just wanted her attention. Her grades could be seriously harmed by this behavior.
“How is it that you never squeak a syllable out in my classroom, yet you are the only student out of twenty very bright young minds to not only answer what I considered to be almost a trick question correctly, but also earn the highest grade by four points?”
Because she studied her ass off, duh. She licked her lips and tried to find her voice. God, he was intimidating. “Um, I… I guess I just studied extra hard,” she replied, barely above a whisper. Then she even surprised herself as she continued. “What do you mean a trick question?”
Wow, if her embarrassed face was attractive, her inquisitive face was downright adorable. He tried to remain authoritative by placing his hands on his hips. “The last question was taken from a footnote in the assigned reading I gave about a month ago,” he said, raising an eyebrow at her as his mind again floated towards the idea that she might have cheated. He never wanted to accuse his students of that, and besides, he wasn’t supposed to have to worry about it. The traditional Ivy League school had an iron clad Honor Code. One slip-up and you were expelled.
“Oh,” she nodded, like she didn’t even know that.
He squinted his eyes a little. Then how could she have possibly known the answer?
“Where are you from, Miss Tucker?” He was trying to get a better idea of her character.
“Austin,” she whispered, looking down at her feet again. And here it comes, she grimaced. Anytime anyone at this school heard the sound of her voice or the name of her hometown the ridicule began.
“Texas?” he loudly asked with a hint of disgust as another car backed out of the parking lot next to them. Oh God, he’d had a couple of students from Texas one semester. Dallas, if he could recall. They were arrogant, feisty and always tried to weasel their way out of low grades. They thought their southern charm would save them. In the end, it usually hurt them. But, ugh, she was from Texas? He felt his stomach flip uncomfortably.
“Yeah, Texas,” she replied in a much more assertive tone, placing her hands on her hips in a successful attempt to mock him. She really didn’t need this from a professor. They were supposed to be unbiased. The other two professors she had this semester were. She didn’t know where this sudden bolt of courage was coming from, but it was too late to back down now.
He frowned at her immediate change in tone and body language. Was she… mocking him? He looked down at her little hands on her hips, then down to his own. He drew his hands to his sides and made a couple of frustrated fists as he tried to calm down. Disrespect was something he didn’t take lightly.
“Yeah?” he asked, repeating her inappropriate affirmation. “Care to revise your answer?”
“You just made a face as the state I call home passed your lips. Would you care to revise your answer?” she asked, trying not to focus on his actual lips as they pressed into a hard line. She began to rein in her anger. This was a professor, after all, and while she’d had a few heated discussions with her professors in college, she didn’t imagine the traditional values at this school showed any leniency to back talking.
“Miss Tucker,” he loudly said, the anger now reaching his dark eyes. “There is absolutely no room in this university for a smart mouth like yours. Do you understand me?”
He said that last part through nearly clenched teeth. Why was she suddenly being so insolent? And why was it exciting arguing with her?
“Yeah, I understand,” she forcefully said, raising an eyebrow defiantly at him. God, she couldn’t stop and just be respectful like he wanted! What was wrong with her?
He suddenly stepped forward and was so close to her that she was getting a full close-up of the pinstriped breast pocket where his glasses were sitting. His hand suddenly grabbed her chin and jerked it upwards, so now she had to look right at him. Uh-oh. Now it was time for admonishment that would surely end in her having to grovel to stay in the program. Ugh, sometimes she really couldn’t control her temper, and now look where it had gotten her.
Her skin was so soft under his finger and thumb, so he decided to keep them there and squeeze gently so she would continue looking up at him with those big, blue, now scared eyes. Now it was time to really reprimand her.
“If you want to speak and act like a disrespectful little girl then there are a number of boarding schools down the road that cater to that kind of behavior. Now, if you would like to conduct yourself like an adult then we can continue to enjoy your presence and your daddy’s hard earned money at this school. Being a cute little southern belle isn’t going to get you out of any trouble here, contrary to what I’m sure are your past experiences, so I suggest you hold your tongue and only answer with the utmost respect when I or any other professor or administrator addresses you, or you may find your arrogant Texas ass out on the street!”
Her mouth dropped open as she grabbed his hand and shoved it off of her chin. Little girl? Daddy’s money? Cute little southern belle? Arrogant Texas ass? What the fuck?
Get control, get control, she breathed to herself, grabbing at her hair, then letting her hands fall to her sides. 10-9-8-7… deep breath.
“Are you done disciplining me… sir?” she quietly asked, looking down at the now dark sidewalk as the street lamps cast long shadows around them. She wanted him to say yes so that she could just get out of there and down a bottle or two of wine, forgetting all about him yelling at her.
“Discipline?” he asked, glaring down at her. “That was more of a scolding, Miss Tucker. When I discipline you, you’ll know it.”
She couldn’t help her frown as she looked back up at him. What? “What’s that supposed to mean? What, you’re going to make me write lines on the chalkboard?”
He rubbed his whiskers and sighed heavily. She was a handful, that was for sure. He had meant to say that she would be expelled, but her attitude was suddenly getting the best of her and she wouldn’t stop talking back.
“No…”
“Okay, I’ll have to stand in the corner?” she mocked, squinting her eyes.
“It’ll be much worse than you can imagine, Miss Tucker,” he forcefully stated, his own temper beginning to flare, matching hers.
“Oh, what, you’re going to spank me?”
His breath caught in his throat. What had she just said? It took him a couple of seconds to register what had crossed her pink lips, then a couple more to get himself to calm down a little bit. Her eyes were glaring up at him defiantly. Shit, that had been so hot. He thought about it, thought about how he had stupidly taken on a male TA, and about how perhaps he’d been overly grumpy the past couple of months because he hadn’t found a female companion. She certainly couldn’t be a companion… she looked like a child and acted like a child.
Maybe she could be a “project” of sorts this semester, though.
“You’re the arrogant ass,” she stated, gathering her umbrella off of the ground and turning to walk back to her place. If he thought she was going to stick around just so he could easily insult her some more then he was out of his shaggy-haired, Connecticut born, Harvard-educated mind. The spoiled asshole wasn’t used to people arguing with him. Well, she had, and there was nothing he could do about it. He wouldn’t dare kick her out after speaking to her that way.
She suddenly felt his hand around her upper arm, whipping her back towards him as she tried to walk away. Her black heels stumbled around as she tried to get her footing, but her footing wasn’t her immediate concern. Her alarm quickly turned towards the sharp smack that was ringing in her ears, quickly followed by the stirring stinging that was now radiating from the seat of her black True Religion skinny jeans.
What the… had he just… no fucking way. She jerked her shocked eyes back over her shoulder as he continued squeezing her left arm with his left hand. No fucking way!
“What the hell!” she yelled in
a voice much higher than her own. She yanked her arm away as four German exchange students stood frozen on the path behind them.
“Move it along or you’re next!” Dr. Frasier barked over his shoulder, turning his glare quickly back to the shocked, now squirming little girl in front of him. He was in it now. No backing down. “Don’t look at me that way, Miss Tucker. It was your idea.”
“What?” she squeaked, clearing her throat and closing her eyes, trying to regain her composure. That hadn’t just happened. Her elite graduate school professor had definitely not just… ugh, she couldn’t even say it in her own fucking head.
“You gave me three viable suggestions as to how to go about disciplining you and your sharp tongue, and I chose one,” he replied, hands on his hips so as not to grab her and totally overdo it. He’d liked it, he’d never done it before, but he’d liked it. And the responding flush on her face paired with angry blue eyes was almost too much. He had to stop himself from smiling.
Oh yeah, this was going to be a fun project.
She opened her mouth to really lay into him when he suddenly grabbed her arm again and pulled her towards him, peering down at her still shocked face. Shocked and silent. Good. He’d actually gotten through.
“I’d choose your next words very carefully, Miss Tucker. Now that you know what I’m capable of doing and how much it hurts,” he smirked, watching as she rubbed her ass with her free hand.
Mary quickly stopped and leaned away from him as he released her. He was crazy. He was fucking crazy. What would he do if she didn’t comply? Honestly, they were alone in a dimly lit parking lot. She didn’t want to find out.