by K. Bromberg
But hell if I don’t want to tell him to kiss my ass with that smart mouth of his while I stride up the steps toward the exit and flip him the bird instead.
But my degree is more important so I swallow my pride along with my anger, even though I’d much rather verbalize it as I reach the front row. Keeping my eyes fastened to his, I refuse to let him think he’s gotten the upper hand despite me following his directive and taking the seat he so graciously offered.
I reach the seat and stop before I sit down and stand my ground, my eyebrows arched and eyes telling him everything my lips can’t. He meets them challenge for challenge while all the while those lips of his smirk and taunt me.
I force my eyes to remain forward, not to wander and take in the whole of him because I don’t want to see how sexy-hot he is face-to-face, don’t want to notice his cologne that makes me think of fresh air with a subtle hint of musk, don’t want to feel my cheeks flush because I know my nipples just hardened and I’m quite sure they’re more than obvious through the thin layer of my bra’s lace and my cotton T-shirt.
After a moment, when I know I have no point I can really make in front of several hundred students, I lower my eyes and take my seat. But instead of continuing on right away, he stands in front of me a few seconds more, making sure I know who won this ridiculous little show of control between us.
And of course as he stands in front of me with his hips right at my eye level, I can’t help the two thoughts colliding: the one of him being in control with the one of just how well his worn denim jeans are filled out behind that button fly of his.
I immediately chastise myself. Tell myself that it’s my sex-deprived brain—well, more like other deprived body parts—that is directing my thoughts like a nympho. And that alone fuels my dislike of Hawkin even more because I should be focused on being pissed off at him rather than wondering about how he performs in other ways … off the stage.
I’m pulled from my thoughts when laughter erupts in the room and I realize he’s continued on with his spiel and is no longer in front of me.
“Isn’t that right?” he asks and the classroom falls quiet causing me to glance his way.
His eyes are locked on mine and I know I’ve been caught not paying attention. His tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip as he waits for my response and I swear to all things holy when the girl next to me actually sighs. It takes everything I have not to roll my eyes. I have no clue what he’s asking me and make that split-second decision between faking it or playing it off.
“What’s that?” I reply, lips pursed, telling him if he wants to keep this game up, I’ll play it right back.
He flashes me a bright smile and angles his head to the side for a moment, eyes narrowing momentarily before he delivers, “That being late for an event is a surefire way to make a bad first impression.”
Bastard. I walked right into that one and I silently fume over it but hell if I’m going to let him know it. “True,” I say with a measured nod of my head, his eyes dancing with mirthful victory when I continue. “It is better to stay silent and be thought a fool, than to open one’s mouth and remove all doubt.” I recite the proverb to him, expecting his brow to furrow and irritation to flicker across his face, but instead of anger in his eyes I see amusement, challenge.
The crowd falls silent, probably a tad shocked that I’m not bowing down to the rock god who I’m sure is used to getting anything he wants. But I grew up in a room next door to my brother and with the famed director Andy Westin as my father so I more than anyone know that I will not be getting anywhere near my knees to bow for Hawkin Play.
Or do anything else on them for that matter when it comes to him.
He just shakes his head, a curious look on his face before a student calls out a question across the oppressive silence we’ve created. He turns to face the fellow student and luckily leaves our unspoken sparring match unresolved.
I’m furious at him for calling me out again, and at the same time amused by his arrogance that he thinks I care. Risking a glance his way now that his focus is elsewhere, I take the chance to stare at and scrutinize him. I have to pay attention and figure him out if I’m going to try to get the upper hand here. I mean, it’s purely out of curiosity. Good-looking guys are a dime a dozen in California.
But not all of them are rock stars that cause that tingly ache I have from simply imagining what he’d be like in bed.
His physique is lean, medium build with broad shoulders, but I can tell the muscles beneath are toned. Of course he takes the moment I’m watching him to raise his arm and point to someone, gifting me a flex of his biceps and the hint of a tattoo on the upper part of his arm hidden by his shirt. And I’m a girl that has a thing for firm biceps, especially when they are framing my body on the mattress beneath me.
I trail him as he walks back toward the podium, taking in his profile, strong jaw, straight nose, and hair a little on the long side but somehow styled into a messy disarray that says I didn’t try to do this. He fiddles with the overhead projector, the school’s setup for it much more complicated than necessary. He continues on, speaking of something in regard to media expectations—a part of me curious what he’s talking about because I’ve been so focused on not liking him and at the same time studying him I haven’t followed a single word of his lecture.
The man leaning against the wall whose seat I took chuckles loud enough that the first few rows can hear him and it takes me a second to realize that Hawkin can’t get the projector to turn on.
Serves him right. I sit in my chair and tuck my tongue in my cheek, refusing to help and enjoying watching him fumble. If he’s going to call me out like he did, then I guess I’ll act like a student and feign technological ignorance.
“And this folks is why I sing and play an instrument for a living,” he says with a half laugh, brushing his hair off his forehead, his charismatic charm coming across even when he’s frustrated. “Guess my reputation proceeds me and I’m too much to handle since the TA I was promised has yet to show and help me set everything up.”
“I’ll handle you!” a girl in the back yells, garnering a chuckle from him.
I’m sure you will, sweetie.
I watch him a few more moments until he gives up and says something I can’t hear to his friend before turning to the class. “Well, I guess I’ll have to rely on my many other hidden talents,” he says rubbing his hands together and causing me to sigh like the girl next to me while the rest of the students chuckle, “but it seems they’ll have to wait until next time…. Time’s up for today.” The sigher next to me makes a sound of protest, and I swear she’s going to be stuck to the seat she’s so desperate for all things Hawkin.
“Until next time,” he says and students begin to shuffle their papers. I lean forward to pick up my bag when his voice stops me. “Ms. I’m-Too-Special-to-Be-on-Time? Please stay a minute.”
I freeze more from disbelief than because I care. Seems to me by his arrogance that this whole I’m-a-professor kick has gone to his head. Then again, this is probably his norm, considering he’s used to performing on stage in front of thousands.
I bite the inside of my cheek to stifle the smart-ass remark that is begging for escape, and lean back in the chair, arms and legs crossed, and raise my eyebrows at him. Come at me rocker boy. I’m ready for you.
Hawkin holds my taunting gaze, and I feel like we’re on a playground having a staring contest. Guess things don’t change much when you get older.
He leans his hips back on the table behind him and mirrors my posture. “Hey, blondie, what’s your name?”
“Trixie,” I tell him off the cuff. My mind immediately went to the name Layla and I use in a club when we’re being hit on by someone we have no interest in.
“Trixie, huh?”
“Says so on my birth certificate. Is there something you needed?”
“Yeah,” he says pushing his way off the table and walking toward me. My god, even his swagger across the
short distance is sexy. He stops right in front of me and just stares. Chemistry I don’t want to feel ignites between us.
You keep telling yourself that you don’t want to feel that, Quinlan.
I look away, breaking whatever draw he continues to have over me. The one I don’t want to feel. I just need to get out of here before those eyes of his and that cocky grin wear me down until I’m lying on my back with him above me. And thankfully he speaks because his words help all of those thoughts from finding purchase inside my mind.
“So was the lecture bad or something?” He angles his head and for some reason his body language does not reflect the simple question he asks. I won’t walk right into his verbal trap of sarcasm again so I look back to him, eyebrows arched, fingers drumming on my bicep, waiting for him to continue. “Are you too cool to take notes?”
“Lecture about something noteworthy, and I’d be glad to take some,” I fire back. And yes it’s an unfair response because I barely listened to his lecture at all, more focused on ignoring him than anything, but he deserves it for his comment.
“Ooh,” he says, bringing his hand to his heart like I’ve wounded him before flashing a lightning-fast grin. “I’ve got a soft spot for a woman who’s beautiful and quick with her tongue.”
I snort in exasperation. “Well, I’m sure you have the soft part down pat but I thought a guy like you’d prefer a woman without a brain or better yet, no teeth.”
Hawkin’s friend whistles to the side of us, but I ignore him, not needing any more of a distraction than what is in front of me. I rise from my seat and start throwing my stuff in my bag knowing that me and my smart mouth need to get up and leave before they get me in more trouble than normal.
“You think you have me pegged, huh?” His voice murmurs too close for comfort behind me. My body reacts instantly: goose-bumped skin, hitched breath, and my every nerve attuned to the proximity of his body.
Then again, trouble can be so much fun.
I can tell he’s used to women begging to be played and hell if that’s an option here. Chemistry or no chemistry, I’m smart enough to know he’s one of those guys I need to steer clear of.
And I plan on doing just that. Marching up these steps and back to the department office to tell Carla that assisting this seminar is just too much for my class load. That even with the extension of time she’ll give me on my thesis, it’s still not enough. I’m sure she’ll see right through the lie, know something is up, but will never question me on it.
But before I go …
“I know I have you pegged,” I say with a small laugh as I throw my bag over my shoulder carelessly, silently hoping he is close enough to me that he gets hit by it. “And you sure as hell are proving me right.”
“Oh, I can be all kinds of right, Trixie,” he says as I turn around to find him still way too close. It’s just a moment really but with our bodies so close and our eyes burning into each other’s the pang of desire between my thighs turns into a full-blown ache.
I sidestep away from him immediately, hating the jump in my pulse and the lust coursing through me. I need to get out of here, away from him and his arrogant smirk and his come fuck me eyes.
“You were late,” he states matter-of-factly as I begin to walk toward the stairs. “Don’t let it happen again.”
His taunting dare causes my foot to falter on the first step, my quick temper getting the best of me. I turn around and stride back toward him, stopping only when I’m well within his personal space. “No worries there. Must be nice, though…. Stroll in here, act like a wannabe teacher for a few lectures, and that power trip you seem to be needing gets an unwarranted boost for that ginormous ego of yours.”
I see the surprise flicker through his eyes with temerity following closely behind it. He takes a step closer, our bodies a whisper away from each other, and I have to tilt my head up to hold his gaze.
“Since you were late, did you miss who I am? Wannabe is something I surpassed a long time ago.” He grates the words out, that velvet voice packed with grit and coated in an unhealthy dose of conceit.
“Well, excuse me Professor Play,” I say, voice laced with saccharine, as his breath feathers over my lips from our less than professional proximity. “So what? You’re just an asshole on a power trip then?”
A sliver of a laugh falls from his lips but there is anything but humor in it. I know I’ve hit a nerve and hell if I care because he needs to get knocked down a peg.
“So much hostility from such a pretty girl.”
Girl? Guess he’s not noticing my tits or curves. And why does that bug me?
“I’ve got a lot more where that came from,” I reply, taking a step back from his cologne that’s clouding my thoughts and the dark gray flecks in his eyes that mine keep focusing on.
“Thanks for the warning,” he says with a nod of his head, “but I’m not quite sure what I’ve done to deserve it.”
“Nothing.” I snort. “Your type just rubs me the wrong way.”
“I’ll rub you any way you like if you want.” His smile widens and eyes wander down my body and slowly back up in obvious appraisal.
And as much as I’m glad he’s finally taking notice, I hope he likes what he sees because it will be the last time he gets a good look at it. “Like I said, you’re an asshole.”
“I can think of worse things to be.” He shrugs, smarmy look in place that tells me he’s enjoying this. “I hate to break it to you but uh, I’m not going anywhere.” He lifts his chin toward the podium. “I happen to be a wannabe professor.” He licks his bottom lip and steps closer to me. “So we can play this two ways.”
“Two ways?” I don’t think I like where this conversation is going considering that fuck-all smirk of his just widened so big that tiny little dimples appeared. I hear his friend shift and sigh but don’t look.
“Yeah. You know your hostility is obviously masking your true feelings.”
“True feelings?” And there I go again, repeating what he says. How has he reduced me—a woman always confident and quick with my wit—to two-word sentences? I don’t have much time to think about it because he steps closer, causing me to retreat so that the backs of my legs hit the seat behind me. I have nowhere to go now.
“Mm-hm. That you’re hot for teacher.”
I cough out a laugh, choking on my own words with the knowledge of hierarchy of student to professor. I tone down my response before I respond. “I’m sure you’d love to think that, except not everyone is mesmerized by your dazzling charm. Besides, there’s a school policy against fraternization between students and wannabe professors.” I purse my lips and wait for his response.
He glances over to his friend and gives him a look I can’t quite see before running a hand through his hair and focusing back on me. “For some reason I don’t think you care if you follow any rules or not.”
Well, at least he’s got that right because I’m probably breaking several right now with the way I’m speaking to him and I couldn’t care in the least. “You said we could play it two ways,” I say, suddenly remembering the comment from moments before that his cocksure comeback distracted me from. “What’s the second?”
“Drop the class,” he deadpans, eyes daring me to, body telling me not to.
“I can’t.”
“Hm,” he murmurs. “You most definitely aren’t doing it right Trix, if you can’t.”
“Does everything with you have to be sexual?” I ask even though I know damn well the reason I’m hearing the innuendo is because of the supercharged sexual tension I suddenly realize is zinging between us.
“Yes.” He nods but it’s not the matter-of-fact way he says it that causes my libido to stand at attention but rather the predatory way his eyes own mine. “Like I said, if it bugs you that much, be my guest, transfer out.”
“I’m sure you’re not used to being told the word but I’ll gladly say it to you.” I step even closer, our eyes locked, our bodies reacting to the lack of sp
ace between us. I swallow down the lust I don’t want to feel that’s lodged in my throat and whisper the word to him. “No.”
He shakes his head and stares with those storm cloud–colored eyes of his, trying to figure out how to take me. “Why not?”
“Because I’m your TA.”
Chapter 3
HAWKIN
My TA? What the fuck?
She stares at me with defiance in her caramel-colored eyes and a victorious smirk on those full lips. I love the fact that she has the balls to play me like she did when everyone else simply complies either from being starstruck or intimidated.
Gotta love a girl with brass ones.
Our verbal duel ends abruptly when she turns and walks away without another word. So why do I find myself wanting to ask her to stay even though she obviously detests me? The woman is intriguing and intense and … a bitch, but shit, there’s just something about her that has my dick commandeering my thoughts.
Damn her for pointing out my sexual innuendos because now as she stalks out, her fine-as-fuck ass in that short skirt that keeps giving me a glimpse of tan, toned thigh with each step, sex is all I can think of.
Sex with her in particular.
I blow out a breath as she strides out the door without a backward glance and even though I hear the outer door to the auditorium open and then close, I still keep staring.
Vince draws out a long, low whistle to the left of me. “Now, that’s a coed worth getting schooled by. Bet your ass she’d be feisty as hell in the sack.”
I tear my eyes from the doorway, a part of me hoping she’ll come back through it for some reason, before turning to face him. And I can’t pinpoint what it is that he said that irritates me but I’m irritated nonetheless. But I shake off the notion just like I wish I could shake the desire riding rampant through my system. “She might be sexy as hell but some kitty-cat claws aren’t worth the scratch.” Even as I’m speaking the words, my body calls me on the lie.