Page 7 of Off-Ice Misconduct
But I’ve got way more experience than he does with games. If I’ve already gotten under his skin by calling him up here, I have bad news for him. I pull a notebook and a pen from my bag.
“Since you’ve disrupted my class, and could give a fuck about it, you’re going to sit right here,” I gesture to the desk, “and write out this phrase at the top of the page until class ends. Afterward, we’re going to have a little chat.”
His crystal-blue eyes widen, and while he’s busy looking to his teammates to figure out what the fuck is going on, I write,My hooligan friends and I will show up on time to Professor VanCourt’s class.
“Professor,” he begins.
“Sir,” I correct him. I’ll let everyone else address me as Professor VanCourt but make him use sir. That’ll really piss him off. Good. I’m not here to play nice with him. Already, it’s clear that he lacks social discipline. I bet he has impeccable discipline for hockey and thinks that’s all he needs in life. So typical of stick-wielding hockey brats.
He sighs, long and suffering. “Sir, I don’t think you understand?—”
“Not interested. Sit. Write. We’ll talk after class.”
McKinnon exhales, blowing the long strands of his shaggy hair upward. Yanking the chair out, he sits, slumping like the spoiled brat he is. He’s undeterred. If anything, his attitude’s taken wings. Is he planning the phone call to his father to have me ousted? Or maybe he’ll complain to the dean who’s probably like an uncle to him? Hopefully, he has enough brain cells to put two and two together on my last name, realizing that complaining to his coach would be futile.
Letting him stew, I get on with my lesson, because I don’t care either way. The only part about this farce that isn’t a lie is that I hold a doctorate in philosophy. Uncle insisted. He said all this brawn had to have brains, and apparently, his idea of brains required several hellish years at Stanford.
First, there’s nothing, but then his eyes burn into the back of my head. I sense them, heated and angry, without having to look to know that they’re trying to incinerate me. I make sure to turn as I lecture and catch him glaring. He doesn’t bother to look away as if he’s analyzing my soul with those eerie blue eyes of his, trying to figure out what makes me tick.
If he thinks he’ll find what will manipulate me, he’s wrong. That’ll come as a shock to someone used to getting everything he wants. With a jawline like that, I’ll bet he has but to smile and shine his glory upon someone, the whole world at his command. Men and women must die to run their hands through his darklocks. Which means he wouldn’t have had to build an extensive repertoire of skills to manipulate with. All he has are his good looks, and sure, they work on everyone else, but not me.
He’s tall and broad-shouldered, filling out his team jacket in all the right places, so he’s probably used to having size on his side.
Also, not with me. I’ve got at least four maybe five inches on him. I’m wider and thicker than he is. Oh, how I love showing men like him that they’re nothing but needy, spoiled princesses.
“There will be an essay every week, and I expect the required readings done before you come to class. Expect pop quizzes every week that will be counted toward your grade.”
McKinnon’s mouth drops open, but he closes it when I set my gaze on his, refusing to drop his eyes back to his punishment.
I spend the rest of the hour going through some other housekeeping, and a short lesson on what I expect in an essay—they can’t say they’re not prepared. The bell rings, and McKinnon attempts an escape.
“No, McKinnon.Sit.” He wants to act like an unruly puppy? I’ll treat him like one.
“I have our afternoon training session to get to. Trust me when I say you don’t arrive late to Coach’s training sessions. I’d think you’d know that, ProfessorVanCourt.” He emphasizes my last name.
“Sir,” I correct him. “You should be worried about arriving late to my class.”
One of his minions—the blond one that looks like he belongs in a Ken-doll box—drops his bag beside him. “You okay, Cap?”
He nods. “Yeah, I’ll catch up.”
Cap.God. He’s their king on and off the ice.
I get a nice glare from each of them as they exit for daring to chastise His Majesty.
“You’ve already punished me—only me for some reason—why am I being kept after, too?”
Sliding into my coat, I slowly put my things away, making him wait. I’ll start the conversation when I’m ready. He finally takes a hint and shuts his mouth.
“There you go, you can be obedient.”
He spreads his arms, not speaking, but the frustration’s building. There’s too much tension in his face, those pretty blue eyes clouded over.
“I know your type, McKinnon, and I’m not tolerating it. Show up on time, or be punished, and I promise you that I went easy today.”
“May I ask why I’m being singled out, sir?”
“They look up to you,Cap,” I say with heavy sarcasm. “I’m holding you responsible for them and anyone else who shows up to my class late.”
