Page 13 of Betting on the Bad Boy
Jess blew out a long breath. “I give up. You’re hopeless.”
I slumped further down in my seat. No nights off. That’s how I’d lose focus. A guy like Dante didn’t fit into my plans, no matter how my traitorous body responded to him. There would be plenty of time for that later when I’d secured a tenured teaching job in a well-respected literary program.
A part of me knew I’d be better off if I never laid eyes on his hot bod again. The other part of me knew I wouldn’t be able to get him out of my mind until I laid a lot more than eyes on him.
I gazed out the window and wondered—when it came to the sex-on-a-stick bartender, which part of me was going to win?
CHAPTER 8
Faith
I satnear the back of the room, zoning out on the department’s mandatory all-staff meeting while sipping on the caramel latte I’d splurged on earlier. I hadn’t slept well over the weekend. My encounter with Dante kept playing through my mind, and I was operating in a sleep-deprived haze. Assuming I could survive the next hour, I’d have two hours to myself before I had to teach my next class. If I high-tailed it to my car and went straight back to my apartment, I might be able to fit in a forty-five-minute nap.
I let my mind wander to the brief period of time I’d spent with the buff bartender. Letting out a sigh, I relaxed against the back of my seat. Behind those nerdy rims, his eyes pulled at something inside me, something I thought I’d shut down a long time ago.
I spent a good portion of my time thinking and writing about romance. But I’d convinced myself that the kind of love I wrote about in my novels didn’t exist in real life. I thought Brad and I were on the right track...until our relationship completely derailed.
According to my mother, my parents had it, at least until my dad walked out. My mom was happy enough with Clem, hersecond husband, but theirs was a relationship based more on shared interests (the church) and shared preferences (low-fat, low-cal diet, early to bed, early to rise) as opposed to unbridled passion.
As far as I was concerned, I’d have to pick one or the other—sparks or long-term compatibility. It seemed impossible to find both with the same person. With Brad, I thought I had it all. But just like my dad, he turned out to be too good to be true. Common goals, similar family values, those were the things that would last. As soon as I got tenure, I’d find someone who looked good on paper and start to build a family. I’d never let myself go based on passion alone. Incredible chemistry and grand romantic gestures belonged to the heroines in my books. Those lucky bitches. The last one, especially.
The protagonist of my latest release,Carnal Knowledge, the one Steph was so excited about, was a journalist who got swept off her feet by an accountant who’d been hired to do an audit on the newspaper she was working for. He was like a Clark Kent kind of guy by day and morphed into a superhero at night. He delivered mind-blowing orgasms multiple times a day and also knew how to cook. If only I could find a guy like him in real life, maybe I’d change my mind about true love.
Professor Cornish clapped her hands, pulling me away from my thoughts. “With Professor Middleford’s retirement, we’ll need someone to pick up his classes for next year. Of course, first preference will go to those of you already established within the department. Adjunct faculty is encouraged to apply.”
My ears perked up. I’d been living in my own little world for the past couple of weeks, feverishly typing on my keyboard every available spare moment, so I hadn’t heard anything about Professor Middleford’s retirement.
Picking up a few more classes would certainly help me out. My book sales had been modestly successful, but I still hadthousands of dollars in student loans. My mom and stepdad had offered to pay my tuition, but I’d turned them down. I didn’t want to be dependent on them or feel obligated to follow in my mother’s footsteps. My mom wouldn’t hold it over my head, but I’d seen Clem use whatever he could to his advantage, and I didn’t want to take any chances.
The bell rang, and Professor Cornish officially adjourned the meeting. I gathered my papers and stuffed them into my backpack.
“Faith, do you have a second?”
I stopped next to her on my way out. “Sure. What do you need?”
“I hope you’re planning on applying.”
“I’d like to, but I’m not sure I’ll have time?—”
“Make time. I know you’re paying your own way. This could really help, not only with your loans but also your career.”
I nodded. “You’re right. Of course, you’re right.” Revisions on my manuscript, plotting a new novel to submit to Steph, and taking on a few more classes next fall? A wave of panic cramped my gut.
I still hadn’t beaten away my crippling writer’s block. For every word I typed on the screen, I seemed to delete two. My shoulders tensed in anticipation of how much sleep I would miss out on over the next several weeks.
No time to think about that now. I’d do what I had to do like I always did. I wouldn’t let anything or anyone throw me off track.
I joined the crush of faculty pushing through the doorway and into the crowded hall. I stepped to the right to get around a couple of undergrads who didn’t appear to be in any sort of hurry. My foot slipped out from under me, landing me flat on my ass. Coffee flew into the air, and the stack of papers I’d been holding spread out all over the floor.
“Smooth, Faith, real smooth.” A hand reached out to help me up onto my feet, then someone crouched down and started sweeping my soggy papers back into my bag.
“Thanks, Murph,” I said. “I guess I didn’t see the cone.”
“Ya think?” He smiled at me. Tall and lanky, seeming to be made up of nothing but limbs, Patrick Murphy’s bright red hair made him hard to miss in a crowd. He had friendly green eyes and freakishly white teeth, which was nice since he usually had a giant smile plastered across his face. He and I even shared a tiny office. We’d probably be good friends too, if he’d ever stop asking me out.
“Damn, my coffee. I really need the caffeine this morning.” I picked up my empty cup and tried to sop up the puddle on the floor with a flimsy napkin.
“Come on, I’ll buy you another cup,” Murph said.
