Page 21 of Wicked Ends
“Yes, Mr. Bailey?”
“What are your qualifications to teach this class? I mean, you seem young for a professor,” he drawled.
I took another deep breath and nodded. “I’m reasonably young, but not tenured, so I’m nothing out of the ordinary. I graduated last year with my master’s in music and I have plenty of personal experience with performing…”
Marcus had his damn phone out and tilted his head.
“No socials? Are you a serial killer on the run?”
Chuckles rang out around the room again.
A killer on the run.
A killer on the run.
He had no idea.
I gripped the sides of the lectern and pasted another pleasant smile on my face.
“I don’t think anyone needs to care about the private lives of their teachers. Just know that music has been my entire life for as long as I can remember. Does that qualify me to teach you, Mr. Bailey?”
Marcus grinned. “I guess it depends on the subject. Music, sure. Teach me, Ms. Moore.”
Heat washed through me, followed immediately by shame. The other night and the confident, wisecracking, hockey-stick-wielding bartender were too fresh in my head, warring with this student sitting here and teasing me.
“Thank you.” I tried to summon my best silencing glare.
Marcus only chuckled.
Giving up on getting him to stop heckling me, I launched into the lecture. “Now, sonatas. You’ve already studied Mozart and Beethoven. Today, I want to look at the more modern reworkings. We will start with Prokofiev. Split into groups of three. You will all map a different form section.”
Someone behind Marcus spoke to him, asking him to be in their group, and the loss of his attention felt like a relief. Like a burning spotlight had been turned from my face.
I checked that everyone had gotten into groups and went around, handing out sheets for them to write on.
I dreaded approaching Marcus’ group and attempted to shove the paper on the edge of his desk so I could make my escape. However, his hand snapped out and held the paper in the air before I even saw him move, effectively trapping me.
“Ms. Moore, I didn’t quite understand the assignment. Can you explain it to me?”
His voice was low and amused. He was enjoying this.
“It’s all on the sheet,” I muttered, letting the paper go so Marcus was the only one holding it.
He raised an eyebrow at me, but I walked away, trying my best to remain composed.
The rest of the class, the students worked together, and I supervised. By the time I’d dismissed the class, I’d nearly gotten my face back to a regular hue.
“We will finish this next time!” I called.
The students bolted from their seats, stuffing their books in their bags. I moved away, reluctant to meet Marcus’ eyes. I didn’t want him coming over to speak to me and making the other students suspicious.
I cleaned the whiteboard and waited for the sounds of student hustle and bustle to fade. The door slammed closed, echoing through the room, and I sagged against the desk.Jesus.What a morning.
Thankfully, I had a free period now, so I could freak out privately. I turned around and froze.
The door had shut, but there was still one student left.
Marcus leaned against the wooden door, his arms crossed over his impressive chest.
