Page 17 of The Naughty Professor
“My trainer says if I can cut down to six percent body fat, I’ll be stage-ready.Like, Mr.Gay Virginia, here I come!”His laugh was nasal, and too loud.
I nodded once, politely.He was the human equivalent of an overexcited puppy.
“Anyway, what about you?You work out?You look like you could, uh, if you wanted.”
Before I could reply, he whipped out his phone and scrolled through a reel of selfies, determined to show me all of them.Identical angles, identical smirk.Jesus, did he have a single brain cell not focused on himself?
The bass pounded into my skull, every word another drumbeat in the migraine blooming behind my eyes.A Margaret Atwood novel would never do this to me.Damn it, I’m going home if Sean doesn’t show up soon.
When I didn’t laugh at his second Miami story—or the third, which was identical to the first—his smile finally slipped.He huffed, then muttered, “Whatever,” and stalked off, already scanning the room for someone else.
I exhaled, my shoulders loosening.
I should’ve stayed at home, I thought.A glass of wine, a book, Mozart playing in the background.Anything but this parade of glitter and obnoxious body spray.
I set my glass down and rubbed the back of my neck, letting my gaze wander aimlessly across the room.That’s when I saw him.
At the edge of the dance floor stood a man in wire-framed glasses.His slacks were a little too big, and he wore a wrinkled shirt.He looked wildly out of place among the strutting peacocks.But his face—his face was striking.Dark hair kept falling onto his brow, and he had sharp features softened by a hesitance in his stance.He looked very familiar.
Then it clicked.Felix Sterling.The chemistry professor.
I’d seen him at Alastair’s memorial service, his voice trembling whenever he spoke.On campus, he was quiet, almost invisible.Not one for small talk in the break room.But here he was, alone at Badlands, staring at the dance floor with a hunger I recognized in my bones.
Should I go talk to him?
I lifted the glass again, buying myself a moment.Maybe I should.It surprised me, honestly.I hadn’t known he was gay.Or maybe I’d never bothered to notice.
Before I could decide, an arm dropped around my shoulders.
“Thorne!”
Sean.Of course.His shirt hung open to mid-chest, his grin wolfish, sweat glistening at his hairline.He leaned in and kissed my cheek with an exaggerated smack.
I swatted him.“Where the hell have you been?”
“Patio,” he said, rolling his eyes.“My date ghosted me.Never showed up.”
“Figures.”
He shrugged, unbothered.“There are plenty of other men in here.I’ll live.”
Typical Sean—rejection slid off him like rain.He was already scanning the room for his next possibility, his attention darting like a crow spotting shiny new things.
I turned back toward the dance floor, but Felix was gone.
A pang hit me, sharp and unexpected.Disappointment?Curiosity?
He’d looked so out of place, standing there with those wire-frame glasses slipping down his nose.And yet—he was handsome, in a raw, unpolished way.If he were anything like me, he was probably already tired of this circus.
I swirled the bourbon in my glass, watching the amber catch the light.
Perhaps I should talk to him at school?God knows I could use a conversation that didn’t involve protein powder or Miami nightclubs.
ChapterSix
Felix
Irushed into my lab at school the next morning like a man possessed, the doors banging against the wall.The magazine was clutched under my arm, pages already dog-eared, my thoughts running so fast I almost tripped over them.
