Page 5 of The Naughty Professor
Juniper grinned, pleased with herself.Then she tilted her head.“You know, if I were into hot daddies, Dr.Carr would be at the top of my list.”
My laugh died mid-chuckle.Heat flared up my neck and into my ears.
Juniper noticed instantly.A slow, wolfish smile spread across her face.
“Oh my God,” she whispered.“You’re into him.Aren’t you?”
“I—what—I don’t…” I stammered, waving my hands like that would erase the crimson flooding my cheeks.“That’s ridiculous.Utterly.He’s—he’s—”
Words abandoned me.My throat seized.And then, because my body apparently hates me, I sneezed.
“Ahh-CHOO!”
Juniper blinked.
“Ahhh-CHHHHHHOOOO!”
Another.Then another.A full volley of them.I tried to speak between them, but it was like my sinuses had staged a mutiny.My eyes watered, my nose ran, and I was fairly certain I’d startled the skeleton model into a second death.
Finally, after what felt like a century of convulsing, I dragged in a shaky breath.My entire face throbbed, and I was sure I looked like I’d been pepper-sprayed.
Juniper, the devil herself, patted my arm delicately.“Bless your heart, Dr.Sterling.”
* * *
Juniper and I walked across the commons, my shoes squeaking against the polished tile.At the far end, a wooden sign rested on an easel with block letters:
Remembrance Service for Dr.Alastair Greene →
My throat tightened.
Juniper stopped dead.“Ugh.Funerals.Can’t stand them.”
“You’re leaving?”I asked, horrified.
She shrugged.“Didn’t know the dead guy, Dr.Sterling.No point in crying over someone else’s mentor.Besides, I’ve got an online order of vibrators to box up.”She patted my shoulder once, brisk as ever.“You’ll be fine.Try not to sob into Professor Carr’s lap.”
Before I could sputter a reply, she spun on her heel and disappeared down the hall.
I stood there for a moment, abandoned, then took a shaky breath and stepped into the room.
Rows of chairs filled the space, though only half were occupied.A giant framed photo of Alastair sat at the front, his smile bright, his tweed jacket unmistakable.Around it, smaller photos were arranged: Alastair laughing with students, chalk in hand at the blackboard, grinning over coffee mugs in the faculty lounge.A massive bouquet of white lilies framed the display, the scent heady and funereal.
In the very front row, Joan and Thorne sat side by side, heads bent toward one another as they studied the pictures.Joan whispered something, her hand brushing his arm, and Thorne nodded gravely.
Then he turned his head.His gaze found me.
I froze.
And then—God help me—he beckoned.
Thorne Carr.The man who’d never included me in anything, not so much as a hallway chat.Now he was inviting me to sit beside him.
I felt my legs moving before my brain caught up.Slowly, awkwardly, I made my way to the front row.Every squeak of my shoes was deafening.Joan’s eyes tracked me like a sniper.
I slid into the chair beside Thorne, trying not to hyperventilate.His presence radiated warmth, and my heart thumped against my ribs like it wanted out.Joan’s side-eye burned into me, her smile tight and brittle.
The Dean of Students shuffled to the podium, tapping the microphone.“Ladies and gentlemen, if we could come to order.”His voice cracked with age, but the room quieted.
