Page 9 of Hot for Teacher
He walked over to the professor’s table. The alpha was sprawled back in his chair, surprisingly thick thighs spread wide, with none of the rigid posture he showed in his classroom. He had on another button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and Chase had to keep his eyes off those damned forearms in order to keep his cool.
Burke was watching Chase approach over a tumbler of what looked like whiskey, his expression unreadable.
“Professor Burke?” Chase asked when he was standing across the table from him, gratified that his voice came out steady. “I, um, had you last semester?”
Burke nodded. “I remember.”
Some of the butterflies roiling in Chase’s stomach settled. He was memorable, then, at the very least. Not just another random student in a sea of faces.
He steeled his nerves.Go big or go fucking home.“Can I buy you another drink?”
Something flashed across Burke’s face—surprise, maybe?—and then he shook his head slowly. “I’m only having the one.”
“Oh.” Chase’s cheeks flamed. There it was, his one embarrassing moment, already gone. “Understood, I—”
The chair next to Chase shot out from under the table. “But you may take a seat. If you like.”
Chase stared at the chair dumbly. Burke cocked a brow.
Holy shit, he’s asking me to stay.
Chase jumped onto the seat. Too eager by half, but oh the fuck well. He set his drink on the table and placed his hands in his lap.
They watched each other.
“I enjoyed your class last semester,” Chase told him.
Another slow shake of Burke’s head. “Try again.”
Burke didn’t want to talk about school. Of course he didn’t. He probably came here to get away, to de-stress or whatever.
Chase resisted the urge to clear his throat. “Are you from around here?”
Burke grunted. “Phoenix? No.”
He didn’t expand on it, didn’t offer up his city of origin, so Chase told him, “Me neither.”
Burke’s lips twitched up at the corners. “And where are you from?”
“Minnesota, sir.”
The “sir” just came out, a habit at this point, but Burke didn’t seem offended. Instead, something hot gleamed in his eyes. “Ah. The manners make sense.”
“Just how I was raised.” But Chase bit back the “sir” this time.
“Your parents’ influence?”
“Sort of.”
“Not close?”
“No.”
“I’m surprised.” Burke took a sip of his drink, dark-blue gaze dancing over Chase’s face. “You seem like you’d be the perfect, dutiful son.”
Chase wasn’t sure if he was being teased or not. He shrugged anyway. “Dutiful, yeah.” At least he had been, once upon a time, when it had seemed worth the effort. “But not—not close.”
“Me neither,” Burke told him, an echo of Chase’s earlier words.
