Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 97767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
She is so full of shit—there is no way.
She’s not old enough to be a professor.
“You’re fucking kidding,” I blurt out leaning forward as if that will somehow make her confession make more sense. “Right? Please tell me you’re joking.”
She is enjoying my confusion. “Why would I joke about that?”
I study her, trying to reconcile the quick-witted woman sitting across from me with the image of a professor.
Impossible.
“You’re not old enough to be a professor.”
“Okay. Rude,” she says, though her lips twitch like she’s trying not to laugh.
“No, I mean you look—” I stop, realizing this is a minefield I’m about to step into. “You don’t look old enough for that job. What do you teach, anyway?”
“For your information, I teach sociology. At a university. With real adults.” Her chin tilts and her expression smug. “You can google it if you’d like. I’ll wait.”
My brain cannot compute.
“Like…college sociology?” I continue to sound stupid, unable to wrap my brain around this.
“Yes. Like—the college here. It’s a university, technically.” Austin crosses her arms. “Monday and Wednesdays at 9 a.m. to 11:30. Tuesday and Thursdays at 1. My office hours are on Fridays at 2. I even have a nameplate on my door.”
The only university I know of is State, about a thirty-minute drive out of the city. It’s huge—twenty-five thousand students, nationally ranked programs, and a football team they televise like it’s the Super Bowl.
A big fucking school.
I lean back, still trying to wrap my head around it. “This is blowing my mind right now.” I feel my face melting off as I squint across the table at her. “How old are you?”
She laughs again. “Twenty-nine. How old are you?”
“Twenty-six,” I say automatically, still stuck on the fact that she’s twenty-nine and a professor.
“Aw, you’re a baby,” she teases, resting her chin in her hand, fluttering her lashes at me.
I glare at her, though I can’t help but grin. “You don’t get to call
me a baby when you’ve not even cracked thirty.”
“But it’s still older than you, and I’m your elder, so show some respect.”
I find her smart mouth so…
Goddamn sexy.
Sexier now that I know her sharp tongue comes equipped with an even sharper brain. She’s confident, quick, and completely unapologetic about it. It’s a lethal combination—one I wasn’t prepared for when I walked into this bar.
Inside my pants, my dick twitches.
Of course, it does.
Because apparently, my body has zero chill when it comes to her.
I shift slightly in my seat, forcing myself to focus on something else—anything else. But it’s hard when she’s sitting across from me, her eyes daring me to keep up with her.
Her lips are moving but I’m no longer listening to a word she’s saying.
Blah blah “…my students love me, I’ll have you know.”
Oh I bet they fucking do.
My gaze dips to her mouth as she talks, the curve of her lips pulling me in. Glossy. Full. Pale pink tongue darting out to lick them. Every word out of her mouth is designed to knock me off balance and it’s working…
“Are you even listening to me?” she asks suddenly, chin tilting as her voice cuts through the fog in my brain.
“What? Yeah, of course. Your students love you.”
She narrows her eyes. Doesn’t believe me. “Uh-huh. What else did I say?”
“Uh…” I scramble, frantically replaying the last ten seconds until I come up with, “Something about office hours.”
Her lips press together as she tries to hold back a laugh. “All I have to say is, wow.”
“In my defense, as soon as you said professor, I started objectifying you.”
Austin’s eyes widen.
“You’ve gotta admit,” I continue. “It’s not every day a guy meets someone as gorgeous as you and finds out she’s brilliant.”
Her cheeks flush, a deep pink that she tries to hide by dipping her chin and brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
“I’m not brilliant,” she mutters, though her lips are curving into a reluctant smile.
“You definitely are,” I counter, gaze fixed on her. She can’t convince me otherwise. “Brilliant, beautiful, and apparently modest.”
Which is more than I can say for myself.
She lets out a soft laugh, finally looking up at me, her eyes narrowing. “You’re ridiculous.”
Maybe.
“Can we change the subject?” she asks, the blush still lingering on her cheeks.
Before I can respond, a voice interrupts from behind me. “Oh my God, are you Gio Montagalo?”
I glance over my shoulder, already bracing myself. A guy in his early twenties, wearing a Baddies hoodie and a baseball cap, is standing a few feet away, staring at me like he’s just won the lottery.
“Yup,” I say, offering a polite smile. “That’s me.”
“No fucking way!” he says, his voice rising in excitement. He pulls out his phone, fumbling with it as he steps closer. “Holy shit, man—I’m such a huge fan. Can I, uh, get an autograph or something?”
“Sure,” I say, reaching for the napkin on the table. “You got a pen?”