Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 157308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Adonis flicked from me to the class. In a blink, his face smoothed out. “I am teaching this class, Miss Sinclair. Take your seat.”
I marched up to him, face reddening as every detail of that night unfolded in my mind. I didn’t drink enough to black it all out, and by the naked surprise that was in his eyes, he didn’t either.
“Miss Sinclair?” I repeated. “Did you know who I was the whole time? Did you know I was your student?”
The night morphed—changing from a fun, open talk with a nice guy to... creepy.
“This isn’t the time—”
“Just answer me.”
He strayed over my shoulder. “I haven’t looked at my roster yet. Sit down. We’re not having this discussion now.”
“But you said—”
“Hey, everything alright?” Victor sidled up next to me. “After class, can we talk?”
“What more do we have to talk about?” I asked. Then I noticed Victor wasn’t looking at me.
“Bro? Come on, man,” he said. “You know I don’t agree with Mom and Dad.”
The words were both the detonator and explosion in my mind. Mom and Dad?!
“Bro?” I hissed. “You did know who I was. My name was on the freaking invitation announcing that I was marrying your brother!”
His beautiful, once kind eyes were empty and cold as steel. “This is neither the time nor place,” Adonis gritted. “Sit down. Both of you.”
“Asshole!”
Silence smothered the room. Every eye in the class fixed on me—for a new reason.
“Sneaky, underhanded, lying sack of—!”
Adonis slammed his fist on the desk. “One more word and I’ll have campus security escort you out of my classroom. Take your seats. I will not tell you again.”
My jaw cracked, I clenched it so hard. He knew who I was the entire time. Adonis, if that was his fucking name, was laughing at me, asking if I was having a rough night. He got me to spill so many truths.
And I bet everything he said was a lie.
I trudged to my seat, humiliation leadening my steps. Of course it was a lie. If his parents disowned and kicked him out, what was he doing hanging around in the library drinking scotch? I walked in and he decided to have some fun with me. He just wasn’t expecting his lie to come back and bite him on the ass when the school bell chimed.
Students eyed me climbing the stairs for my seat. Looking at them, it was obvious to tell who was Dreg and who was Royal. Regalia University didn’t give out grants or scholarships, so the people with supermarket backpacks, department store clothes, and twenty-dollar sneakers were easy to pick out as the ones saving all their pennies to pay back the massive student loan debt they were racking up. Ditto the Fendi backpacks, Rolex watches, eight-hundred-dollar phones, and Prada sunglasses identified the Royals.
The curled lips were shared by both groups.
Purses and bags were dropped on empty seats one after the other as I got close.
Victor hit the fourth floor, smacked hands with a couple of jock types, and plopped in his seat good to go. Moving on, I claimed a seat at the top empty row.
Adonis cleared his throat. “Good morning, everyone. Forgive that earlier commotion. From now on until you leave my class, we’ll conduct ourselves in an appropriate, professional manner.”
My face heated. He didn’t look at me, but the comment was for me all the same. Real rich talking about being appropriate when you screw with people’s fiancées.
“My name is Adonis Anthony. You may address me as Professor Anthony,” he said. “This is English Composition I. If you’re surprised to hear it, you’ve mixed up your schedule and you’re in the wrong class.”
People chuckled until two guys got up and scurried out.
“Good,” Adonis said, moving around the desk. “Now we’re jumping right into it. This class is about writing on the college level. This includes essay writing, academic writing, and editing. Beyond that, you’ll learn how to analyze and evaluate different works ranging from poems, to fiction, and academic essays. I know what you’re thinking.”
That your balls really should shrivel up and fall off.
“This is no different than what you did in high school—and did well. You had to excel academically to get into this school, so why are we treating you like you can’t read and understand an essay?”
A few heads nodded. A few others tilted and twirled their hair around their fingers. More than a few students were hot for teacher.
“For one thing”—a smirk stretched his lips—“the papers you’ll turn in this semester are four times as long.”
If he wanted groans from that comment, he got them.
“They also won’t be standardized, cookie-cutter essays written to get As and, in turn, get into a great school. You’re in a great school. Now, it’s time to write something that matters. It’s time to be honest.”
I bit my lip, penning in a snort. This guy was incredible talking about honesty. Was Regalia built by and for sociopaths? What other explanation was there for his ability to spout garbage with a straight face?