I never meant for it to happen with Professor Hart.
I swear I didn’t.
It started because I f****d up. Not a little f**k-up either. A spectacular, career-ending, daddy-will-kill-me kind of f**k-up.
I cheated on the midterm.
Not even cleverly. I paid some guy on the dark side of Reddit to write the perfect take-home essay on post-colonial theory. It was flawless. Too flawless. Hart flagged it in under twelve hours, ran it through every plagiarism detector known to man, and scheduled a disciplinary meeting for Friday at four-thirty, right when the building empties and no one’s around to hear you beg.
I showed up in the shortest skirt I owned (black pleated, barely covering my ass) and a white button-up tied under my t**s because if I was going down, I was at least going to make him h
