005: Dormant No More

TREY “I-I beg your finest pardon?” comes Professor Adams' shaky tone. “What on earth do you mean you’re in this class now, Mr. Parker?” I don’t even bother sparing him a glance. My focus remains entirely on the frozen little rabbit right there on the stairs. Right on cue, her cheeks begin flushing that delicious shade of pink. Just looking at her sends a sudden jolt straight down to my pants. Fuck. So, it isn't a fluke. How the hell is it possible that a part of me which has been completely dormant–dead to the world since my senior year of high school–has suddenly roared back to life? And all because of a single, chaotic kiss from a girl I barely know. When she launched herself at me at the bonfire last night, I was ready to throw her off. I don’t like people. I don’t let people touch me, and I sure as hell don’t do public spectacles. But the second her lips pressed against mine, it was like a live wire snapped inside my chest. A beautiful zap of pure adrenaline. It’s the exact same rush I only ever feel when I’m stepping into the underground ring, ready to paint my knuckles red. For the first time in years, I felt alive outside of a fight. So, naturally, I had to find out exactly who the hell she was. It didn't take long to unearth the file on Skylar Jamie Thompson. A 4.0 GPA scholarship student. A pre-med/neuroscience major. She juggles two part-time jobs–one as a library assistant on campus, and another as a waitress at a small diner a few miles out. And, to my absolute amusement, she’s a huge lover of all things dark romance. Don’t even ask me how I managed to find out that last detail; let's just say a little digital digging goes a long way. Once I figured out her schedule, my next move was obvious. Enter Professor Adams. The grade-A ass-licker has been trying desperately to get an introduction to my father for months. My old man’s a high-profile corporate lawyer who happens to sit on the board of the very pharmaceutical conglomerate funding Adams’s precious, multi-million-dollar psychology research project. It’s almost too easy. The universe is practically begging me to ruin this guy's lesson. “Mr. Parker?” Adams’s nasal voice finally pushes its way through my thoughts. Only then do I realize I've been staring at Skylar so intensely she’s practically squirming, trying to shrink into her oversized jumpsuit. I want to keep staring. I want to see just how red I can make her turn, but she looks like she’s about to melt right through the floorboards. Sparing her, I shift my gaze back to the front of the room. “Hmm?” “I-I asked you a question,” Adams clears his throat, trying to regain some semblance of authority. “What do you mean you’re in this class?” “The same way everyone else is. I registered.” “But... Mr. Parker, you haven’t taken a psychology elective since your freshman year. We are at the start of senior year. The registration portal closed weeks ago. How would that even work?” With a little step forward, I let my bulk shadow his podium. “I’m sure a man of your... intellectual stature can find a way to make it work. Can't you?” I give him the look–the one that makes it crystal clear what’s at stake. Adams throat bobs with a swallow. I can practically see the gears turning in his opportunistic little brain. He’s already imagining the glowing recommendation my father can write him, or the massive grant approval that’ll secure his tenure. As if. I’d rather fry my own balls in a skillet than ever ask that beast of a father for a single favor. The last thing I need is giving him more leverage to use against me. But if Adams wants to play make-believe to get what I want? I’m more than happy to oblige. Within three seconds, the professor folds like a cheap lawn chair. “Right. Of course.” He clears his throat, suddenly looking incredibly chipper. “In light of... exceptional circumstances, I’m sure we can make an administrative exception. Please, do take your seat, Mr. Parker.” He then glances back up the stairs. “You too, Miss Thompson. You may return to your seat.” I turn back to my little muse, who’s looking back and forth between me and Adams with wide eyes. When she realizes I’m watching her again, she scrambles like a panicked deer back to her row. I smirk. I’m certain everyone else has the exact same shocked-shitless reaction, but I couldn’t care less. None of them are the reason my blood’s pumping again. I begin my slow climb up the stairs. Skylar’s doing everything in her power to avoid my gaze, staring down at her notebook as if the blank pages hold the secrets to the universe. She’s trying to act invisible, hoping I’ll pass her by. Cute. She really thinks she has a say in this. She should’ve thought about the consequences before she wrapped her legs around my waist last night. Right next to her, Crawford’s baby sis is staring at me with her jaw hanging open. Skylar’s subtly nudging her, trying desperately to get her to stop gawking, but the girl isn’t budging. I stop right at the end of their row and at once her intoxicating scent assaults my nostrils–one a mix of sweet vanilla, fresh rain, and old paper. Still, she refuses to look up–keeping her head down and burying her face in her shoulders. Inching closer, I place myself right at the edge of her desk. Because she’s sitting and I’m standing, my sudden proximity brings her head directly in line with my lap. Realizing how close I am, her eyes instinctually dart forward. They connect directly with the prominent bulge in my pants. Her eyes blow wide behind those round frames. In slow motion, she crawls her gaze up my chest, past my neck, until those panicked hazel orbs finally meet mine. Letting my shadow completely envelope her, I slightly lean down. “Move over, sweetheart.”