Rachael was already long gone, flirting with some guy with piercings and tattoos and what appeared to be a bad attitude. I sat on a bar stool, drinking my third martini and imagining my college life. It was going to be hard, but it would be so worth it in the end. I would be a nurse. I would help people. After my mom died, it was everything I ever wanted to do.“Want to buy me a drink?” he had asked. I turned slightly on my stool to get a better look at the forward jerk. My breath left me instantly. Wearing a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, his tanned arms were on display. The linen was so thin I could almost make out the skin beneath. He was absolutely gorgeous. I could faintly make out a tattoo on his muscular forearm, but it disappeared in to his shirt.Despite his gorgeous appearance, I couldn’t get over the brazen assumption he’d made. I rolled my eyes. “Why would I buy you a drink?”He smiled, showing off perfect pearly whites. “I’d offer to buy you a d

I was a woman possessed as I followed him out of the room, up a flight of stairs, and down a dimly lit hallway. He opened a door and entered an office—his office. Because he was a professor. My professor. When he shut the door, complete silence engulfed us for, oh, about 2.5 seconds. I broke it with my indignant voice.“You’ve seen him around campus?” I yelled, repeating what he’d said to me that very morning, just a few hours before.“I suppose we’re a little bit closer than that,” he remarked, a smirk on his lips.Whatever, Professor Khan,” I spat, doing my best to keep from clawing his eyes out—or his shirt off; whichever, I couldn’t seem to keep the two separated at the moment. I was furiously angry at him, sure, but with his dark blue eyes practically twinkling, I still had to keep my legs pressed tight together.“I prefer it if my sexual partners call me by my first name, Foster.”Foster—ahem, Professor Khan—leaned casually against his desk. Arms folded, he eyed me with as much

Foster returned his gaze to his menu, like I wasn’t hovering over his table completely pissed off. It was one thing to avoid a person, and another entirely to pretend they didn’t exist. I wasn’t pretending what we’d done hadn’t happened, I was just choosing it avoid it.“What are you doing?” I asked.Foster looked up at me again. “I’m on a date, Miss Starling. Did you need something?”A date? I muttered something incoherent, then stumbled back to my seat. Of course he was on a date. I sat back in the cushy, leather booth just as the appetizers arrived.“So?” Rachael pressed. “What did he say?”“He’s on a date,” I replied, confusion seeping from my tongue. It made sense on just about every level for my professor, a man whose only contact with me should have been in the classroom, to be on a date with a woman who wasn’t me. But inside, where my cells were being made and my blood was pumping, it felt wrong.I felt wrong.I picked up a fry and chewed it with enough force to make myself fe

I’d been naked with Foster before, but I’d never really seen him naked. At least, I’d never studied him naked. He was absolute perfection. From head to toe, he was sculpted and tanned and so delectable. When he gripped my hips and pulled me close, I couldn’t help but smile.“What are you smiling at?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.“You’re handsome,” I said, sounding like a freaking schoolgirl. Foster grinned and kissed me. Taking my bottom lip in his, he sucked long and hard until I was practically panting at his feet.“You ready, beautiful?” Foster asked, forehead pressed against mine.I was.Show Of HandsI sat front and center. Wearing only a skirt and no underwear, it was probably the craziest thing I’d ever done and would do. Every Monday and Wednesday was torture for me. Foster stood up at the front, looking incredibly sexy with his rolled up sleeves and messy hair, speaking with complete confidence on one of the hardest subjects I’d ever taken. Then, afterward, he domi

“You have to get up and do something, Nora.”I glared at Rachael. “I am doing something, Rach. I’m eating ice cream and watching Netflix.”“Is that alcoholic ice cream?” Rachael asked, glaring at my almost finished pint.“Maybe,” I responded, glaring back.“How much of that have you had? It’s only ten in the morning.” Rachael reached for the pint I was nursing against my chest. I hoped if I kept the cold bucket pressed against me long enough it might numb my broken heart.“None of your beeswax,” I said, holding the ice cream out of reach. Rachael lunged for the ice cream but I scrambled to the other end of the couch.Exasperated, Rachael pulled back. Hands on hips, she said, “You can’t just stay here and get drunk on ice cream all day.”“Why not?” I asked, spooning more into my mouth.“Because it’s…” Rachael struggled to find a reason. “It’s pathetic.”“Well”—I pointed my spoon at her as I made my point—“I feel pretty pathetic so at least what I’m doing matches that.”Rachael perched