FUCKING THE RUDENESS OFF PROF RICHARD HALE 1The heavy wooden door to Professor Richard Hale’s office slammed shut behind me with a loud click. I was pissed. At twenty-one, I was the campus golden boy, handsome star quarterback with a chiseled jaw, messy dark hair that fell just right, piercing green eyes, and a body sculpted from endless workouts. Girls dropped their panties for me with a smile. Professors usually bent over backward. Not this asshole.Professor Richard Hale, mid-forties, strict as fuck, sat behind his cluttered desk in a crisp white button-down that hugged his lean, fit frame. Salt-and-pepper hair perfectly styled, wire-rimmed glasses perched on his sharp nose, and that perpetual condescending scowl on his handsome face. He was hot in that untouchable professor way—broad shoulders, narrow waist, faint stubble—but his attitude ruined everything.“Professor,” I said, voice low and edged with anger as I planted both hands on his desk. “My midterm results. They’re still
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