My Boyfriend's Daddy

THE PROFESSOR

/-Hazel-/

I twirl my pen idly, glaring at the giant b on my sheet like it's going to change. The other students are chattering, sharing their grades, and giggling about how hot the new professor is. I couldn’t care less, honestly. All I can focus on is the fact that for the first time since I started college, I got something less than an A.

Words cannot even begin to express how much my parents are going to kill me right now. They have never supported my love for art. In fact, the minute I mentioned my painting to them, they had a hundred guests to attend to.

If they ever looked at my grade sheet, the only flicker of pride on their faces was for the straight As. This new substitute professor or whatever they called him was about to taint that.

“Hey, buttface!” I feel a slap on my back and throw an instant glare at the jerkass. “Oh, wow! That’s cold. What happened? Why are you sitting here by yourself?” Logan, my best friend asked.

I don’t answer him. Hell, I have way too much on my mind right now. Like how to stab that new cat in places that would seriously hurt.

“Hazel! Are you even listening to me? What’s up with you? Are you pissed that someone else got an A with you this time? Don’t worry, we all know you’re the best artist…”

“Hold on, did you say someone else got an A? Like in this class right now, there’s someone with an A?” I cut him short.

“Yes,” he furrows his brows at me, “Why are you so surprised? I thought that was the reason you were sulking.”

“Who is it?” I ask, getting off my seat.

“Who?” he returns my question and I glare at him.

“Don’t play dumb with me. Who got the A?” I hissed.

“Hey! Calm your titties. You don’t need to sound so pissed. It’s Lauren. You know her, the girl with the…”

I don’t wait for him to complete his sentence before walking over to see how the hell she got an A over me. A bunch of girls are gathered around her, gossiping about the professor’s muscles, I think but that is clearly none of my business.

“Hey, Hazel. What are you doing here?” Lauren asks with a pleasant smile but I am in no mood to smile with her.

“Let me see your drawing,” I demand.

“Okay… guess what? I got an A. Can you believe it?”

I force a smile when all I want to do is tell her to shut her mouth and hand me the damn paper. She finally takes out the paper and hands it to me. I stare at it in utter disbelief.

“What the actual fuck!” I exclaim.

“I told you,” she grins.

“How the hell did this get you an A? I mean, just look at this! You know what, I’m going to take this to the professor and demand a remark,” I state, spinning on my heel.

Someone catches my arm right before I exit the classroom.

“What?!” I snap in annoyance, but it’s Lauren with a sour expression.

“Where are you going with my work?” she asks.

“Are you deaf? Didn’t you hear me say I want to demand a remark? How the hell can this get you an A?” I retort.

“Are you trying to say that my work is not good enough?” She fires.

“Of course, it’s not. Are you fucking blind? Can you compare this right here with this?” I ask, showing her my perfectly sketched drawing of a woman sketching a dragon. As expected, her jaws drop in awe and her shoulders slump in defeat.

“I thought so too. So if you don’t mind, I'd politely ask that you let go of my arm this minute .” Without waiting for her, I shrug off her arms and head to the professor’s office.

Halfway through the hallway, I realize that I have no idea where his office is. Since Logan said something about him replacing our sick professor for the time being, I guessed he would be at the old professor’s office.

As I walk down there, I practice how to call him out without being outrightly rude. I facepalm when I realize I don't even know his name. Probably because I spent too much time watching movies last night that I woke up late and ended up being thirty minutes late.

I didn’t see the professor when I came in so I just did what everyone else was doing.

I stop in front of the office and take a deep breath. I try to picture how he would look in my head. Maybe five foot seven, bald with glasses and a permanent sneer. I was confident I could match that anytime, anywhere.

I knock twice and wait for a response.

“Come in.”

My body goes stiff for almost ten seconds. The richness of that masculine voice doesn’t sound like it belongs to a sturdy baldheaded man. I open the door and a thick lemon minty scent hits my nose.

I remain transfixed at the door, momentarily dazed by the sweetness.

“Shut the door behind you.”

I blink, disoriented for a second. I pull the door shut and remind myself of the reason I came in here. I walk to his desk, but his chair is backing me. All I can see is the thick jet-black hair.

‘He’s not bald,’ I take a mental note, waiting for him to face me but he doesn’t.

“Sir?” I call.

“I’m not deaf,” his response comes out uninterested and detached. I glare at the back of his head. Fuck niceness, this man is unapologetically rude!

“I came to make a complaint to you so would you be kind enough to look at me,” I ask, forcing my voice to remain as polite as it could manage, even though he was getting on my nerves.

He doesn’t reply to me and that pisses me off more.

“Do you want to lose your job? You were brought in here to teach and deal with our problems until we graduate. If you can’t do that, then you should leave. This level of rudeness is totally uncalled for,” I state.

I guess that did the magic because the chair spun around in a swift second and a set of intense emerald-green eyes pierce into mine. My throat grows dry as I stare at the stunning definition of gorgeousness before me.

Pointed nose, chiseled chin with a defined jawline that seemed sharp enough to cut through anything, small cherry lips pressed into a thin line accompanied by a tick in his jaw to convey his annoyance, a prominent Adam's apple that has me aching to run a finger through it. Down to his chest, hidden by the ironed blue shirt, which definitely had to be tucked in neatly to be that straight.

“Eyes here,” he harshly commands and my eyes snap to him instantly. I feel like I'm melting in those mysterious pools of green. He stands and I feel my entire existence seize. I didn’t realize how tight the shirt was until now.

He tucks his hands in his pocket and I swallow thickly at the bulk of muscles he possessed. This man is not only large but freaking tall. Only his footsteps echoed in my ears as he towers over me,

I try to break away from his gaze, but his eyes hold me captive. I want to slap myself so hard and remind my stupid head that I have a boyfriend whom I'm supposed to meet his father tonight at a nice dinner, but my brain isn’t cooperating with me at the moment.

“The audacity of you to walk in here and display such insolence. Who said I am here to deal with your problems until you graduate?” With each word, he steps closer to me, intimidating me.

I quickly back away from him, trying to get my senses to cooperate so I could defend myself.

“I wasn’t being insolent. I was just trying to point out your mistake,” I defend myself.

“My mistake?” He raises a thick bushy brow. Fuck me! Why am I noticing everything about this man? He is my professor for goodness sake! One I am greatly annoyed with!

I stretch the two sheets in his face.

“How come she gets an A for something as basic as a bowl of fruits and I get a B for this?” I question him.

His eyes flicker to the sheet then back to me with an unimpressed expression.

“Just as you said, it’s basic so the criteria for scoring are not complicated. She chose something simple and paid attention to details, the right shade, the angle of sight, and the surroundings. It was quite realistic. You, on the other hand, went for a more complicated drawing in a bit to come out impressive. I won’t discredit your effort, but the criteria for scoring your work were different from hers. You missed some minor details, like the painter’s expression.”

I glance at my sheet.

“What about it?”

“Were you grinning while drawing this?” He asks.

“I did.”

“While drawing?” He asks again.

“No, but I did when I finished,” I mumble.

“Why is her expression different then? And the dragon, his eyes..”

“What about them?” I frown.

“Where is the reflection of his rage in them? That yellow flame is supposed to sparkle in his eyes. Isn’t the eye supposed to be the mirror to the soul? He’s spitting fire, supposedly furious, but his eyes are soft, why?”

“I…”

“Is that too difficult to comprehend? Let’s talk about you. Your eyes…” he pauses and I gulp hard. “...are a storm of emotions. Begging for what it shouldn’t want.”

Without second thoughts, I dash out of his office with a pounding heart, afraid that the little talk might escalate into something dangerous