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Dare Me

By Cindy Larie




License Notes


Thank you for purchasing this e-book. This work is the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes.

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. All characters are adults, 18+ in this story and no one is blood related.

If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to purchase their own copy and discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.




Copyright © 2017 C Cowles

All rights reserved.



One



I half walked/half jogged down the wide hallway, dodging a stream of other students, feeling like a salmon trying to swim upstream. I had one hand gripping the strap of my stuffed-to-within-an-inch-of-its-life backpack; the other one was wrapped around the sweaty, slippery fingers of my friend Rena.

“Slow down,” she grumbled, “You’re knocking me into other students and spilling my coffee. I’m not a fucking bowling ball in the alley of your life, you know.”

“I can’t slow down. We’re going to be late. I told you not to stop at The Coffee Bean but, as usual, you didn’t listen, so we have a minute and a half to make it through Professor Crabapple’s door—or he’ll lock us out.”

“You could have left me behind. I didn’t make you stay and wait. There was no gun held to your head.”

“Yes, there was. It was the thought of having to sit through Crabby’s class without you suffering alongside me.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Closing my eyes and hoping for the best, I angled us through the mass of hurrying bodies, ignored the assorted curses and insults hurled at me, fishtailed around the corner and into the classroom just as the bell rang. Yes, made it! I mentally pumped my fist in the air, feeling triumphant.

“Please, take your seats, everyone,” a deep, sexy voice cut through the chatter like a hot knife through butter, stiffening my spine and tightening my fingers around Rena’s until she jerked them free with a muffled exclamation of pain.

“Where’s Crabapple?” Aaron shouted from his spot in the far left back corner of the room.

“He had a family emergency. I’ll be taking his place for the rest of the semester.”

Really? Sweet!

After I dropped my bag to the floor beside my desk, I turned to look at the owner of the voice and felt as though someone had sucker punched me in the stomach. Gasping for air, I collapsed into my seat, unable to take my eyes off the gorgeous specimen of manhood perched on the edge of Crabapple’s desk. Rows of ebony braids ran from his hairline above his forehead back to dangle midway down his powerful neck. He was built like the Rock. Even his muscles seemed to have muscles—and the whole package was wrapped in dark caramel. I licked my lips, swallowing hard and wondering if he would taste as sweet as he looked.

“Who are you?” Aaron asked, his displeasure obvious in his voice. Aaron hated change with a passion. I just wished he’d shut up for once.

“I’m Professor Morgan.”

My jaw dropped. Morgan—as in Tamara Morgan’s recently divorced dad? Could it be? And just like that, I started regretting all of the missed opportunities over the years. Why had she never invited me to sleep over? Gah! Aaron’s petulant tones yanked me out of my daydream before it got a good toe hold in my mind and I shot him a dirty look.

“Never heard of you. What else do you teach?” He narrowed his eyes, defiant. “Do you have any experience teaching Algebra?”

“Actually, I’m qualified to teach Algebra I and II, Precalculus, General Calculus I and II, Statistics, Trigonometry, Geometry, Logic, Number Theory, and Mathematical Physics—I usually teach Engineering students, but I agreed to take on John’s Algebra I class as a favor to Dean Ferguson.”


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