Revive Me: Part One: The New Haven Series (Book #2) Read online

  We stare at each other for a second that feels like a minute, and it’s Chris that finally looks away, giving me a sheepish smile before turning to make his way over to the desk in the corner that’s usually reserved for teaching assistants.

  Oh. It dawns on me then. The professional clothes. The sudden appearance in a course that he’s already taken as a biology and business double major. He must have traded his resident assistant job for something that would be less demanding than supervising a bunch of eighteen year olds living away from their parents for the first time.

  Dr. Richardson clears his throat and sets his briefcase down beside the lectern. A hush falls over the crowd, but I can feel the dread in the air. No one in the department likes this guy, and he’s about to remind us all why.

  “We’ll start this first meeting off by stating the obvious. You all enrolled in this course hoping for Dr. Brennan and an easy A, but you got me. As you might already know, I’m Dr. Keith Richardson, and I don’t tolerate mediocrity or suffer fools. If you fit into either of those categories then I’m happy to tell you that you have until the end of the day to drop this class and enroll in another, less rigorous, course that will meet your degree requirements.”

  Somewhere behind me, I hear paper shuffling, the tell-tale sign of some scared student letting the old man’s words send them scrambling for the course catalog. A glimpse of perverse satisfaction flickers across Dr. Richardson’s face, and I cringe. Professors who take pleasure in scaring students away from their courses have no place in the classroom.

  “Those of you who feel brave enough to stick it out—” he continues, leaning down to pull a stack of papers out of his briefcase and handing them over to Chris, “—should prepare yourselves now for a challenging semester.”

  Tuning him out isn’t a conscious decision, but when I realize that I am doing exactly that, I don’t make any effort to correct it. Instead, I focus my attention on Chris moving in-between the desks on the front row. His long legs and smooth gait reminding me of the easy strides he took when he crossed his living room to come over to me. I wonder if he smells the same way he did that night. If his skin is still that mix of clean sweat and earthy tones I can’t quite name. Without even looking around the room, I know that I’m not the only person staring, watching his every move and maybe even thinking about what it was like to kiss him.

  Some of the women around me might even know what it’s like to do more than kiss him.

  The thought sends heat rushing to my cheeks. I don’t know why my brain even went there or why the thought of someone in this room knowing what it’s like to have more than ten seconds of physical contact with him makes me feel positively violent. Since last year, when Chris made a point of taking Eric and Nic under his proverbial wing, I’ve seen him with lots of girls. Girls who have happily climbed into his bed in hopes of becoming a part of his life. A fixture in the small inner-circle I was inducted into on my first day here because of my brother.

  All of that to say, I’ve been aware for quite some time now that Chris makes a habit of sleeping around, but before our kiss I never gave it much thought, and I don’t see why that should change now.

  It shouldn’t.

  It doesn’t.

  It doesn’t change a single thing because he’s the campus fuck boy. A handsome, charismatic golden boy who’s lived a charmed life that’s never left him wanting for anything including sexual partners. And I’m….well, I’m the girl who doesn’t fuck with fuck boys even, no especially, when their kisses are electric and their mere presence makes me forget where I am and how to avoid getting caught staring.

  “Ms. Kent,” Dr. Richardson’s sharp tone slices through the air, causing me to jump so hard I knock the pen and notebook from my desk. Eyes from every side of the room bore into me as I lean over and pick my things up. Once I have everything back in order, I sit up and plaster on a fake smile. The room is quiet, so the tremble in my voice is evident when I finally answer.

  “Yes, Professor?”

  “Your obvious infatuation with Mr. Johnson brings me to my next point. Perhaps, I should thank your hormones for the smooth transition.” Shock and embarrassment slam into me, pushing all the breath from my lungs as I struggle for a response. Before I can say anything though, he waves a dismissive hand at me. “As you might have already guessed, Mr. Johnson is the teaching assistant assigned to this course. He’ll mostly be assisting me with administrative duties as it relates to this class along with covering select lectures. He is not a formal instructor for this course.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Chris moving again. He must have paused when Dr. Richardson called my name, but now he’s just a few desks down.

  “However,” the old troll continues. “I expect you to treat him with upmost respect which includes, but is not limited to, keeping the ogling to a minimum and sparing him the uncomfortable experience of being propositioned in exchange for power he does not have over your grades.” Another curt glance at me as Chris breezes by, dropping the syllabus on my desk. I don’t dare to look at him, choosing instead to keep all of my attention on the professor, which makes my stomach turn. I can’t believe the university lets someone as vile and rude as he is continue to teach.

  “While there are no university policies against fraternization between teaching assistants and students in the courses they assist with, it is my personal belief that engaging in such a relationship is a moral and professional failure for everyone involved. Please consider that before you decide to waste the valuable time you’ll need to make it through this course trying to cozy up to him. Now that you all have the syllabus, open it up so we can review.”

  The rest of the hour long class drags by with Dr. Richardson droning on and on about how he likes to use his courses to weed weak students out and send them crying to other, less rigorous, majors. By the time he dismisses everyone—with three chapters to read and a problem set on present value to do by our next class meeting on Monday—I’m certain he’s managed to make a least five students drop the class. Some of them are muttering about taking it when Dr. Brennan returns next semester as they head towards the door. Eager to get out of the room, I throw all of my things into my bag and start to head for the exit with the last crowd of students.

  “Not so fast, Ms. Kent,” Dr. Richardson calls from behind me, forcing me to stop in my tracks and turn around to face him. “I’d like to have a quick word with you.”

  He’s leaning against the lectern like he doesn’t need to be clearing out as well to make room for the class starting in the next few minutes. I take a few steps closer, painfully aware of Chris is still in the room. He’s standing off to the side, packing his bag with a slowness that feels deliberate and tension lining his shoulders.

  Don’t stare, Mal.

  “What can I do for you, Dr. Richardson?”

  “Are you sure you’re in the correct course?”

  My brows pinch together, and a flare of annoyance runs through me. It’s bad enough the man called me a horny teenager in front of a room of my peers, but now he’s questioning whether I’m competent enough to take this class?

  “Yes, I received permission to take the course. Were the requisite signatures not included in Dr. Brennan’s notes when you took over for her?”

  Getting clearance to expedite my coursework had been relatively easy with Dr. B on my side. She did most of the leg work for me last year, talking to Dr. Wilson, the only other woman in the department who also happened to be everyone’s boss, with the transcripts from the dual enrollment program I participated in during high school in hand. By the time I graduated high school, I had the equivalent to an associate’s degree in business, and she didn’t want me wasting any more of my time in introductory level courses when I could be jumping into the meat of a major I clearly already loved.

  She was so excited about getting me approved to expedite my degree work, I didn’t have the heart to tell her that it wasn’t my love for business that got me throu
gh those classes. It was the need for distraction, for the ability to sink my teeth into something that wasn’t trauma and secrets.

  “Yes, it was noted on the course roster,” he says, clearly agitated. “I was trying to be diplomatic with my phrasing, but perhaps I should be more direct.”

  “Please.” All of the agitation I’m feeling at the moment is wrapped up in the one word.

  “Do you honestly believe you’re prepared to take this course?”

  “Yes, and your colleagues obviously agreed with me or else I wouldn’t be here.”

  A faint cough rings out, and even though I can’t allow myself to look at him, I know who it came from. Richardson glances over his shoulder at Chris and then back at me, and I can tell that he’s pissed. He doesn’t like to be challenged.

  “Even after struggling in my Data Science course last semester?”

  Resisting the urge to roll my eyes takes every ounce of strength I have. “I made a B in that class.”

  It had been hard to pull it out though. I practically lived in the library all semester, but I did it. And getting a B in one of his courses is the equivalent to an A+ for anyone else. He presses his lips together, the thin line of his mouth practically disappearing into the wrinkles on his face as he considers me.

  “This course will be significantly harder. There’s no shame in dropping it now and returning to the course plan professors such as myself spent years developing for students like you.”

  My fingers tighten around the strap of my bag as my throat constricts around words I can’t say if I don’t want to be roped into an argument that will inevitably end with me punching his old ass in the face.

  “I appreciate the warning, professor, but I think I’m fine where I’m at.” On track to graduate from one of the most respected business programs in the state a year and a half early. “Did you need anything else from me? I was on my way to the library to get a head start on the chapters you just assigned.”

  “As a matter of fact—”

  “Dr. Richardson.”

  The terse response I was about to receive is cut off by a deep voice with a precise syllable enunciation that spells trouble with every vibration of his vocal cords. Both of the professor’s eyes go wide as he processes the interruption and turns towards its source. Only when his eyes are no longer on me, do I allow myself to look in Chris’ direction. He’s striding towards us, looking cool as a cucumber in clothes that would make any other guy his age look like a kid playing dress up in his dad’s clothes. On him the designer ensemble—navy slacks, a freshly pressed white button up and tan oxfords—looks like him. Like a uniform he was born to wear.

  When he stops in front of us, I take an unconscious step back, and something passes behind his eyes as he tracks my retreat, but I don’t bother trying to decipher what it is.

  “I’d love to have a word with you.” Chris is saying now, angling his body so he’s standing between Richardson and me. “Is now a good time?”

  The older man glances at me and then back at Chris whose commanding presence isn’t at all in alignment with where he falls in the pecking order of this classroom.

  “Of course, Christopher. I was just finishing up with Ms. Kent.”

  “I heard.” The note of disapproval is a far cry from his usual, laid back, approach to things, and I find myself once again caught off guard by the glimpse at the other side of him. He turns to look at me. “Sorry for interrupting. Did you have anything else you needed to discuss with the professor?”

  I’m already backing towards the exit when he finishes his question. “No. Nothing at all.”

  Neither of them get a chance to acknowledge my answer before I’m out the door. Once I make it back to the sidewalk I left Sloane standing on an hour ago, I breathe a sigh of relief, happy to have survived what has proven to be the worst first class of the semester known to man. Chilly wind whips around me, and I pull my jacket a little closer to my body as I start to make my way towards the library.

  It’s a Friday afternoon, and campus is relatively empty. Most people are probably in their dorms getting ready for whatever craziness they’re going to get into this weekend. I’m honestly surprised that Sloane hasn’t called me already, trying to wrap me up in whatever plans she and Eric have made. As if on cue, my phone starts to vibrate. Sighing, I pull it out of my back pocket and laugh to myself when I see Sloane’s name flashing on the screen.

  “What can I do for you Sloane Elise?”

  “You can start by never calling me that again, Mallory Pearl,” she mutters, sounding snarky as ever. “And then you can tell me you’re on your way to my room, so we can figure out what we’re going to wear tonight.”

  “Oh no, ma’am.” I shake my head even though she can’t see me. “I’m not going to anymore parties with you.”

  “Come on! I thought we were past the whole truth or dare thing.”

  “We are.”

  “Then why won’t you come out with us?” The rustling of fabric bleeds through the speaker, and I imagine her standing in her closet looking through clothing options. “Scared you’re going to end up kissing Chris again?”

  “No!” I answer a little too quickly.

  “It’s okay if you enjoyed it, Mal,” she teases. “He looked like he knew what he was doing.”

  Unbidden images from the kiss flash through my mind, and I try to force them out because I know what will follow if I don’t. Memories of how soft his lips were. Questions about how they would feel gliding down my neck, skating over my breasts and going lower and lower until finally….

  “Mal!” For the second time today, I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of my name.

  “Stop yelling, girl,” I hiss into the phone, scolding Sloane in hopes of scaring her away from this topic. “I’m right here.”

  “Yeah, but you’re not listening.”

  “Because you’re not saying anything worth hearing.”

  “Whatever. I would think that you’d be ready to thank me by now.”

  “Thank you?” I ask in an incredulous tone as I bypass a group of freshman moving at a snail’s pace and discussing their first class meetings. “For what exactly?”

  “Opening the door for you to finally explore the crush you’ve had on Chris since last year.”

  I roll my eyes. “I don’t want to explore it. I don’t have time for relationships.”

  “Mal,” she scoffs. “You have more time than anyone. You’re literally graduating next year. I wish you would use your last few semesters in college doing something other than studying.”

  This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation, especially not as it relates to my lack of romantic entanglements, but it’s gotten even worse since Christmas break when I made the mistake of coming clean about my crush on Chris. Sloane has always suspected that I liked him, and I, admittedly, haven’t done a great job of hiding it, but before then I hadn’t said the words out loud to anyone. And I definitely hadn’t acknowledged how long it had been there, simmering underneath my skin, soaking into my bones, making it hard to remember all the things that went wrong the last time I let myself feel like this for someone so magnetic.

  “All the time I spend studying is the reason I’ll be graduating next year.”

  “And that would be all fine and dandy if the only guy I’ve ever seen you show interest in wasn’t graduating this year.”

  I groan loudly, which makes her laugh. “I should have never told you about that.”

  “But you did, which suggests you wanted someone to push you to do something about it before it’s too late.”

  “It is too late.” Was already too late when I laid eyes on Chris on move-in day and a foreign mix of attraction and desire slammed into my body, laying waste to the carefully constructed wall I built around my shredded heart.

  “Hardly. The semester just started.”

  I’m halfway to the library now, but the growling in my stomach causes me to change directions at the last minute
. If I’m going to be in the library for the next few hours, I might as well stop by The Grill to get some sustenance to see me through.

  “That’s not what I mean,” I say, raising my voice a bit to adjust for the chattering in the crowded dining area. Most people are in line for hot food, but I want something quicker so I make my way over to the cooler with sandwiches, chips and bottled drinks.

  “Elaborate whenever you’re ready,” she pauses. “Where are you?”

  Walking over to the check out station, I hand the cashier my stuff and swipe my student ID once she rings it up. “The Grill, grabbing food before I head to the library.”

  “Mal, you can’t seriously be spending the first Friday of the semester at the library.”

  “Probably the whole weekend since Dr. Richardson assigned reading and a problem set that I have to have done by Monday.” I grab my stuff and walk towards the door, moving back into the cold so suddenly makes me shiver. “Knowing him, we’ll probably have a quiz on it at the start of class.”

  “Richardson? I thought you weren’t taking any of his classes.”

  “I wasn’t planning on it, but apparently Dr. Brennan decided to take a sabbatical and we got stuck with him.”

  “Oh, no.” There’s a dread in her tone that matches what I felt when he walked into the room. “That sucks Mal.”

  “Yeah,” I sigh. “And that’s not even the worst part.”

  “No?” Sloane sounds distracted now, and the absence of hangers clinking around tells me she’s finally found an outfit for where ever she’s going tonight. “What could be worse than that?”

  “Chris being his TA.”

  3

  MALLORY