“You aren’t exactly an ugly duckling, either.” Everyone loved Christian. He might not be classically handsome, but practically everyone found him attractive. Christian was hard to look away from. Shawn might be straight, but even he sometimes stopped and stared when his friend smiled.
Christian winked. “Definitely not an ugly duckling, but I ain’t as pretty as you, princess.”
“Oh, I’ll show you, princess!” Shawn got him into a headlock, both of them laughing.
“Mr. Wyatt, Mr. Ashford, if you are quite done?” came a cold voice from behind them.
Shawn froze before letting go of his friend and straightening up. He didn’t dare look at Rutledge as the man moved past them to his desk. The lecture hall suddenly became silent.
“Fuck,” Christian whispered when Rutledge stopped in front of his desk and remained silent.
Shawn bit his lip hard and stole a glance at the professor. Rutledge’s dark eyes were fixed on Christian, his dark brows furrowed and his lips pursed in displeasure. Even when he wasn’t unhappy with someone, Professor Rutledge’s gaze could make anyone squirm. When he actually was unhappy, no one wanted to be on the receiving end of his heavy stares. Shawn thought he looked like a hawk, ready to swoop down and catch its prey.
Rutledge’s eyes moved from Christian to him. If possible, he looked even more displeased now, a muscle pulsing in his cheek. Shawn’s stomach tightened into a knot. He wet his dry lips and tried to look as respectful as possible, forcing himself to meet the professor’s eyes firmly. He wasn’t a coward, dammit. Rutledge was just a man.
Rutledge’s lips thinned. “Mr. Wyatt,” he said quietly.
Shawn swallowed convulsively. There was something about Rutledge’s voice that made it more menacing the quieter it got. “Yes, Professor?”
“If you and Mr. Ashford are not interested in what I am here to teach, you may leave.”
Looking at the man’s hard expression, Shawn suddenly remembered Christian’s advice and nearly laughed out loud—so ridiculous it was.
“No, sir. I mean, we’re very interested.” When not a single muscle moved on Rutledge’s face, Shawn added, “Actually, I wanted to talk to you after class about my grades.”
Rutledge looked at him for a few moments before offering a cool response, “I don’t have office hours today.” He sat down behind his desk and started his lecture.
Shawn looked at him blankly, unsure what Rutledge’s answer was supposed to mean. Was that yes or no? As in, “I don’t have office hours, so you may come” or “I don’t have office hours, so you can’t”?
Great. Fantastic.
Shawn sighed.
Chapter 3
The door to Professor Rutledge’s office was dark and very shiny.
Shawn stared at it, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in his gut. His palms were beginning to sweat, so he wiped them against his jeans.
Don’t be ridiculous, he told himself. Rutledge was just a man, not a monster. The worst thing the guy could do was say no.
He would just talk to him, explain his situation and hope Rutledge wasn’t the asshole everyone thought he was.
“Did you want something, Mr. Wyatt?” a smooth, low voice said.
Shawn nearly jumped. Turning around, he tried to find something to say.
“Mr. Wyatt?” Rutledge was frowning, a crease between his eyebrows.
“I wanted to talk to you, sir.”
“It’s not an office hour,” Rutledge said, unlocking his office and going inside.
He didn’t swing the door shut behind him, and Shawn hesitated, unsure if he was meant to follow him inside.
Rutledge sat down behind his massive desk and turned on his computer. “I don’t have all day, Wyatt,” he said without looking at him.
Shawn entered the room hurriedly. He closed the door, walked to the desk and stopped. He looked around, but there wasn’t much to look at.
“Well?”
Shawn forced himself to look at the other man.
Rutledge was studying him with a hint of impatience.
Shawn gripped the back of the chair in front of him. “As I said, I wanted to talk about my grades.”
Rutledge’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m not certain what there is to talk about. I don’t give seconds chances to students who don’t deserve them. You don’t bother to attend most of my lectures, the quality of your coursework is abysmal, and now you want a passing grade. The policy concerning class attendance is clearly stated on the class syllabus; students should read this policy carefully and should plan on complying with it. Frankly, I’m surprised you’re a scholarship student. If you’re worried about your scholarship, I’m afraid the only thing you can do is drop the class.”
“I can’t drop your class—it’s a co-requisite for another class I’m currently taking and I can’t drop both without losing my scholarship. So I can’t fail your class and I can’t drop it. I need a passing grade, sir.”
The look Rutledge gave him was unimpressed. “You can blame only yourself, Wyatt. You don’t deserve a better grade. Your attendance, assignments, class participation, and test grades have been below expectations for the course. If you came here to tell me some sob story and beg me for a better grade, save your breath. I’ve heard it all: sick elderly mothers, little children to look after, working three jobs, and so forth. If you can’t or don’t want to study and learn, do both of us a favor: stop wasting our time and drop out of college.”