My nails tap lightly on the table in front of me, and somehow that draws Professor Solomon’s attention again, making me still. His eyes flick down to my hand, then immediately to the female student nearest him, who can’t help but hide her smile at his nearness.
How could anyone have a crush on him?
“As this is an elective, I’m assuming most of you are just using it to fill that requirement,” he sighs, like this job is beneath him. Hell, maybe it is. In that case, I wish he would’ve found someone else to teach it. “But I’m going to pretend you’re all enthusiastic photographers and you’re aiming to shoot for either journals, the news, or fashion. If that’s not the case, I don’t really need to know. In fact, for this semester, pretend itisthe case. Who knows?” He lifts a brow. “Maybe I’ll convert some of you and see you next semester as well.”
Count me out.
Beside me, Oliver’s leg brushes against my thigh, causing me to flinch, and I fight the urge to do anything but stay still. I don’t want to look at him, or see him, or do anything. In fact, it is absolutely my goal to make this professor forget I’m here so that, at the end of class, I can slip out of here and run straight to my dorm so I can unenroll from this class immediately.
It shouldn’t be hard, really. It’s not like he knows me and I’m not a photography major who’s taking this class for more than side-credit. Not to mention that while he talks, I find myself only half-paying attention. Unlike my other classes, he actually reads through the syllabus, ignoring the looks shot towards the door by the other students who clearly thought that we’d get to leave early.
“And that’s all.You’re free from my clutches and if you’re upset that I didn’t end class early after handing out syllabi like other professors…” He shrugs. “You know where the unenroll button is just as well as I do. Don’t hesitate to use it.”
He looks pointedly at two guys sitting near the back of the room, who had seemed particularly disgruntled at having to stay the whole hour today. They avoid his look, pretending that he’s not clearly talking to them as they shuffle to their feet and head for the doorfast.
The two girls get up as well, though they crowd at Professor Solomon’s desk, leaning over it to speak in low whispers to him. I can’t help but frown. Can’t they pick a better professor to swoon over? At least someone who isn’t so, well, mean?
Though degradation is certainly a kink, and maybe these two are into it. Who am I to yuck on their yum?
“Sorry,” Oliver says again, arm sliding against mine as he gets his stuff together. He’s sitting closer than I feel like he needs to, and my stomach twists every time I get a hint of his spicy-sweet cologne in my nose. It’s not unpleasant, that’s for sure, but I don’t know anything about him, and I’m on the opposite side of the spectrum fromextroverted.
“For what?” I murmur, hurrying to get my shit packed up. I should’ve tried doing it sooner, but when someone else had, once it was close to class ending, our professor had made an unfriendly comment that had frozen the other student in their tracks and caused everyone to sit perfectly still for the rest of the time.
Well, except Oliver.He, on the other hand, seems like someone who never stops moving, never stops fidgeting. Even when Professor Solomon had glared at him for clearing his throat or making some kind of noise, Oliver had just fuckingbeamed.
“I try to take that seat since I know how he gets about it. Obviously you aren’t trying to escape or anything, but he’s just…”
A dick, I want to say. A jerk, an asshole.
Not my problem for much longer, either.
“But give it a chance, okay?” It’s as if the older boy can read my mind, and I turn to look at him in surprise.
“What?”
“Give. It. A. Chance. He’s…” Oliver glances at Professor Solomon, who’s currently looking like the two girls trying to flirt with him are causing him to be in physical pain. Good for them. “Okay, yeah. He’s an ass. I’ve audited this class three times, so I get that. But he’s a really excellent teacher. Like, insanely good. You might end up finding you’re into photography.”
Doubt it.
“I didn’t catch your name, by the way. I’m Oliver Greer.” He doesn’t stick out a hand, but he does follow as I get to my feet, like he’s prepared to bar me from my grand escape.
“Blair Love,” I say after a second’s hesitation. “I, umm. My friend was supposed to take this class with me,” I explain, as if he’d asked. Students filter out around us, but I barely notice as Oliver grins sympathetically.
“Do you think she quit because of him?” He tilts his head towards the other side of the room.
“No. I don’t think so. There was a scheduling problem with one of her science classes. Anyway, she can’t fit this in her schedule now, and I…” I let out a sigh, holding my iPad tighter in the crook of my arm. “I really need the elective, since I’m hoping to take it easy next semester before I graduate.”
“Then I guess you’ll just have to grin and bear it, and wallow about with us photography peasants, won’t you?” The voice behind me makes me close my eyes hard, my teeth clenching so much that the muscles in my jaw ache.
Oliver turns, still smiling, and doesn’t appear perturbed to see our professor leaning against the wall behind me. I look as well, wishing I could do something to stop him from glaring at me like this. What did I evendoto irritate him? Is he really so upset that I sat in front of the door?
“I’m… sorry about sitting in front of the door,” I apologize. “I didn’t know that… umm.” I tuck my hair behind my ear, heart in my throat trying to choke me. If this were Juniper, I’d make stupid jokes about escape and running for the ocean, but it’s not.
Instead, it’s a professor that already makes me uncomfortable and a student who radiates friendliness so strongly I’m afraid I’ll burn from it like a vampire doused in holy water.
"She didn’t know you had such a weirdthingabout it, or she would’ve run out of class beforehand instead of sitting here while you called her out,” Oliver supplies, smiling sweetly with glittering brown eyes like he thinks he’s helping me.
Immediately my gaze goes back to our professor, my lips parted as I look at him. There’s no humor at all in his green eyes that are fixed on Oliver, and before I can say a word, he turns to look at me instead. “You’re an art history student,” he states, not phrasing it like a question. When I make a noise of surprise, he adds, “It’s on my class paperwork, in case you think I’d bother to research my students before the semester started.”