Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
He was right in the middle of a review of amino acids when I raised my hand.
He didn’t acknowledge me, so I called out, “Dr. Theriot?”
Isabella, who’d told me to stop causing trouble last class, frowned at me, but I ignored her. Someone needed to liven the class up, and I was happy for it to be me.
“Yes, Alexander? What do you need that can’t wait until I pause for questions?” His exasperated tone made me smile.
“Are we going to cover how DNA repairs itself?”
I watched as he paused to compose himself. He was angry, and I liked it. “We are. If you had read your syllabus, you would know that. Please refrain from interrupting the class with questions that aren’t relevant to what I am currently teaching.”
I winked at him. “I’ll try to ask my irrelevant questions at office hours.”
Again, that pause told me he wanted to say something unprofessional. Instead, he nodded and returned to his lecture.
“What is it with you?” Isabella whispered. “Are you always like that in class?”
“No, I’m just pissed he singled me out on Tuesday, and he’s fun to annoy.”
“I wouldn’t get on his bad side. I heard he doesn’t believe in extra credit or a curve. He’ll fail you if you make trouble.”
“He can only fail me if my grades aren’t good. They will be.”
She huffed. “Fucking geniuses. I should just get you to do all my work.”
I shook my head. “No can do. Too busy.” Busy chasing my hot professor.
After class, I ducked into a study lounge. There were a few students there, bent over their laptops. I settled into a chair and pulled out my phone. I read through Dr. Theriot’s syllabus, seeing that DNA repair was on the list of topics, and then finding what I was actually looking for—his office hours.
Perfect. He would be available in a few hours. I’d get some lunch, then go see him. I could think of a lot of questions for him, like what did he look like naked and—
“Alex? What are you doing in here?”
The other people in the study room looked up, and I shushed my roommate, Mitch. Not that it would help. His speaking volume was always turned all the way up.
He frowned at me. “You actually studying or something?”
I sighed. “I was reading my biochem syllabus.”
He stared at me like he was trying to decide if I was joking. How the hell did so many of my frat brothers not know I had a 4.0? Most likely because I didn’t study all that much, at least not around them. I was blessed not to have to work very hard to get what I wanted. I would ace Dr. Theriot’s class no matter what, but it would be a hell of a lot more fun to work for my A on my knees.
“You’re kidding, right?” Mitch asked.
“No. Are you getting lunch now?”
“Yeah. You coming too?”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to be around anyone else. I wanted more time to fantasize about Dr. Theriot. “Where are you going?”
“I’m meeting Bart and Clyde at Taco Town. Hangover cure, you know.”
They’d all gone to Wine Wednesday at another frat, which involved boxed wine in Solo cups and the inability to move before noon. I’d skipped it in favor of dinner at the house and some peace and quiet in my room for a change.
“Go on. I’m going back to the house.” I wanted to change and make sure I was ready for Dr. Theriot’s office hours.
When I arrived at his office, the door was cracked, but I knocked anyway, figuring I’d at least start out polite instead of barging in.
“Come in.” I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. He didn’t look up from the paper he was reading until he heard the latch click. “Oh, it’s you.”
Jesus, he was hot—wearing slutty little glasses with the cuffs of his sleeves rolled back to expose his forearms, and fuck me? Who was this man? He tapped his pen irritably on his desk, and I knew I needed to respond.
“It is.” I tried to say something else, but no more words would come. He looked so fucking hot, he had me speechless.
“Open the door.” He gestured toward it. “We are required to do office hours with them open.”
“But what if I want privacy for our chat?”
“I do believe that rule was made precisely to prevent too much privacy between a student and a professor.”
I rolled my eyes, then walked to the door, opened it, and bowed dramatically.
“Better?”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Marginally. Do you have an actual question? If not, see yourself out.”
I smiled. “I have so many questions.”
“Then take a seat and ask them.” He indicated the chair in front of his desk.
I sat down and took in the books and papers on his desk. They were all stacked neatly—not even a pen was out of place. No food wrappers or half-filled coffee cups in his office, just one cup sitting on a fucking coaster. His office wasn’t boring though: there was an analog clock with a picture of a bird at each hour in place of numbers, an actual typewriter sitting on a low shelf. Bookshelves that were overflowing and a ceramic pen cup that had to have been handmade.