Grant flipped through the book on the table in front of him. Ever since that morning, he’d been unable to get Kristen out of his mind. He’d noticed her lack of effort in his class, even though her writing had shown promise. He graded everyone with a high level of scrutiny. How else would it prepare his students for the real world? He hadn’t thought she was struggling with concepts though, figured it was just chalked up to the usual laziness.

Was that it, though? If she were just being lazy, why would she come and ask for help?

There were many times after class where he thought about offering help, but he couldn’t trust himself. And he didn’t want any other students to overhear. It’d be a nightmare. People lined up outside during office hours, needing the same help they could get from a tutor.

He also didn’t want it to come off as hitting on her. He’d been trying to keep her at a distance the entire semester. But when she walked up in that fucking skirt and stretched her goddamn back like a cat on a scratching post, he knew he was done for.

He’d had to calmly sit there while she openly flirted, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. His fingers itched to yank her over his knee and spank her ass for not turning in her assignments on time.

He knew it was all ridiculous, but with the way she consumed his thoughts every damn day of the week—it was impossible to know how to behave toward her without being inappropriate or hinting that he was attracted to her.

He stared up at the ceiling and closed his eyes for a moment, then shook his head.

What the hell did you do?

His brain had struggled for the past month and went back and forth on what to do about Miss Monroe.

Fuck, even her name was sexy.

Wearing skimpy outfits and sitting with her legs spread open on the front row—she’d practically turned him into a salivating teenager.

He’d debated it over and over in his mind. Obviously, his cock argued it was perfectly fine. They were two consenting adults. Then the mature part of him would take over and remind him it was like walking along the edge of a cliff with hundred-mile-an-hour headwinds.

One day he would be determined he wouldn’t give her another thought and focus solely on the class in its entirety. He was her superior and those moral walls had to be sturdy and firm. But then, the next day, she would flounce into the room in a mini skirt and a tight, button-down blouse, with her perky tits half hanging out, and it was like his brain overwrote all the moral bullshit from the day before.

As the days had passed, Grant worked tirelessly to keep his ridiculous fantasies to a minimum, and with each day that’d passed, it’d grown easier. Easier to control his actions, anyway. There was little he could do when she sat in the front row, and even when he fought to keep his mind under his control, it didn’t always happen the way he wanted it to.

But he’d remained strong through all of that, kept it all bottled inside him. So, what could it hurt to help her out personally? He was a grown man with self-control. There was nothing wrong with aiding a student in a one-on-one environment. If that’s what the student needed, he had an obligation to see that they learned and retained the material from his class.

It was on a whim that he’d agreed to tutor her privately. The words came out of his mouth before he’d thought them through. But it would be fine. They would both be at the school, in a classroom anyone could walk into at any moment. He was safe there.

He would keep his distance in case anyone walked in on a study session. It wasn’t uncommon to have people in classes accuse him of playing favorites. He would be certain to keep the discussion on the subject at hand. In this case, it would be all about her journalism assignments and nothing about their personal lives.

A knock at the door brought him out of his thoughts, and he rose to see who it was. He never had company and expected it to be a solicitor looking to sell him something he didn’t want.

He opened the door with an angry sigh that slowly morphed into a smile. “What are you doing here? Thought you were in Canada.”

His good friend Hank Burton returned his grin.

“Come in.”

He stepped out of the way and opened the door wider. He and Hank went way back and often spoke on the phone or texted. But Hank was known to take long fishing trips—a.k.a. vacations—around the world, and the last Grant knew, he wasn’t anywhere near California.

“Cut it short. Nothing but issues. They already have snow up there. Wanna beer?” He held up a six pack in his hand.

Grant swept his arm out, ushering in his guest as Hank walked past. He definitely could use a drink.

“Not surprised. Late enough in the year there.” They walked to the kitchen, and Hank let out a whistle.

“You ever take a break?” He stared at the pile of papers spread out on the table.

Grant snickered as he cracked open one of the beers.

“Yeah, but this is important. Have a student that’s not keeping up with her work. Thought I’d give her a hand.”

Hank smirked. “She hot?”

“Yeah.” He’d answered quickly without thinking. “I mean, no, not really. I never really thought about it. I’m old enough to be her dad.”

He grinned back as though Hank had been teasing him, but for some reason his words had come out incredibly defensive. He didn’t mean for his reply to be so sharp.

Hank stared back with a devilish smile, like he wanted more information about the mysterious hot student. The fact Hank even asked what she looked like had Grant grinding his teeth.

“Fuck, man. Was just kidding.”

Grant’s entire body was stiff. He needed to change the subject. Nothing screamed guilt like acting defensive, and if they stayed on the subject, it was only going to piss him off further.

“Sorry. Just a little stressed. And I have to be really careful about shit like that. Rumors start flying, and it never looks good for the professor. But yeah, she’s hot, and she damn well knows it.” He sipped his beer and stared off at the wall.

He wasn’t concerned with rumors, because there wouldn’t be any if he could keep his cock in his pants. He was far more worried about being unable to control himself around her than what other teachers and students would think. She was an adult, and she could do whatever she wanted.

And so was he.

“Yeah.” Hank’s forehead wrinkled, like he was confused. “Thought you only had to worry about shit like that when kids were in high school.”

Change the fucking subject.

For some reason, he couldn’t. He wanted to talk about Kristen every minute of every damn day. “Yeah, as far as the legal end is concerned, but it’s an ethical gray area. I’m twice her age and in a position of authority over her.”

Change the fucking subject, idiot.

Hank smiled and shrugged. “Hey, some chicks dig older guys.” He chuckled. “Hell, when I was in Africa, some of the women banged dudes their grandfather’s age. They were all about it.”

“I doubt they were students of theirs.”

“What are you working on with her?”

“It’s an intro to journalism course.”

“Shouldn’t they all be journalism majors in a class like that? If they struggle with the intro course, it might be a good idea to think about a new career path.”

Grant rubbed his temples. It irritated him that the conversation still lingered, but he didn’t want to make it obvious he was trying to change the topic. “Yeah. Some of them struggle with sentence structure and things like that. Did you read the last email you sent me? You should know how easy it is to butcher the English language.”

Hank shrugged and laughed. “I’m not a fucking journalist, dickhead.”

“Fair enough.”

Hank walked around the living room and checked out the place. “So, you’re helping the girl out with her sentence structure. Very noble of you.”

Grant didn’t ignore the sarcasm in his voice but went along with it anyway. “She’ll need it. If she’s going to be a journalist. It’s all writing, so grammar will be important if she wants to succeed.”

The two men sat down.

“If she’s hot, she’ll be fine. All the ones on TV are always smokin’. Look at Kathryn Hobbs.”

They both laughed. Kathryn Hobbs was a local news anchor with no talent at all, but she had huge tits and a ditzy smile—and quite the following.

“I don’t know if she’s going for TV or print. Haven’t discussed it.” Grant finished his beer and opened another.

Hank tossed him a side-eye. “Do you ask students about stuff like that?”

In the past, Grant had always made a point of keeping separation between himself and his students. His philosophy was they were there to learn, and he was there to teach. There was no reason to have any kind of personal relationship with them. There were too many to keep up with, and his job was to weed out the ones who wouldn’t hack it at a higher level. It was doing them a favor, before they wasted years only to find out they didn’t have what it took. His job was to teach them how to write correctly and introduce them to the field of journalism.

“I’ve been trying to be better. The dean encourages it.”

He could feel Hank’s gaze on him but chose to ignore it. Hank could smell bullshit a mile away, and he’d just fabricated another excuse for his actions.

He could sense by the way Hank was looking at him that he was being defensive again. His entire life seemed like conversations with ninety percent of the context hidden under the surface.

“Well, hell. You’re a grown man. You know what you should and shouldn’t do.”

They left it at that.