One
Los Angeles, CA
August 2016
I didn’t know it then, but he was going to take me to places I’ve never been, showing me passions I’ve never explored. He was going to take me to the brink of oblivion.
It was the first day of my final semester at UCLA, and while I was excited, I felt completely unprepared. Normally, I took classes over the summer, but since my folks wanted me along for the family vacation in Italy, I had taken this past summer off. It had been a terrific way to celebrate my birthday—especially because of Ricardo. The Italian stallion had taken me on a private tour of Venice and then on one of his bedroom. He, no doubt, had his way with several American women, so I didn’t even bother with the pretense of staying in touch. It was just sex—delicious foreign sex. I wasn’t normally that easy, but I had been on vacation, and as they say, “When in Rome…”
I crossed the school campus looking at the coeds coming and going from the various buildings. Same familiar faces. College men, if you could call them men, were fine, but they didn’t do much for me. The ones I’d dated always seemed to be immature mamma’s boys. When I was ready to find love, I would be looking for a real man.
I rounded the corner and entered the Court of Sciences, on my way to the Boyer building for my first class, when I saw a group of giggling females surrounding a man with dark hair, and I mentally scolded them. Oh please. Don’t you have better things to do than drool over a guy? I couldn’t see the man’s face over the head of a girl in spiked heels, but I could see that he was wearing a light-blue shirt.
I glanced at my watch. I had ten minutes to get to Chemistry II and find a decent seat, so I stopped my gawking and made my way to the classroom. All the tables in the back were already occupied, so I planted myself at a vacant table in the front. I looked at my course schedule again with a smile. I only needed Chemistry II and Psychology to finish my BSBA degree.
As the instructor walked to the chalkboard to write her name, I glanced at the bottom notes on my schedule. I’d been working part-time as an assistant in the faculty department since my sophomore year, and I was recently informed that I’d be helping a new professor this term. Also, since I only had two classes to take, I was offered a full-time position. The name listed on my schedule was D. Baldwin, and it wasn’t familiar to me.
After chemistry class was over, I made the short journey to my next class, which was Psychology 101. Professor Eve Merkel taught the class, and she had a ball-buster reputation. Based on the syllabus I grabbed on the way in, she intended to live up to it. I looked up from the paper at the group of students walking into the classroom and recognized one of the young men from the chemistry class. He sat down next to me.
“I recognize you from earlier,” he said with a smile. “Name’s Aaron Miller.”
I gave him a tentative smile in return. “I’m Samantha Rice.”
He perused the syllabus and grimaced. “This is going to be a hard class,” he moaned. My eyes went back to my copy of the course outline, and I nodded in agreement. “Would you study with me sometime?” he asked, catching me off guard.
“Um, yeah, I might be able to find the time,” I murmured with a modicum of hesitation.
“Great,” he said just as Professor Merkel entered the room and rapped on her podium to get everyone’s attention.
After the lecture, Aaron wrote down my number and gave me his. We didn’t have an assignment yet, though, so I was surprised when he called me later in the day.
“Hi,” he began, “I thought we could get together and study the first chapter to get a jump on things.”
Smooth. Real smooth. He just wanted a date with me; I was sure of it, but I wasn’t sure how it made me feel. “Um, I’m booked up this week with work and all, so maybe next week. Okay?”
“Yeah, of course. Next week will be fine,” he quickly replied, and we said good-bye.
I entered the administrative building and found room 220. The plaque on the door read D. Baldwin, Professor of Ethics. I lightly knocked.
“Come in,” a man’s voice rang out.
A mental image of a man with a balding head peppered with gray hair came to mind. I was wrong. So wrong. The first thing I noticed was the light-blue shirt, which looked familiar. Then I noticed the most stunning sky-blue eyes as he looked up with a smoldering smile. He probably had only meant for it to be a kind smile, but he had full, pouty lips that exuded seduction.
“You’re Miss Samantha Rice, I presume?” he asked with a sexy drawl.
I shyly looked down at my chipped nail polish. “Yes, that’s me,” I mumbled.
“Great”—he smiled and gestured toward an empty chair in front of his desk—“Have a seat and we’ll get started.”
As I sat down, I looked around the office and noticed how much tidier it was compared to the other faculty offices I’d seen. I couldn’t help but think he was anal retentive, which meant my work for him would have to be clean and efficient, not that I’d intentionally turn in sub-par work.
“I was told that you’ll be available to me full-time. Is that still the case?” he suddenly asked.
“Um, yes, that’s my plan. I only have two classes left to graduate at the end of the semester.” I bit my lower lip. “Of course, they’re hard classes, but I should still be available full-time, and I really need the hours too.”
He raised his eyebrows while perusing a stack of folders and sighed. “And I could sure use the help.”
“You teach an ethics class, right?”
He rolled away from his desk and walked to his filing cabinets for a file folder. “I teach Ethics 120 and Business Ethics 315. Also, I’m a faculty advisor.”
I was trying to concentrate on what he was saying, but my mind could only think about how much I wanted to suck on his bottom lip and so much more. He looked delicious in tight-fitting jeans.
“Speaking of which, I have an advisory session in about five minutes, and those are confidential. If you like, though, you can look through the notes I drafted up for you describing what I need done in this position,” he explained.
And speaking of positions…I couldn’t stop myself. I’m a shy person by nature, but I wanted to strip right there for him—or at least, have him strip for me.
“Okay?” he asked and brought me out of my sexual reverie.
I reached out and took the printed notes from his delectably strong looking hands. “Yes, of course. I’ll go down to the commissary and look this over. When shall I come back?”
He rubbed his hand over his stubble-covered chin. “Give me twenty minutes.”
I’d love to give you twenty minutes. “Sure. I’ll be back then.” My voice came out huskier than I wanted, and he gave me a lop-sided grin. I would usually be embarrassed by that, but he had to be used to women making fools of themselves, so I imagined I was in good company and didn’t feel so bad.
I left his office and headed to the cafeteria to get a soda and read over his neatly printed notes. His handwriting was another indicator of his anal personality, and it made me feel inferior when I considered my own chicken scratch.
It was going to be a long twenty minutes to eat him up with my eyes again.
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