Chapter 3

Judge

Right in the middle of my lecture about To Kill A Mockingbird, I felt it. That damn tingling in my crotch. My eyes scanned the lecture hall. When I didn’t see her, I spun around to grab for something on the podium behind me. Then I just gave up and stood behind the damn particle board monstrosity. I wasn’t the kind of stiff intellectual who got off on pontificating for a crowd of plebes, so I usually walked around and tried to make the learning more intimate. After a quick gut check, I saw a kid in the front row texting and a girl with a platinum pixie nod off, so I hadn’t been outed.

A glance at my watch told me I only had a few minutes left to wrap up the day’s lesson. “And that is why Harper Lee is one of the greatest writers of all time. She’s been quoted as saying that she never expected any kind of literary success with her book. She simply hoped that it would inspire others to offer her encouragement on her publishing journey. And that is my hope for all of you. Consider me your personal cheering section. I’ll be reading your first essays this weekend and offering encouragement. Or not.”

Amid a chorus of groans and snorts, I flipped on the overhead projector and explained the assignment that I’d be uploading to the class portal. “I’ll be looking forward to hearing your thoughts on your favorite chapter in the book. And remember… I see you when you’re sleeping. I know when you’re awake. I know when you’ve been bad or good, so don’t plagiarize, for goodness sake.”

“I can’t believe you know an American Christmas song, Professor Copeland. I thought you British dudes only rubbed elbows with St. Nicholas while singing ‘Last Christmas’ like George Michael wannabes.”

I scoffed but I admired the kid’s dry wit. Much like my own. “Ha, ha. Not everyone who’s British listens to Wham throwbacks from the eighties. But I admire your knowledge of all things vintage.”

After the last student had exited, their peals of laughter and raised voices tinkling through the hallway, I sank down into my wooden chair behind the metal desk where Jason had been sitting and monitoring the class while grading papers and planning lessons. He’d left with the others, anxious to get to the cafeteria before they were out of French fries. Damn kid ate that cholesterol-filled carb fest every day but still looked like a beanpole. Oh, to be in my early twenties again. When I ate potatoes now, I had to run them off in a five-mile trip around my neighborhood.

I grabbed my car keys from my briefcase and slung the strap from the faded leather satchel around my neck. I’d drop it off on my way to Starbucks. Today, I just wanted to veg out and watch and listen to the activity around me. Try to relax. Try to clear my mind of thoughts of Devon.

On my way to the parking lot, I passed by the music rooms and wondered if she’d ever used any of them. John had said she’d been given a full scholarship to Diamond based on a song writing contest that she’d won. John’s voice had brimmed over with pride and even though I’d never heard her sing, I could only imagine what it would feel like to have her angelic voice flow over me. Like a verbal caress.

Some little wanker stood in the middle of the hallway, raising his voice. Soon another joined and then another until they had their own little mini version of a pubescent gang ritual going.

“Look at that fat bitch with her homo friend,” one taunted as the others laughed.

What the hell? It seemed like some psychotic episode of Glee that ended up on the cutting room floor. All they needed was a slushie to throw in the face of the poor female student on the other end of their childish and inane insults. I’d never been one for bullying, especially not at the collegiate level, so I rushed toward the fray.

A horrified squeal pierced my ears, and I quickened my pace, briefcase slapping against my ass in perfect rhythm. Once I had the doorway in my sights, I skidded to a halt, my heart pounding. The blood left my face in one long, drawn out whoosh. Devon stood inside that room with a young guitarist. One of the offenders had her arm clutched in an iron grip.

Some little fucker had his hands on my woman. Mine.

A blinding rage took over every sense, every logical thought. All that mattered was removing the bully’s hands from Devon’s tender skin. I lurched forward, shoving bodies to the side until I reached them. I slapped my hand down on the kid’s arm in a karate chop worthy of Bruce Lee, not caring if I snapped his bone in half like a piece of kindling. I heard a satisfying crunch as his arm flopped to his side.

“Shit, Professor Copeland,” the kid stuttered. “We were just… just…”

“Just assaulting this young lady,” I said in a steely voice that didn’t even sound like me. It sounded like death was coming to grab this kid’s soul and pluck it from his worthless body. How dare he call Devon fat? She was perfection. All soft, womanly, and curvaceous in all the right places. “Shall I call the campus police and give them my account? I’m sure they’d love to hear all about it.”

The kid stood there in shock, rubbing his arm. He’d have a huge bruise in the morning, and my only regret was that I wouldn’t be there to see it.

After he turned and fled and took his posse with him, I turned to gaze at Devon. I didn’t look into her eyes, consumed with making sure not one hair on her head or one inch of her snowy skin had been harmed. Once satisfied she’d been spared true physical pain, I speared her with a gaze containing all the concern swirling through my gut. I wanted to take her in my arms. I wanted to kiss the fright from her lush lips. I wanted to…

“Professor Copeland?” she whispered.

“Devon, are you okay?” I demanded, needing to hear it. “That didn’t look or sound good. If you felt threatened in any way, I swear I’ll—”

She held up an elegant hand and waved it through the air. “If I had a fit every time I got made fun of because of my love of music and theater, I’d be in a constant state of upset. This has been happening since middle school. No harm done other than to my ego. I’ll be just fine. And so will Geoff.”

The young man stood and started to put his guitar back in the red velvet-lined case. “True that,” he said, nodding toward the hallway. “Happens daily it seems.”

I looked between the two of them, horrified to realize the truth in their statements. When would kids just grow the hell up? Every part of me froze as I stared at Devon. Unshed tears glistened in her eyes and in that moment, I knew that she was putting on some kind of front, hiding her emotion. For me. I never wanted her to do that again. She could be real with me. She could express any feeling that ever coursed through her body without judgment. Without censure.

I tightened my hands on the leather strap of my briefcase. Part of me wanted to twirl it around and wear it against my stomach like a shield. As if doing so would protect me from the emotions that threatened to overwhelm me and cause me to do or say something we’d both regret. I’d imagined this moment seven ways ‘til Sunday but never had it turned out like this. With pain. I knew the gentlemanly thing to do would be to walk her out to her dorm but I didn’t know if I could be alone with her. Everything still felt too raw. Too unstable. Instead, I stood there motionless, silent, and stared as she blinked, keeping the tears at bay, her full breasts heaving under the effort. Her eyes fluttered closed, blocking the sight of me, and I wanted to grab her by the upper arms and pull her into my chest. To demand that she open them and give me everything she had to give in this tumultuous moment. But she held back. And I was denied.

“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling ashamed, but knowing I would do the exact same thing again if the situation presented itself. No way would I ever let her endure male stupidity on her own.

“I’m going to head to the cafeteria and grab a Coke,” the boy said, breaking the silence.

“Okay, Geoff. Same time tomorrow?” Devon asked, her voice stronger now. She sounded normal.

Geoff grabbed the handle to his guitar case and took off at a lope down the hallway.

“Are you really doing okay?” I asked. “Truly you look very pale. Can I get you a water? Anything?”

She clamped her gorgeous green eyes shut and hissed out a ragged breath. Once her inhales returned to normal, she opened them and looked at me. And I nearly lost it. Her gaze. It contained something… more. Something I’d never seen before in the depths of her emerald orbs.

Devon stood before me. Close enough to touch. Her aura sang to me like a siren calling a sailor to the jagged rocks. And she was all woman… all dangerous curves and softness.

She slowly shook her head. “There’s really no need to worry, Professor. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself. Did my father call you? Did he ask you to look out for me? To stalk me?”

Stalk her? For the love of God, I’d been doing everything within my power to leave her the fuck alone. Damn it. She was spectacular when she was annoyed. And I’d never seen it before, because this was the first time in her life she’d been annoyed with me. She offered me a saucy tilt to her chin and flung a hand on one generous hip, and that small gesture had every muscle in my body tightening harder. Including my dick.

Shit.

This wasn’t just about me wanting Devon in my bed, writhing in pleasure underneath my body, taking every inch of my cock until I’d impaled her tight body. This wasn’t about me needing a younger woman to validate me. This wasn’t about some Neanderthal caveman urge to spread my seed to fertile soil. Shit, no. This infernal ache was about me wanting her as my woman. All mine.

Forever.