2. Ronan

He's late again. This little shit. I swear to God, I'm only twenty-six years old, and he's going to give me a stroke. An actual goddamn stroke from the anger flowing through my veins when he saunters into my classroom with that cocky damn smile on his way too handsome face.

No. Not handsome.He's a kid. A damn spoiled brat. A real pain in my ass. Good-looking or not, it doesn't matter to me in the slightest.

"Late again, Mr. Moore?" I try to sound bored, but I know he hears my irritation. I can't hide it when it comes to Fletcher Moore. He gets under my skin. He makes my blood boil with his nonchalant, careless attitude.

Not a care in the world, this one.

I have no doubt he's had everything handed to him. He's never had to worry about a damn thing in his life, and he has no problem walking in here three minutes after the bell.

He just flops into a chair in the front row and shrugs. "Really couldn't be helped today, Professor." I hate the way he says Professor. It rolls off his tongue far too easily. Almost like a purr, his eyes flashing with a sinister, menacing delight.

"No?" I ask, keeping my voice even and calm, even though I want to challenge him. I want to make him see how arrogant and annoying he really is.

"Nope." The p in the word pops on his full lips, a smirk forming right after. "My mom broke into my place."

There are snickers all around the packed lecture hall, and I can feel the vein in my neck throbbing.

Yup. This is how I die.I'm going to stroke out right here in what used to be my happy place. Teaching economics may seem like a boring path to me, but I love it. I've loved every second of being a college professor, except when cocky assholes like Fletcher Moore walk in here like they own the place.

I'm in charge here.

Not. Him.

And so far, he's been the absolute worst. Completely and totally unconcerned.

"And how exactly did your mother do that?" I ask, although I'm not sure why I bother. I should just go on with the lecture. Mr. Moore has stolen more than enough time from my class today.

But I swear everyone in the room is waiting with bated breath for the all too charming young man—little shithead— to answer my question. "Well, she has a key." He shrugs his oversized shoulders again. He may act like a kid, and he may be a freshman in college, but the guy is built like a professional linebacker. Huge and muscled. Doesn't even try to hide it by wearing a blue and white tank top and shorts that hug his broad thighs. Nope.

I don't notice the way his arm muscles flex as he leans back in his chair confidently.

Nope. Not. At. All.

"Why does your mom have a key? You're nineteen." I'm assuming.

"Eighteen," he says with a smile, and I groan. It's the end of the year, most freshmen are nineteen, but he must have a summer birthday. "Just turned eighteen in January actually," he says far too proudly, and my eyes narrow at him.

"You started college before you turned eighteen?"

"Yup." Again, with that damn popping p. "Graduated from high school a year early."

My lips part in surprise, but I fight asking him anything about that. I also fight trying to wrap my head around that. He must have had that handed to him too. Maybe he was such a pain in the ass in high school, they just pushed him through.

That would make sense to me, for damn sure.

"You're still an adult." Although that word doesn't sound right to describe the guy. He's as childish as they come. Carefree. Unbothered. Annoying as fuck. "Why does your mother have a key to your place?"

And why the hell do I keep engaging with him? I have to stop.

His bicep flexes when he reaches behind his head to grasp the back of the chair, showing off trimmed dark hair under his pits and a thick vein that runs up the taut muscle.

I inadvertently lick my lips, then force my gaze away from his flexed arm.

Jesus fucking Christ. What if someone saw that?

I'm so damn glad this semester is almost over. Fletcher isn't going to be an economics major, no way in hell. So he's almost out of my damn hair and not my problem.

Two more weeks.

That's it.

"Well, she does pay for the place," he says effortlessly, like it's no big deal that he mooches off his parents.

"Your mother pays your rent?"

I hear more snickering all around us, but my eyes remain only on Fletcher. "Of course. You look annoyed, Professor." He smirks widely at me, and I feel my entire body tense up even more. "Shouldn't you love that? It's very economical."

My eyes nearly pop out of my head. The nerve of this kid. "You could get a job."

He just grins even more at me now, knowing without a doubt he's annoying the shit out of me. And likely knowing that I can't say shit to him because I don't want to lose my job. "Now, that doesn't sound very fun, Professor."

Yup. I'm not going to make it. There's no way. One of us is going to die this semester.

Two more weeks.

I grit my teeth. "Let's move on."

There are more pleased laughs from his classmates, and he just settles into his seat, clearly happy with himself, as I continue on with the lecture he so rudely interrupted. I'm not going to make it.

"I'm telling you,I'm not going to make it. This kid is the most arrogant little shithead I've ever seen." I toss back another gulp of my beer, and my best friend, Nathan, just groans loudly.

"Not this again."

"What?" I ask, turning to look at his irritated grimace.

"I cannot listen to you whine about Fletcher Moore another night. It's Friday night. I just want to drink a beer in my favorite bar and maybe play a game of pool without hearing about the infamous Fletcher Moore."

"No." Annie, our other friend and a professor at the college, just like Nathan and me, groans as she plops down on the bar stool next to Nathan. "I'm not doing it." She gestures for the bartender. "Gin and tonic, please, and make it strong."

The bartender grins and gives her a nod as she places her purse on the bar and looks past Nathan and right at me. "We aren't doing this again, are we?"

"Do what?" I ask grumpily. I swear these two are being very dramatic right now.

"You know what." Annie deadpans and gladly takes the drink the bartender places in front of her, taking a sip.

"I don't talk about him that much," I grumble and sift through the bowl of pretzels on the bar, picking one up and bringing it to my lips.

"You do," Nathan says very clearly, his eyes on mine and the irritation clear.

"He's a pain in the ass," I say. Nathan just shakes his head as I continue, "I mean, the kid is proud that his parents pay his way through everything. His mother pays his rent, and he considers that to be economical."

Annie shrugs and takes another sip of her drink. "I mean, he's not wrong."

I glance at my friend with no smile on my face because she can't be serious. "Really?"

She waves me off easily. We've known each other long enough, so I don't bristle because she's put up with me from day one. Literally. My first day on campus, I was a mess and totally lost, and there was Annie, showing me the way. She's about ten years older than me and knew her way around already.

She introduced me to Nathan that night at this very bar, and the rest is history. I don't trust many people, but these two and their spouses, I do.

"Listen, I know. We don't really need to go into the whole Ronan Barlowe's sad little life thing, do we?" She grins, and I can't help but laugh a little.

"Fuck you too."

She cackles and takes a drink of her gin and tonic. "I mean, I am a sociology professor, so don't get me wrong, I do love the whole sad backstory..."

"Again." I raise my middle finger at her. "Fuck. You." Normally, I'd be a little more refined, but it's Friday, and this bar is far enough from campus, I feel safe letting loose a little. It's one of the many reasons I like coming here.

She laughs, and Nathan grips my shoulder happily. They know my past. I've told them both pretty much everything. Something else I really don't do—and yes, it may have first come out because I had a little bit too much to drink—but it actually feels good to have someone else in the world know.

"I'm just saying, just because you had to literally work your way up from the bottom doesn't make his life any less valid."

I bristle. I'd like to think I don't judge people who appear to have had it easy, but then again... shit. Maybe I do a little. Not one thing was ever given to me, so maybe I am a little bitter.

"Besides, the kid is a genius."

I snort at that and take a drink, shaking my head. "No. He's not."

Annie doesn't back down, "No really. Like an actual genius. He hardly ever makes it to my class, and the kid aces every single test."

"Being lazy isn't equal to being a genius. Maybe he cheats on his tests," I offer.

Nathan just dismisses me, waving his hand. "She checked."

Annie laughs at that and nods. "I did. I had to. But ask Nathan here. Not one missed question on any algebra test."

Nathan shakes his head. "Nope. And that little asshole never shows up to the actual lectures. Although he is there for the smaller classes, and trust me, he isn't cheating."

"We've compared notes."

I'm suddenly annoyed I chose to teach at the small private college now because we all frequently have the same freshmen students in our intro classes. "He's not a genius. Maybe you both aren't watching closely enough."

The fact that he's actually a year younger than most freshmen sits in the back of my brain, but I push it away.

"I don't know," Nathan says, popping a pretzel into his mouth. "I see him in the library a lot."

"So?" I ask, hating that they seem to have a positive view of him when I'm just not willing to see that. He's an entitled little prick, and that's all there is to it.

"So, he's actually reading. Not like textbooks, but reading, reading. The kid is smart," Nathan says, and Annie agrees, nodding her head as he speaks.

I just huff like a child because I refuse to believe he reads for fun.

Fortunately, they move on quickly. Nathan pipes up excitedly, "Oh, did you hear about Professor Tuttle?"

"Rhonda?" I ask, and he nods.

"Yup."

"No," I answer absently. I don't know her well, but I can't imagine the gossip is that juicy. The woman is boring as hell. You think I'm buttoned-up and disciplined, you should see the late-thirty something.

"What happened?" Annie bites.

"Apparently, she was put on leave. Had an affair with a student that went south."

I nearly choke on a pretzel that gets lodged in my throat because I did not see that coming.

"What? Rhonda Tuttle was fucking a student?"

He nods, and Annie gasps, saying what I'm thinking, "No. Way."

"Yes way," Nathan confirms. "Apparently, she tried to break it off, but the kid went a little crazy. Wouldn't take the rejection."

"Jesus," I say incredulously. "She's married."

"She is," he confirms sadly. "It's going to be all over the news though, no doubt. She had to get a restraining order, and the kid has been all over social media. Claiming she seduced him and then just dumped him."

"That's brutal," Annie says, and I have to agree.

"Who the hell would want to sleep with a twenty-year-old?" I blurt because I can't imagine wanting to sleep with a student.

I mean, even if they don't look twenty. Built like a fucking house and gorgeous as all hell...

No. Absolutely not.

Even if I was attracted to someone who looks like Fletcher, which I'm absolutely not, if he acted like Fletcher, it would be nothing but a turnoff. I tend to go for older men. Mature. Can rent a fucking car and don't have to have their parents pay their rent.

"Yeah. I for sure don't get that. I didn't want to sleep with a twenty-year-old even when I was twenty," Annie says, and I grin.

"Careful, Ronan here is only twenty-six." Nathan wraps an arm around my shoulder and teases.

"Oh my God, I forgot you're a damn fetus," Annie jokes.

I shove Nathan off me playfully. "I'm not a fetus. I'm nothing like the freshmen we teach."

"True. No one would ever describe you as young and fun," Annie says, wiggling her eyebrows at me, and I roll my eyes at her with a familiar smile on my face because I can't seem to help it.

Most of the time, I hide my smile. I keep it completely professional when I'm on campus. I can't imagine throwing away my career and reputation for some likely inexperienced sex with a twenty-year-old who became clingy.

Because, of fucking course, he became clingy. She should have known better. His brain is still forming, for Christ's sake. "I can't believe she did that."

"I can't either," Nathan agrees. "She's not speaking, and neither is the college, but it's all over the news. It's a damn mess."

"Her ass is getting fired," Annie says nonchalantly as she eats a pretzel.

"As she should," I say because the rules are pretty damn clear. Why a professor would want anything to do with a student is beyond me. But anyone in a position of power should avoid a relationship with someone who's relying on them.

A cold chill goes through me as I think back to my early teen years. Of the feeling of being helpless and never being able to rely on one single soul.

A darkness settles over me, begging me to push it away. I don't want to go back there.

"Good riddance."

They both nod in agreement, and we move on to lighter topics as I do the all too familiar dance of forcing away the memories of my past and trying to convince my brain that I'm now safe.

A battle I'm not sure I'll ever actually win.