Cassie Mint

  Love Lessons

  First published by Black Cherry Publishing 2021

  Copyright © 2021 by Cassie Mint

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  Cassie Mint asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  First edition

  ISBN: 978-1-914242-22-9

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

  Find out more at reedsy.com

  Contents

  Keep in touch with Cassie!

  1. Avery

  2. Ellis

  3. Avery

  4. Ellis

  5. Avery

  6. Ellis

  7. Avery

  8. Ellis

  9. Avery

  10. Ellis

  About the Author

  Keep in touch with Cassie!

  Want to stay up to date with new releases, sales, and more instalove goodness?

  Sign up for Cassie’s newsletter!

  One

  Avery

  I rush across campus, my backpack bouncing and my class schedule clutched to my chest. My sandals slap against the hot paving stones, baked all summer long, and I gasp for breath as I sprint across the quad. My sundress floats around my thighs, my hair streaming behind me, and other students mutter and step out of the way as I barrel through them.

  I’m late. Late. This wasn’t the plan. When I woke up this morning, teeth gritted with purpose, this wasn’t what I had in mind. It took me all summer to build up my courage, to sign up for Professor Kent’s class, and this is how he’ll find out? When I burst into the lecture hall five minutes late, red faced and wheezing?

  Kill me now.

  I’m rushing so fast, I almost sprint right past the English building. I skid to a halt, arms pinwheeling, then duck past a group of staring grad students to push through the doors.

  A clock hangs opposite the entrance, ticking my seconds away. Two minutes until the first class of the semester starts.

  Two minutes until I’m late.

  Until I see him.

  I check the schedule crumpled in one fist, smoothing it out with shaking fingers. My breaths come quick and loud as I read the room number, sending up a silent prayer of thanks.

  It’s just here. The nearest lecture hall, tucked around the corner.

  I’m going to make it.

  I smooth my wild hair down. Tug on the hem of my dress. Swipe my forearm over my dewy forehead, my skin flushed hot from running. Then give myself my third pep talk of the day.

  You can do this, Avery Jennings. Now get your ass in that room.

  It’s pretty basic, as pep talks go. Nothing like the elaborate mantras in the self help books I’ve been reading all summer. But it does the trick: I square my shoulders, hitching my backpack higher, and march around the corner to the lecture hall. I don’t break stride, pushing the door open and plunging inside. The rows are two-thirds full, with students laughing and leaning past each other to catch up. They call out nicknames; toss balled up class schedules at each other’s heads.

  I don’t even see them. Not really. I drift to an empty seat in the third row, the din around me fading to nothing, and sit down clumsily.

  He’s here.

  Professor Kent stands at the lectern on the raised platform at the front of the room. He stares at me, white-faced, his hands gripping the lectern so tight that I can almost hear the wood creak.

  Even though it’s another hot, sticky day, he’s wearing a white button down shirt with only the top button undone. The fabric fits him perfectly, hugging his toned shoulders and nipping in with his slender waist, and it’s not just the heat that makes my mouth run dry when I look at him.

  God. Professor Kent is a walking dirty daydream.

  One of his dark curls hangs over his forehead, and he presses his mouth in a tight line. His gaze rakes over me where I sit, just as hungry as I remember, and he swallows. Hard.

  A bell rings out in the corridor. The last student to enter slams the door shut, a steady hush falling over the crowd, and now we’re trapped here. Together at last, for the next sixty minutes.

  He’s annoyed. Distracted. I’ve thrown him off his usual self assurance, the deep confidence which makes so many of the students sigh. Professor Kent throws one final irritated glance at me, clears his throat, and begins.

  Shakespearean Literature. It’s not really my thing. It’s not his thing either, but I’m not supposed to know that. I shouldn’t be able to read his moods the way I do. I took this class for one reason alone, and he’s currently gripping the lectern like he might crush it to splinters.

  His calm voice belies the tension rigid in his body as he introduces the class. Highlights key dates and assignments. Gives reading lists.

  Macbeth. Romeo and Juliet. The Taming of the Shrew.

  Yes, fine. Whatever. I’ll read whatever plays this man assigns. I’ll hand in all the assignments; do every scrap of suggested reading.

  Anything, to finally be near him again. To hear his deep, melodic voice. To feel the heavy weight of his gaze on me.

  I’m not as strong as Professor Kent. Or—or I am, but this is a different kind of strength. One I’ve been building up all summer with my mantras and self help manuals.

  I won’t hide from my feelings. Won’t pretend that I don’t feel his presence from fifty feet away; that I don’t forget to breathe whenever his gray eyes land on me.

  Professor Kent haunts my dreams.

  And I can’t stay away anymore.

  * * *

  “A moment, please, Miss Jennings.”

  His stern voice cuts through the din as the students file out of their rows, chatting about their next classes. I have a free period, but even if I didn’t there’s no way I’d be shuffling out that door. Not yet.

  I nod and grab my backpack, not daring to meet his eyes as I zip away my notebook and push to my feet. All the confidence that buoyed me here—it’s draining fast. Oh god, will he hate me for this?

  “Hi, professor.” My words come out in a whisper as I step up onto the stage. Professor Kent keeps his head bowed, his square jaw clenching as he packs away his notes. I shift my weight, biting my lip.

  He waits until the last student leaves the room. Until the door bangs shut, the sound echoing through the huge space. Then he turns to me, eyes molten, and hisses his question.

  “Avery. What are you doing here?”

  “Learning about Shakespeare,” I mumble. He jerks his head to the side, annoyed. He knows I don’t care about Shakespeare. That’s the problem, really—we can read each other entirely too well for professor and student.

  “Cut the crap.” I wince, and he scrubs a hand over his face. He’s agitated. More out of control than I’ve ever seen him. “I told you last year. One class was enough. This isn’t—this is a bad idea. Do you understand?”

  I scowl down at his chest. His shirt is perfectly pressed. Does he do that himself? Or does he have a wife or girlfriend who does it for him? Jealousy crawls through my stomach, sickly and slow.

  “I’m here to learn,” I grit out, eyes burning, my gaze fixed on that top button. It’s a lie, but all the pretty speeches I rehearsed, all the declarations I had planned—they’ve evaporated like fine mist. And besides, I don’t want to tell Professor Kent how much I love him when he’s being an ass. So there.

  “Forget it. I’m taking you to change your classes right now.” He grabs my elbow, then drops it just as fast. Like he’s been stung. I huff and cross my arms, walking ahead of him off the platform.

  “You can’t force me to switch.”

  “I can, actually. I can transfer you for bad behavior. I can fail you outright. You’re leaving, Avery.”

  I wrap my arms around my waist tighter. This is not what I’d imagined, all those long nights of planning over the summer. I knew he’d be surprised. Maybe taken aback.

  I never dreamed he would be cruel. And the pain of his harsh words—it cuts right through me. Right down to the bone. Tears sting my eyes, and before I can help it, my breath catches right here in the silent lecture hall.

  “Wait.” His command comes from behind me. I keep walking, my sandals slapping against the tiled floor. “Avery. Are you crying?”

  The door is heavy as I wrench it open. I keep my spare arm wrapped around my waist, holding my insides together.

  “Avery,” he says again, more desperate this time. I step through the doorway and into the corridor.

  It’s cooler out here. Shadowed. I duck my face and hurry far away from Professor Kent.

  Two

  Ellis

  Avery whips through the lecture hall doorway, disappearing into the corridor. I lunge after her, slamming the door open so hard that it bounces off the wall, but she’s already gone. Groups of students cluster together by the walls, laughing and joking, a few of them throwing me odd looks.

  It’s the beginning of the semester. They’re not burned out and exhausted yet. They still have that post-summer glow about them, their futures bright and exciting.

  All except Avery. Yeah, I dimmed her light pretty fast.

  I grit my teeth as I stride down the corridor, peering into empty classrooms and searching for a flash of light blonde hair. She wore it in a French braid today, the ends tickling her shoulders. She knows I like it like that. That cute little sundress, with the daisy print and the flippy skirt—was that for my benefit too? I stifle a groan, rubbing my jaw.

  No. It wasn’t for me. Thoughts like those—they’re why I can’t be around her. Why I can’t be trusted to teach Avery Jennings.

  I’d never keep my hands off her. Not for another semester.

  I don’t have the strength.

  Last year was the hardest year of my life. Of my brief but esteemed career. I only taught Avery in the first semester, but that one class was enough. I spent the rest of the year white-knuckling through until the summer.

  Until I could get some distance from her, some reprieve from her constant presence on campus. The flash of her bright hair. The tinkling sound of her laugh.

  Avery Jennings is my own personal torment. She haunts my every waking moment—and my dreams, too.

  I’ve never touched her. That’s my only saving grace. The only reason I don’t march myself to the Dean’s office and hand myself in. I’ve touched myself thinking of her, sure, jerked my cock until it’s raw, but I’ve never laid a finger on Avery Jennings.

  She knows I want to. She can read it on my face. And she goads me to do it, the little tease. I’d think she’s out to ruin me, that this is all a big joke to her, but her wide blue eyes are innocent. Guileless. She doesn’t understand the effect she has. How frayed my tether has become.

  I understand it. I know it all too damn well. And I know, in the dark, bitter depths of my soul, that if I teach her for another semester, there’s only one way it will end. In ruin. In madness. With my cock buried to the hilt inside her, and Avery crying out my name.

  Which leaves me no choice but to transfer her out of my class. She doesn’t even like Shakespeare, damn it.

  I push out of the English building doors and stride across campus. Energy crackles under my skin, keeps my muscles tensed and my jaw locked, but I don’t catch another glimpse of her.

  Hi, professor.

  She sounded so shy. Like she thought I might bite her sweet head off.

  And I did, didn’t I? I told her off. Threatened to fail her. God—I made her cry. Misery and self loathing surge up my throat, and I cough hard, burying my mouth in my sleeve.

  The sun is shining. The students are laughing. But I’m icy cold, down to my core. Hearing that little hitch in Avery’s breathing, her tiny sniffle—it’s going to haunt the rest of my days. It’ll play in a loop inside my head, driving me slowly mad.

  How Shakespearean.

  It doesn’t matter. I give myself a little shake, and turn my feet towards the Student Center. I’ll get her transferred to another class, then we can both move on. Put this behind us and somehow get through the next three years.

  Then she’ll be gone. We’ll both be safe from these dark urges, rippling and twisting inside me.

  It should be a comforting thought. But it aches. It leaves me hollow.

  I pound up the stone steps to the Student Center, pigeons fluttering out of my path. It doesn’t matter what I want.

  This is for Avery. I’d protect her from anything.

  Even myself.

  * * *

  “Please. Will you look again? I’ll take any other class. I’m begging you.”

  I recognize her soft voice straight away. She’s clutching the edge of the reception desk, pleading with the administrator. Her shoulders are rigid, bunched up around her ears, and her voice is thick with horror at what I just put her through.

  She’s begging to get away from me. My heart plummets down to the soles of my shoes.

  “I already looked.” The administrator sounds bored. It’s a guy in his twenties, probably a grad student picking up some work-study hours, and violence surges inside me when his eyes flick over her chest. He looks at her openly. Shamelessly.

  She’s mine.

  “Is there a problem here?” I stride across the lobby, coming to a halt beside Avery. I don’t look down at her—I don’t trust myself not to crumble under her gaze. To not drop to my knees and beg her forgiveness. She freezes when I’m near, the tension crackling off her like static, and fuck, I hate that I did this.

  I channel all those feelings at the administrator. He straightens, his forehead creasing as he taps at his keyboard. His brown hair is artfully tousled, sticky with gel, and if he looks at her again I might go for his throat.

  “Uh, no. No, sir. This girl wants to switch classes, but there are none available.”

  Shit.

  “Check again.”

  “But—”

  “Check again,” I growl, ignoring the faint whimper by my elbow. She might hate me, might fear me, but that’s all for the best. Even if it does crack my chest open and leave me raw.

  The administrator types quickly, clicks away at the screen, then spins the monitor around with a huff.

  “There’s nothing. See?”

  I lean over the counter, scowling at the class schedules. How can every class be full already? How can this be happening?

  “What about night classes?” I blurt, but Avery speaks up. Her voice is tight with emotion, but she doesn’t back down.

  “No. I’m not doing that, professor.” She sucks in a deep breath and fixes me with a glare. I meet her eyes, longing shuddering through me like a tidal wave. “You’ll just have to teach me.”

  “I—what?” The guy breaks off with a nervous laugh. His eyes flick between us, disbelieving.

  I step away from Avery. Put more distance between us.

  “It’s nothing,” I mutter, turning to face her. The girl who wrecks me with a single look. Who holds my whole life in her palm. “I expect you on time for lectures. Do you understand?” She was nearly late today. That would have thrown me off even worse. Given me no time to recover.

  Avery rolls her eyes, a pink flush creeping over her cheeks.

  “Don’t worry about me, professor.” Her voice is dull. “You won’t even know I’m there.”

  She walks out before I can point out the obvious. That if that were true, we’d have no problem at all. But I’m human, a man, and I’m drawn to her like no other person. Every minute in her presence is a test of my failing willpower.

  “Wow. You really hate her, huh?” The administrator grins, flicking his mouse.

  I turn on my heel and leave with a word.

  Three

  Avery

  I’ve made such a terrible mistake.

  As soon as I got home on that first day of classes, I stomped upstairs, snatched up all my self help books, and threw them in the trash can. Leona and Paige, my roommates, came poking their heads into my bedroom, fussing over my flushed cheeks and watery eyes.

  “Oh, Ave!” Paige stumbled into my room, wrapping me in her tiny arms. Paige is a ballet dancer, so small that she looks like she might blow away. “It didn’t go well with the professor?”

  I shook my head, teeth gritted. “He didn’t want me there. He tried to force me to transfer. Threatened to fail me if I didn’t.”

  Paige gasped, shocked, but Leona cocked her head where she leaned against the door frame.

  “It bothered him, then.” I shrugged. She smirked. “So he does care.”

  I can’t think of it like that. I spent the whole summer break kidding myself that Professor Kent and I really had something. All those mantras about going after what I want, all those long, hot summer nights slipping my hand into my pajama shorts and thinking of him…

  It’s humiliating.

  How did I get this so wrong?

  The second class, I’m better prepared. I know now how he’ll look at me: like a nuisance. Like a chore he has to deal with. So I arrive ten minutes early, armed with a giant takeout iced coffee, and climb all the way to the back row. Professor Kent isn’t here yet—I hope he never comes, the jerk—but when he arrives, he’ll have no reason to even notice me.

  I tug my black baseball cap down over my eyes, slink low into my seat, and lever open my laptop.

 

1 2 3 4