Madison: See you then.
I’ll be cutting it close, but I’m placing all my bets on Oliver being able to help me out of this mess. Professor Fraser is my advisor after all.
Instead of attempting to continue working on my coursework, I find a soft patch of grass in the courtyard. Under the shade of the tree, I lean back against my bag and play an audiobook through my headphones. Of all the things I should be doing, all the texts I should probably be reading for my classes, I’ll never give up my love for romance novels. Even if they have made my expectations for love sky high.
Maybe that’s why I had fallen for Oliver in the first place. The forbidden nature of the relationship, the way he was willing to risk it all to be with me. Until yesterday, when he showed me that wasn’t actually the case. The realisation that he wasn’t like the men in the romance novels made the whole thing feel worse than it really was.
I know I can’t turn to him on a personal level, but I’m hoping I can count on him on a professional one.
His door is open as I approach his office. Before I enter, I take in the sight of him. Leaning back in his chair, his arms stretch behind his head. The desire to crawl under his desk and taste him again surges through me. Hot lava settles between my legs. Fuck. Why does the man have to look so good in a shirt?
“Professor Fraser.”
He looks up from his laptop, the corner of his lip turns up in a smirk.
“Madison, I’m glad to see you.” One hand reaches between his legs. Another eruption rushes through me.
I push the door closed, stumbling over my words, fighting for my academic brain to stay in control of the situation.
“I need help,” I mumble, avoiding his gaze.
“Come here.”
He stands. His hard length tight against the zipper of his pants, drawing my attention to his body. Reaching behind his back, he twists the blinds closed.
“I’m sorry about yesterday. In the library.”
“Don’t be.” I shake my head. “It was my fault. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
My traitorous body takes a step towards him, my fingers ache to reach forward and stroke his length. But I am not here for sex. I let out a slow, shaky breath, urging the heat inside me to cool.
“I have an assignment.” I blurt out the words in one quick gasp. They shock sense into us both. As though a security wall has shot up between us, we step away from each other.
The bridge of Oliver’s nose scrunches. Reaching down, he adjusts himself before stepping to sit back down. I take the seat on the other side of the desk, pushing it back so I can’t reach him, even if I wanted to.
“Do you need help interpreting the question?”
“No,” I shake my head. “It’s your question about perspective in non-fiction writing. I need an extension.”
A short puff of air escapes his mouth. He leans to one side, running a hand through his hair.
“I can’t do that.”
“I had a migraine yesterday.” I try to make him understand. “That’s why I needed you in the library, and it’s why I need your help now. Only, I need your academic help. I couldn’t see, couldn’t think. I took medication that made me sleep all afternoon and my brain still feels as though the aerial isn’t connected properly. I can’t focus and I only have 80 words written.”
His shoulders sink. Dropping his head, he closes his eyes and presses fingers into his temples. He looks back at me with a stony expression, his mouth forming a thin straight line.
“I’m sorry.”
Holding my breath, I wait for him to continue.
“I’m sorry about yesterday in the library. If I knew you needed help, I would have acted differently. Dausset is suspicious, but I would have figured something out. But I can’t give you an extension.”
My eardrums throb. “Why not?”
“There’s a formal process. It’s too late now.”
The air in my lungs turns to lead. If I miss an assignment, I risk losing my scholarship.
