Getting Schooled (The Wright Brothers Book 1) (3 page)

She had her head down, scribbling away in a notebook. Skinny purple headphone cords disappeared behind her braids, and I had to stop myself from staring too hard at her round, plump titties, filling out the front of a royal blue Blakewood tee shirt, with a v-neck.

I cleared my throat, and her head popped up, eyes wide as she slammed her notebook shut and yanked her earbuds out. “Can I help you?” she asked, sounding a little flustered as she stood up.

It hadn’t been quite a week yet since we bumped into each other, and I hadn’t seen her since then. Today was Thursday – she would be in the lecture hall tomorrow, but somehow this was a little different. Just me and her, relative privacy… why the hell did she have to be this fine?

“Uhh,” I started, shaking my head a little to clear away filthy thoughts about my hands and her hips. “I was looking for Professor Bryant.”

“She’s not here.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I can see that. Can you tell me when she’ll be back?”

“Her office hours are posted there on the door for convenience.”

“That’s not what I asked you.”

The princess crossed her arms over her chest, which didn’t do anything except push her titties together, making it harder not to stare. “You’re the guy that bumped into me the other day, aren’t you?”

I smirked. “Nah. You bumped into
me
, but I can see how you might think otherwise.”

She rolled her eyes, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like
“this motherfucker”
under her breath before she turned her gaze back toward me, her expression completely disinterested. “What do you want?”

“To talk to the professor.”

“About?”

“My grade on this paper.”

A nasty little grin spread across her face. “What’s wrong? Did you fail?”

“
No.
” I scoffed, shook my head. “I didn’t fail, I’m just not happy with the grade. When will Professor Bryant be available to talk about it?”

“She won’t. Scores are final.”

Narrowing my eyes, I stepped forward into the office. “I want to hear that for myself. When will she be available today?”

“It’s a waste of both of your time. She’s not changing the grade.”

I swallowed hard, feeling the patience ooze out of me more with every second that passed. “When can
I
talk to
her
?”

“Professor Bryant doesn’t have office hours on Thursdays.”

Any possible hint of amusement drained off of my face, and went onto hers. The princess’s expression was high-fructose corn syrup sweet, and her eyes were sparkling with barely constrained laughter.

I blew out a deep breath, with a dry chuckle as I shook my head. “You couldn’t have said that shit at first, huh?”

She shrugged, and then stepped around the desk, strutting in my direction. I watched her ass as she passed, then brought my eyes back up as I turned around. She stopped at the door, pointing to a laminated sheet taped to it. “Like I said – her schedule is posted on the door. Can you see it here? With OFFICE HOURS right here across the top, in these big ass letters?”

“Man, whatever,” I said, tossing my printed copy of the paper onto Professor Bryant’s desk. I strolled out, stopping right in front of the princess. I breathed in, and whatever perfume she was wearing, some mixture of jasmine and sandalwood and vanilla, made me damn near forget what I was about to say. “Just tell her Jason stopped by, if you’re seeing her today, aiight?”

She had her back pressed to the door, staring up with this bored expression. “Aiight,
Jason.
” She sidled out of her position between me and door, gripping the knob in her hand as I stepped back, into the hall. “But just so you know… grades are final.”

I didn’t even have a chance to respond before she closed the door in my face.

three.

I closed the door, and locked it too, for good measure. I needed that strong separation between me and “Jason”. I was hoping more than anything to shut off his presence, his smell, the inexplicable heat between my legs that had grown hotter and hotter as we went back and forth.

It didn’t work.

I hung my head, pressing my back to the door. It was so very,
very
like me to be turned on by a rude ass
.
It wasn’t just a one-time thing anymore, so calling him an asshole last week felt pretty damned accurate now. I put my thumbs to my nipples, trying to calm them down, and hoping that my strategically crossed arms had hidden them from Mr. Stick-Up-His-Butt’s view.

The last thing I needed was one of my mother’s students thinking he had some kind of effect on me. Just because his skin was mouthwatering like roasted pecans, and his chiseled features gave me GQ vibes, and that neatly-groomed-but-scruffy thing he had going in the facial hair area was swoon-worthy, and his biceps were down right lickable, and—
shit.

Ugggggh!

Why did he have to be so insolent and fine? Two qualities that I generally avoided in men, because they were shamefully irresistible. But,
haha,
lucky me. Good old Jason was undoubtedly the author of one of the papers I suffered through, since he was up here complaining about his grade.

That
was a turn off to end them all.

With a smirk on my face, I marched over to my mother’s desk and snatched up the printed copy of his paper, flipping to the end to read the grade.

82.5.

Wait… what?

I read those numbers again, to make sure I was seeing them right, and there it was again – nowhere near a failing grade. I skimmed over the comment my mother had left at the end, then moved my eyes to the top of the page to read a little of the content.

Holy shit.

The pages fluttered out of my hands. I didn’t need them to know what words would come next, because I’d read
that
paper so many times, for my own enjoyment, that I practically knew the words from memory.

The first page had landed face up on the desk, right in front of me. The program that I used to critique papers removed the title block, to help preserve student anonymity. All I ever (usually) knew was the student’s last name and first initial, and at a black college, come on. We had so many Johnsons and Browns and Washingtons and Jacksons that knowing someone’s surname and first initial really didn’t mean you knew shit.

But I
did
know something.

I knew now that the J. Wright I was scholastically crushing on was the same dude who’d had the nerve to be pissy with me after we bumped into
each other
. The same one who’d gotten an attitude when I answered his question, on my damn day off. I wasn’t even supposed to be here today – I was doing mama a personal favor since she was without her car.

“
It’ll only take ten minutes Reesie, promise.”

Yeah.

And those ten minutes had cost me the blissful ignorance that the refined, progressive, possibly loc’d, Nubian intellectual I’d imagined was actually some discourteous mofo named
Jason.

And… I wasn’t turned off by it.

No, no, the exact opposite.

Another, less insane girl might have considered this a waste of appeal. Handsome and smart were universally appealing, but being a jerk was usually a deal breaker.

Not your silly ass though, Reese.

Nope.

That little hint of savagery was like catnip to me. Our little exchange, paired with his gorgeous face, already had me hot and bothered, but
now
? Knowing that he read actual books – more than just for class. He
had
to, to have a worldview like that – and understood them well enough to make cogent literary and social criticisms about those books?

It brought the teensy, tiniest little tear to my eye. Because
this
man was the friggin’ holy trifecta. I mean, holy trinity. I mean…
shit.

He had my head all messed up.

- & -

“Reesie, were you rude to one of my students?”

My eyes went wide, and stayed glued to the road in front of me as I pulled to a stop at a red light.

Goddamnit he snitched on me… excellent move.

“Mommy whhhaaa? Who would tell you such a thing?”

She sucked her teeth. “So you were then.”

I cringed a little, turning my head to stare out the driver side window as I waited for the light to change. My mother didn’t say anything else, but that silence weighed on me more than words, and she knew it. I peeked up at the light –
still red, damn! –
and then over at her, to see her phone in her hands.

Guess
Jason
had put those writing skills into an email, which I would pay good money to read. He didn’t even know Corey Jefferson and he’d gutted that man’s entire literary existence. Was it bad that I got a little bit aroused thinking about how he’d probably filleted me in the email to my mother?

“It really wasn’t anything that big, I promise.”

I glanced up at her, noting the censure in her eyes before I turned back to the road, just in time for the light to turn.

“That’s interesting, because based on this email…”

“What does it say?” I asked, trying not to sound too giddy.

“Well, Mr. Wright is rather wordy – part of the problem with his paper – so how about I just give you the highlights? “
Earlier this afternoon, I had a startlingly negative interaction with the young woman working as your grad assistant. She was flippant, confrontational, and offensive, all in response to a humble, respectful request.
””

I rolled my eyes.
Startlingly negative? Flippant? Offensive? Humble, respectful request?
He was laying it on as thick as unstirred natural peanut butter.

“
When asking when I could get in contact with you, her response was unhelpful, and as we continued interfacing, progressed to openly vicious. She insulted my intellect when I mentioned wanting to speak with you about my grade, and I can’t remember the exact words, but I believe it was something along the lines of,
“
Why, dumbass? What are you even doing here? Your stupid ass failed, didn’t you?”
”

“Okay
wait
a minute,” I giggled, barely keeping myself from breaking into a howl of laughter. “I did
not
say that to him, oh my God!”

“I don’t know Reesie, sounds like you…”

“
Mommy!
”

“Hmm?”

“You really believe I said that to some random student?!”

“Well…”

“I would
never—
”

“Oh calm down little girl,” my mother laughed, and I glanced over at her again as I made a right turn. “I know you didn’t say those
exact
words… but I also know
you
. Mr. Wright is exaggerating, I’m sure, but I want you tell me why you’re arguing with the students.”

“
He started it
,” I mumbled under my breath, instantly feeling sixteen instead of twenty-six. “I was in there getting those email addresses and stuff for you when he came in, saying he was looking for you. I told him your office hours were printed on the door, and he got smart with me!”

“And what did you do?”

Her voice was stern, and internally, I groaned. “I got smart back. But you have to understand, he bumped into me last week, and totally acted like it was my fault!”

“So that’s a good reason for you to forget that you
work
for the university, and should remain professional when you’re interacting there?”

I sighed. “No. It’s not.”

“Mmhmm. Maybe you should have thought about that, because getting reported to your boss, or your boss’s boss, isn’t going to look good when you need references. It’s a hurdle to climb. You’re a grown woman, I shouldn’t have to clean up your messes anymore. And trying to explain to my department chair why you shouldn’t get a formal reprimand, or worse, be fired, is exactly that – a mess.”

“No,” I said immediately, shaking my head even though my eyes were on the road. “You don’t have to do that mama. You did enough by convincing them that I was a worthy hire, that it wasn’t nepotism with me being your daughter. I don’t want them looking at you any kind of way. I didn’t have to go there with him, so if a formal reprimand is what would happen to anybody else, that’s just the punishment I’ll have to take.”

I was right on the edge of tears, but swallowed them, even though they were sharp and bitter in my throat. Emailing my mother – though I doubt he knew
that
part, just that she was my boss – with that exaggerated account of what happened was one thing. Reporting me to the department was a whole other, fucked up thing. Still… I could have kept my mouth shut.

“I appreciate the maturity in that, Reesie. The only reprimand you’re getting this time is a verbal one, from me.
Play nice with the students
, no matter how much they work your nerves. You want to be in front of a classroom full of adults someday, you’re going to have to learn. Mr. Wright could have easily forwarded this to Dr. Bradley too. Lucky for you, he didn’t.”

Relief swept through me as I pulled to the last traffic light before I would turn into the parking lot of our destination. I leaned forward, briefly touching my head to the steering wheel before I sat back with a sigh. “Point taken.”

“Mmmhmm. I’m honestly surprised at you. I mean, I know you have that spitfire streak in you from your father, but at work? With a student?”

I blew out another sigh, shaking my head. “I surprised myself. He just… brought something out of me.”

My mother chuckled. “Uh huh. I just bet he did.”

“And what does
that
mean?!” I gasped.

“Little girl I’ve seen Jason Wright, and I’m not blind! And I’ve seen you fawn over his writing. A
90
on that paper? Seriously?”

I shrugged. “I thought it was good.”

“It wasn’t 90 points worth of good. You can’t let your little punany grade papers Reesie.”

I burst out laughing. “Seriously, mommy?”

“As a heart attack.”

I was still grinning as I pulled into a parking space and turned off my car. “I didn’t even know who he was to connect the face to the paper.”

“Whatever you say. And you
fought
with him too? That’s another thing you get from your father. Always want to fight with somebody, because afterward...” She trailed off, with a dreamy look on her face and made a noise in her throat. “I definitely miss that
afterward
part.”

“
Ewwww
,” I said, even though I grinned. “Don’t nobody want to think about you and my daddy, and don’t nobody want to think about some young behind college boy.”

My mother smirked. “Jason Wright is a non-traditional student, my dear. He’s
twenty-eight
.”

I almost made the same sound in my throat that she’d made a few moments earlier.
No wonder
he was so fine. He was a grown man, with that fuzzy-sexy five o’clock shadow, and hands that were big, and probably a little rough, and he was so…
sturdy
when we bumped into each other, that he hadn’t even moved. And despite my visceral, reflexive reaction to his mechanic’s shirt, he smelled clean enough to wrap myself in and snuggle up.
And…
a man who knew how to make a car purr could probably make a kitty purr too.

Don’t you have a boyfriend?

“Huh?”

“I said are you ready to go in?” My mother called from the other side of the car. She was already out, standing beside the car and peeking in at me.