Hot Dirty Love (Copperline #5) (4 page)

Drew and Denny’s buddy Trent seemed to think we could take it all the way. Before long, we had a twice weekly gig every Friday and Saturday night at the Copperline Bar outside of Butte.

If I had thought I was getting lucky playing the bass in high school band, I hadn’t seen anything like the Copperline Bar. Girls fucking loved us. They worshipped us. They would come at us in droves wanting to kiss, bite, lick, suck, fuck, and any combination therein.

Not that life was always rainbows and butterflies. We had our shit times, too. Like when Trent overdosed. That sucked. It almost broke us apart.

But for the most part, things were going really well. Drew found a house in Ophir, a small town just outside of Butte. It was a great big fucker that had enough room for all four of us in the band with plenty of space for massive after parties that sorta resembled Dante’s inferno at times. Life was rockin’.

Bangin’ even.

But then, one by one, the guys started getting whipped.

Drew was first, although that chick was a royal bitch. Vicious. A man-eater. In bed and out, and I can say that with all honesty because I got funky with the two of them once. She was hot, but kinda scary-hot, and her bitch vibe never really did fade away, even when she was being spit-roasted. She was always very much in control and kept him on a tight leash.

Then our friend Brannon fell, but his girl was actually pretty perfect. Even I couldn’t fault him for that. I ‘naged with them, too, which was a totally different experience from Drew and Maggie. Sophie was a goddess and so incredibly nice she about gave a person cavities just talking to her.

Denny went not long after Brannon. I’d thought for some time that my wanker of a friend was hung up on someone, and as it turned out he was… our dead buddy Trent’s girlfriend, Felicity. Turns out, Denny had his eye on “Fliss” long before she’d even met Trent, but didn’t tell anyone. Not even her. Then Trent’s addiction caused all kinds of shit, complicating things even more.

But as bad as she and Trent were together once he started hitting the drugs pretty hard, she was that good for Denny when they finally caved. She kept him in the states, too, by marrying the wanker.

Cody, though, was made for love. The guy was born with visions of hearts and flowers dancing in his head. His no drama, “Leave it to Beaver” family had him patiently waiting for just the right chick, and, when he met Ilsa, he was
so
gone. He had never whored out like the rest of us. Not that he didn’t whore out at all, but he was a saint compared to me. Yet, even he became almost a new person when Cupid struck. It was like he existed
just for her
.

Like, what the actual fuck?

And then, out of the blue, that nasty Maggie bitch left Drew, and he hooked up immediately with one of his employees. Owner of a tattoo shop, he totally dipped his pen in the company ink, yet somehow his rebound sex turned into something rather spectacular. Something that actually even had me feeling a little envious. I even admitted it, more or less, to Drew one night in a moment of melancholy weakness.

He had been under the impression that Raven and him were just sex, purely physical. That was complete and total bullshit, though. If she’d only been looking for sex, she’d have fucked me one of the gazillion times I tried to get her to instead of waiting for him. Yet, once he was cut loose from bitchface, Raven didn’t waste a second. Maggie’s perfume likely still lingered in the room, and Raven was all over his cock.

I should have been glad when Raven started running scared. I could have had my best friend as my wingman once again, reliving the glory days of our small-town fame. For fuck’s sake, the thought of limiting myself to one pussy for the rest of my life about gave me hives.

Yet I got all sentimental and shit instead. It was pure stupidity, but I sat there like a tool telling him that he had way more than he realized.

And now I was paying for it because they were all so fuckin’ happy.

I was the last man standing. The Mofos’ big fuckin’ house that used to hold so much life and debauchery suddenly felt so very empty and sad. The life I loved was changing right before my eyes. This unsettled me. A sense of dread and melancholy soured my gut.

We still played at the Copperline, but now only once a week. It wasn’t because we’d become less popular, but rather that the lives of my band mates had changed. Marriages. Kids. They were all turning into fucking responsible adults.

So, as I dragged myself into my first class of the semester, I did it wondering more than ever why I hadn’t gone off to make the big bucks of petroleum engineering when I had the chance.

First class done. Then the second. Now onto the third. The same practiced spiel.
Blah blah blah… I’m Professor Dorsey here to teach you about the wonderful world of Pressure Transient Analysis, but you can call me Professor Badass.

My class would chuckle, and I’d start taking them through the syllabus. I wasn’t an easy A. I knew the responsibly of what I was teaching. When things go wrong with a rig, people die, so I was stern and demanding. I was responsible in this one single place in life.

I just didn’t want to be.

Because of that, I kind of resented it. I felt stuck here, trapped in these ruts that had formed, deep and unchanging, pushing me through the same tired routine.

And worst of all, in this world I couldn’t be the manwhore I was born to be.

There was always temptation. Fluttering eyelashes. Fingertips toying with low necklines. Short skirts and tight shirts. I coulda had any of them with a snap of my fingers. Bent over my desk or up against the wall. Maybe even up against the whiteboard with the projector on like a spotlight.

Half the reason I whored out so bad at the Copperline was because I had all the damn demons to release after class.

Because I wasn’t about to fuck my students. No matter how hot some of them were. Hell, even some of the dudes if I was honest with myself, although I’d never admit that to anyone else.

As I wrote my name on the whiteboard for the third time that day, I heard a commotion at the back of the room. A latecomer stumbling in, her backpack slipping off her shoulder, then whacking the table beside her with a bang.

“Sorry,” I heard her whisper.

“No problem,” the guy at that table replied.

When I turned around, she had found her way to the front of the room and sat perched in a chair. Nothing too spectacular, although I couldn’t see her well with the ballcap she wore pulled low over her eyes. She wore frayed cutoff shorts that showcased some pretty fucking nice legs, though, and a silver toe ring shone in the sunlight cascading through the windows. A little bit of tantalizing sparkle.

Fucker
, I berated myself. Nice legs didn’t mean she was hot everywhere. She wore a baggy hoodie that hid her entire upper half, and her hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail tucked through the back of her ballcap.

Oh, but what I could do with that ponytail
…

Dammit
.

I don’t fuck students. I don’t fuck students…

She continued to dig through her pack. Unloading the contents onto the narrow table in the front row as she searched, quietly at first, but then growing louder and more disruptive. She precariously piled more and more on her desk before she bumped the stack with her elbow. The whole pile hit the floor with a crash followed by a quiet “
shit
” as she leapt from her seat to start picking them up.

I was so incredibly pissy already that any patience I had for shit like this was long gone. Stepping in front of her, standing over her, I stared down in disapproval. After a moment, I could see her tense as she took note of me.

“I’m sorry,” she softly whispered, still not looking up as she struggled to gather her books. “I can’t find the book for this class.”

I reached down to pluck one from her collection, holding it out.

“This one,” I said. Truthfully, I was a little grouchier than I probably had any right to be, but I felt like being a dick.

“Thank you,” she whispered, shoving her remaining books back into her pack. She reached out to take the one I held, looking up to gaze at me in sheepish embarrassment. A flush colored her cheeks. That was evident even under the ballcap she wore. Her full lips were pressed into a frown.

But shock and recognition hit her features as she finally looked up at me. She gasped.

She froze.

I froze.

Holy fuck.

Those same beautiful, wide brown eyes.

Eyes that had gazed up at me a month before while she sucked me off. That had stared into mine as she came all over my cock.

“Oh my God," she whispered.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I don’t fuck students…

I don’t fuck students…

I don’t fuck students…

My little mantra hit high speed. It whirled through my mind. It squeaked like Alvin and the motherfuckin’ Chipmunks.

She’d been so good. Cole had been so good. That night had been fucking amazing. The best sex I’d had in forever. Everything since had paled in comparison, feeding into my overall dissatisfaction.

Shit. Damn.

I don’t fuck students…

…but I had totally fucked this one.

She swallowed hard, and I swear I felt her throat close around my dick again. I thought for a second I even heard her moan as it all came rushing back to her, too.

Fuck.

Struck momentarily dumb, I finally wrenched my gaze away to look around the room at the rest of the class. A few looked a bit terrified, as though I was going to be a complete hardass teacher. A few looked like they were trying to ignore me being a dick to a student. A few seemed to find it all very amusing.

None really seemed to click that this girl and I had a history.

Without looking at her again, I turned back to the board to point at where I’d written my name. My mind on autopilot as I spoke.

“Okay, everyone, I’m Professor Dorsey here to teach you about the wonderful world of Pressure Transient Analysis, but you can call me Professor Badass.”

Chuckles sounded around the room, and the general sense of awkwardness slowly began to fade as the daily grind took hold. Mechanically, I took them through the basics on the syllabus, my expectations and their responsibilities. My scoring rubric. What I hoped they’d glean from this class and how it would help them in the future.

And it was all one-hundred-percent rehearsed and perfunctory.

The whole time, my little brunette sat in the front row with her eyes downcast. Clearly attempting to be unobtrusive, even though, front and center like she was, I had a hard time concentrating. I almost dismissed the class without taking attendance, which would have sucked ass since I needed that information to turn into student affairs, and the student affairs officer already had it in for me.

I began to read off the names, looking around the room to see who was who, realizing that the one mystery I had from that night was about to be solved.