“Yes!” she snapped. “I did. Because it’s true. Take one word about feelings or emotions and you’ll be able to find a theme for it in The Great Gatsby. I promise you.” When I did nothing but gape at her, she arched a curious brow. “You do have emotions, don’t you?”
“I’m having some right now.” And they were totally freaking me out, but fuck, I really liked watching her perfect, too-pure mouth forming dirty words. It was like some awful, humiliating sickness. I wanted her to do it again.
Say bitch again. Please. Just one more time.
But she didn’t.
“Good.” Her stare was direct. Knowing. “Let me guess. You’re feeling frustration. Anger. Hate.”
“Uh...” I lifted an eyebrow. Close, but not quite.
“That’s perfectly fine. You can use those. Make them bond with someone in this book and tell me all about it.”
As her words sank in, I frowned. Something hot and seeking inside me melted. Defeat. “How?” I asked quietly, feeling like a complete idiot because I still didn’t understand, would probably never understand.
She blinked. “What do you mean how? If you’re really frustrated, mad, and full of hatred for me right now, write about it, explain why, then explain where someone in the story shares these same sentiments and why they experienced them. Make the two one and the same. Bash me all you want on paper, just show me that correlation I want to see, and I will give you a better score.”
I snorted and shook my head. No way. No effing way. “I just don’t get why I have to write about my fucking feelings?”
She let out a frustrated growl, which only turned me on more. “So I know you understand the story and what happened.”
“Well, I didn’t understand the story. Goddamn it. I told you. I have nothing in common with—”
“Yes, you do!” she roared back, smacking both her palms on top of her desk before pushing to her feet to glare at me. “Everyone on the planet has at least one thing in common with at least one character in that story. Now go prove it!”
Seething, I just glared at her.
She closed her eyes and rubbed at the center of her head. “Okay,” she mumbled as if giving up the fight.
When she licked her lips, I almost lost it. Christ, this was getting embarrassing. Her mouth was going to be my downfall. If she asked me, I would probably take her on her nice, clean desk right then and there. I could so clearly see myself tossing her down, gathering up her frumpy skirt, wedging myself between her thighs and just hammering it home.
I also wanted to wrap my hands around her throat and strangle her for making me feel like such an idiot.
It probably wasn’t healthy to have two such drastic emotions roaring through me at the same moment, but there they were. Absolutely roaring.
The good professor sank back into her chair. “How about this? I’ll make your paper as easy as I can on you.”
Yeah, just cater to the idiot. I glanced away, my jaw knitting with mutiny. “I don’t need—” Damn it. Yes, I did. It’s why I was here, because I needed help.
“I’ll give you a theme to use. So...let’s pick a theme. Any theme.” Her eyes opened, the lines in her skin around them deeper than before. “Greed? Power?” She lifted her hands as she shrugged. “I don’t know. What do you feel whenever you play football?”
My face heated with outrage. “Oh, thanks a lot. I like how you mentioned my football right after saying greed and power.” Leaning ominously over the desk to glare, I poked my index finger into my own chest. “You think my entire reason for being on this campus is just some greedy, selfish power trip? Well, you don’t know shit, lady. You don’t know me at all.”
She pulled back in her chair, her green eyes huge as they blinked rapidly. Finally, she glanced away and her tongue darted out to wet her lips. Yeah, yeah, the move made my dick pulse with gluttonous need, but I was too pissed to care. At the moment, I hated what she was doing to my ego more.
In a much calmer voice, she murmured, “I’m sorry if I offended you,” which totally shocked the shit out of me and made me back up a step to sink into my chair and gawk back. “But I honestly have no idea what football is to you. So, why don’t you tell me? One word. What is football...to you?”
My breathing came hard as I glanced down at my fisted hand in my lap. “Desperation,” I said without meaning to.
Shit. Why had I said that? It was the honest-to-God truth. But why would I confess it? To her?
When I dared to glance up, I was surprised to find she looked equally startled. Her mouth had fallen open. “I…” She blinked, her eyes wide with shock. “I wasn’t expecting you to say that.”
Turning my gaze away, I ripped my hand through my hair and cursed silently. “Yeah, well, I didn’t mean to.”
Amusement lined her voice. “And yet I have a feeling it’s the most honest thing you’ve said since you stepped inside my office.”
My glower swerved back to her, but she merely lifted that damn challenging eyebrow of hers, daring me to contradict her.