Though a couple of my fingers were taped together because I’d banged them up in the scrimmage this weekend, I drummed them ceaselessly on my thigh. I couldn’t take my gaze off that closed briefcase. With blood rushing through my veins like a speeding train, I just couldn’t brush off this crazy, antsy, panicked feeling flooding me.
Halfway through class it suddenly struck me what I’d done. I’d let a woman I totally disliked into my innermost thoughts. Jesus, I’d spilled everything to her, all my fears and insecurities, my deepest wishes and dreams, my fucked-up childhood and all my siblings’ problems, too. And my biggest secret ever.
Now she’d know how many times I’d had to stay home to babysit while my mother had left us to get drunk and stoned before she came home to fuck some stranger as loudly as possible on our couch. She’d know how many times I’d gotten the shit beat out of me in school for being a member of the Gamble family. She’d know exactly how poorly everyone in my hometown really thought of me. She’d know...she’d know...
Holy shit, she could break me with all the fodder I’d just stapled neatly together and hand-delivered to her. What the hell had I done? What had I been thinking to write all that shit? As soon as I’d started typing, though, purposely going overboard on my thoughts and feeling and home life, I just kept on, unable to stop. The words had bled out of me.
But now... Now...
A cold sweat leaked down the center of my back. I didn’t hear a word of the discussion going on around me. I could only stare in bleak doom at that closed black briefcase.
As soon as she dismissed class an hour and a half later, I shot out of my seat, determined to rectify this. Darting past other students to catch her before she left, I found her still at her desk. She’d barely re-opened her case to set her notes inside when I reached her.
“Dr. Kavanagh?” Totally out of breath, my voice caused her to start. She looked up, and I held out my hand impatiently. “I just remembered something I forgot to put on that paper. Can I have it back?”
With a lift of her eyebrows, she taunted, “I don’t know. Can you?”
I barely refrained from rolling my eyes. The woman unknowingly had the power to crush me into nothing sitting innocuously in her briefcase, and she wanted to stand around, correcting my fucking grammar? It figured.
“May I?” I ground out obligingly. I’d play her way as long as I got that paper back.
“I’m sorry, but no.” Sending me a tight smile, she slapped her briefcase closed, the sound echoing through my chest and tightening my muscles with dread.
No? What did she mean by no?
As she grasped the handle and pulled the case off her desk to leave the room, I dogged her steps. But she didn’t seem to notice, so I dodged around her to block the exit. “But I forgot to proofread it. Give me another few hours, and I’ll have it right back to you. I swear.”
She shook her head. “It’s too late, Mr. Gamble. I already gave you more opportunity to fix your grade than anyone else in the class. This is the last time I’ll accept anything for this assignment.” She began to walk around me.
“Then I’ll take the original D,” I burst out, beyond frantic. Shit, what was I saying? I couldn’t accept the original D. But that had to be better than her reading my paper.
Dr. Kavanagh slowed to a stop. When she lifted her face to arch that damn eyebrow of hers again, I caved, ready to get down on both knees, begging.
“I was angry, okay.” The rasp in my voice revealed my desperation, and I hated that. But I kept pleading, needing her to give up my paper more than I needed my next breath. “You dared me, and I responded out of some kind of knee-jerk reaction. I didn’t mean to write all that shit. So...” I held out my hand cautiously, as if approaching a cornered and wounded, wild animal. “Just let me redo it. One last time. Please.”
She gaped at me, her green eyes wide with shock. Glancing at my seeking palm, she said, “Now I really feel compelled to keep this essay, just to see what you’ve written.”
“Damn it,” I growled. “Give me back the fucking paper. It’s mine!”
Without thinking, I reached for her briefcase. She skipped away, jerking it out of my reach. “Mr. Gamble! What do you think you’re doing?”
Realizing what I’d just done, I pulled back, only to lift my trembling fingers to my mouth and pinch my lips together, keeping in the instinctive urge to apologize.
But, Jesus. What the hell was I thinking? To tackle her just outside a classroom while hundreds of students—witnesses—streamed past?
I shook my head and closed my eyes, pulling my scattered wits back in around me. Get it together, Gamble.
When I opened my lashes, she still stared at me with wide, wary eyes. A hint of fear stirred in those green depths, and I experienced a profound regret I couldn’t even name. I opened my mouth to apologize, but once again, I stopped myself.
“Whatever,” I murmured, sliding a step away.