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Dean rented a room at my place, too, remember?
I roll my eyes as I hustle across campus, staring down at my phone and trying to formulate a response. This is nothing like his situation with Dean.
First of all, I’m not going to be fucking my tenant.
Second of all, I won’t be settling down or falling in love with anyone. That business is for my brothers, not me. Everyone knows that.
Adam tried to fake date his now pregnant wife and look how that turned out for him.
As for Caleb, he did his best to resist the much younger man living in his rental unit, but when his wife jumped on board, the three of them couldn’t resist living in matrimonial bliss together.
And me? I’m married to my work, and I like it that way. I don’t date to marry, and I never have. The idea of marriage and children is repulsive to me, so I’m content with my life the way it is.
Unlike you, I know how to keep my dick in my pants.
That’s why you’re the boring twin.
No, just the smarter one.
I had two sets of lips wrapped around my dick last night. So you tell me who’s smarter.
Please keep that to yourself.
I have pictures if you want to see them.
I’ll block you.
He doesn’t text back—thank God—so I pocket my phone and continue my walk across campus. Sadie is in my class today, but after that, I have a meeting with the Stratford Project. I haven’t stopped thinking about it all week. It’s the only thing distracting me from the fact that I have a gorgeous woman living under my roof, one who apparently has an affinity for punishment and praise.
This living situation might be harder than I thought.
When I reach the classroom, the students are filling in, and I realize I’m not as early as I normally am. In fact, class is due to start in two minutes, and I’m not nearly prepared enough.
On top of that, Sadie’s usual seat is empty.
Frowning to myself, I put my laptop away and pull out my class notes along with the reading material for today.
When I start my lecture, she’s still not here. At first, I begin to worry. Maybe she had an accident on the way in, or something happened at the house.
But roughly fifteen minutes into the class, the doors open, and she slinks in with a wince, avoiding eye contact as if that somehow saves her from my scrutiny. I pause my lecture to clear my throat.
“Thanks for joining us, Miss Green,” I mutter under my breath.
“Sorry I’m late,” she replies.
“Class starts promptly at ten. Is that a problem for you?”
As she takes a seat, she grimaces at me. “No. At least I didn’t throw up this time.”
“You have a response for everything, don’t you?” I say.
“You have a complaint for everything, don’t you?” she replies, echoing my words back to me.
The other students in the classroom become blurry in my periphery as I glare at her.
She is out of line. She is always out of line.
“Please stay after class, Miss Green,” I mutter indignantly.
