Page 8 of Silk Sheets

This song was special to her because she fell pregnant with me when she was only sixteen. Her parents neglected her out of anger and disappointment and refused to celebrateher seventeenth birthday with her—and every birthday that followed. So, instead, she celebrated the day with me.

On my seventeenth birthday she played this song and when it was time to blow out the candles, I let her sit in my chair and do it instead.

It meant more to her than it did to me, and I’d give anything to see the strong woman—my mother—be the happiest version of herself. She was brave enough to raise me and take responsibility, never once making me feel like a burden.

Completely out of breath I fell back on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. She sat down beside me and let out a soft chuckle.

“I have no classes between 11:30 a.m. and 13:00 today. How about we go out for brunch?” I asked, looking at her, and she smiled.

“That sounds lovely.”

* * *

After breakfast I said goodbye to my parents and made my way to campus.

I was especially nervous because I had missed an email from Professor Hale, letting me know that he wanted to address theinadequate gradesthat Iobtainedduring the semesterthusfar. He wassolemnly concerned.

Oh, please.He was only‘solemnly concerned’because he didn’t want anyone failing his class. Not that I necessarily was…

I attended two classes before heading over to the library for some study time.

After an hour, I got up and checked out the books. The librarian was a young, dirty blonde woman who always wore red lipstick and had long red manicured nails.

She popped her bubblegum, typing on her computer, and I patiently waited. Her nails clicked the letters, making the most noise in here.

I looked at the time and realized I had to get to class. After she eventually finished, I grabbed my things and rushed to class, catching Solace on the way.

We slipped in just in time with a couple of others, and she winked at me before we sat down.

Someone—Professor Hale—was dressed even more handsome today than he was yesterday.You’re telling me it gets better every day?

He shot me alookthat made my insides tingle before starting his lecture.

I watched him teach the subject he seemed to be passionate about. He answered all the questions we had without hesitation and didn’t minddumbing it downfor us.

He was even kind enough to come to Solace’s desk when she wanted to show and ask him something. I caught a whiff of his cologne, and it was like all my senses went haywire. Fresh, musky,masculine.

He placed one hand down on her desk, and used the other hand to point to something on her laptop and my God…How can someone’s hands be so goddamn attractive?

I crossed my legs underneath the table as I trailed my eyes over his long, skinny fingers with perfectly clean cut fingernails. The rings on his fingers and veins on his hands settled right between my thighs.Oh girl, snap out of it.

He tapped his pointer finger against the desk as he spoke, and it was as though I could feel it between my thighs, right on my—no. That’s sofuckinginappropriate, Dakota.God, what is wrong with you?

I tried to focus my attention on the notes I was making until Solace finally thanked him, and he gave her a nod before leaving.Suddenly, I could breathe. My chest sank with a heavy exhale, and once again, I crossed my legs.

After class finally ended, I waited for everyone to leave before I packed up all my things. I noticed one of the girls at his desk, and he crossed his arms over his chest, speaking to her.

As soon as she left, he lifted his eyes to me.

“You wanted to address myinadequategrades that you weresolemnlyconcerned about,” I humorously quoted him, and he rounded his desk, sitting back down.I couldn’t resist.

Stepping forward, I watched him pull up my grades so far, and cringed.This is so embarrassing.

“The result of constantly arriving late,” he stated, and I dropped my arms at my side.

“Oh, come on,” I sighed in defeat. “It’s not my fault. I barely understood what the man was saying. I self-studied after all the lessons, including on weekends, and I even asked Solace for help. I’m trying here.” My previous educator, professor Taylor, was good at his job, I just couldn’t quite understand his ways of teaching.

“Not hard enough, that is,” he casually added, typing away and my eyes narrowed into slits. “Have you perhaps tried a qualified educator to assist you?” he questioned.