But Jesus Christ, what the hell was I supposed to do now?
Rubbing the center of my forehead as a headache started, I tried to calm myself because this wasn’t the end of the world just yet. It was barely March. I still had time to repair my grade, but holy freaking hell. With each paper I’d written in this class, I’d put in twice the effort, only to get half the score. I was going to lose my scholarship if I didn’t pull at least a C in Modern American Literature. And I needed this scholarship. More than I needed anything.
“Since The Great Gatsby is now out of the way, we’re going to begin Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath next. I want everyone to read the first hundred pages and make a few notes about how the theme of changing your dreams is important in the text. We’ll discuss our discoveries the next time we meet.”
As she blathered on about symbolism and some other writerly crap I didn’t get, I flipped open the book to the back where biographies were kept so I could scan Steinbeck’s details. When I realized good ol’ John had been born in 1902, I snorted. What part of over a century old made this modern literature? Jesus.
“...and with that, I hope everyone has a great weekend.” Dr. Kavanagh’s chipper voice grated against my already pounding temples. “See you guys next Tuesday.”
Oh, I was sure she’d have a grand weekend. She was about to ruin the life of her least favorite student. All was roses on her end of the spectrum.
As people around me gathered their things, I shoved my worthless essay into the depths of my bag along with my English book, wondering why I’d even bothered to try. Who was I kidding? I wasn’t cut out to graduate from college. I was already defying fate by making it this far.
You’re a nobody. The voices of all my grade school and high school teachers echoed through me. You’ll never amount to anything, just like your trailer park trash whore of a mama.
“Hey, Noel baby.” The silky, feminine voice that startled me out of my rising panic made me jerk my head up as I approached the exit.
I couldn’t say I was disappointed to find a pair of football groupies closing in on me, though, hmm, I hadn’t realized I shared this class with these two ladies. In fact, I wondered if they even took Modern American Literature or if they were here merely to see me. It wouldn’t be the first time random girls had followed me into a class they didn’t take. It kind of came with my image.
“You look all depressed.” Tianna Moore ran her hand soothingly up my arm as she pressed against my side. “What’s wrong, handsome?”
Tianna was an experienced groupie, and I’d hooked up with her a few times. Leaning into her, I welcomed all the sympathy I could get. “I didn’t make the grade I was hoping to get on my paper.”
“Oh, you poor thing, you.” Her fingers tickled my elbow, then my shoulder. When they landed at the base of my neck where she cupped the back of my head, she swayed closer. “Want me to kiss it all better for you?”
Exhaling a sad sigh, I shrugged. “You could try, I guess.”
She touched her lips to mine, and I let her. I loved the warm, wet feel of anything feminine. When she opened up and pressed her tongue into my mouth, I obligingly tangled it with my own. My dick stirred with a pleasant hum and I cupped the side of her face to continue the contact before another pair of hands grabbed me and tugged me away.
“I want to kiss it all better too, Noel.”
Not one to disappoint a lady begging to kiss me, I broke away from Tianna to glance at the second girl. I knew her face but couldn’t remember her name. A vague, blurry image of her at some wild after-game celebration told me I might’ve hooked up with her too, but I couldn’t be positive about this one.
Curious if I remembered her kiss, since I was kind of a connoisseur of kisses and could always recall a notable mouth, I bent toward the redhead and let her wrap her arms around my neck before she stuck her tongue in.
No fond memories rose, but she was a little more enthusiastic than Tianna had been, making me think maybe I hadn’t bagged her yet, but she wanted me to, hence the reason she was so avidly giving me a resume of her oral accomplishments.
And she would not be getting a D.
A sharp clearing of the throat shot a bolt of pure testosterone down my dick, making every nerve ending I possessed crackle like a live wire. I pulled away from hottie number two, blinking myself back to reality, curious to discover the source of that strangely rousing sound...until I glanced toward the instructor’s podium.