Read Online Christmas With the Professor by Sue Lyndon - Free Book Online Page B

non-traditional student, aren’t you?”
    My cheeks burned. Did he think I looked a great deal older than most students? Or was that information readily available on his class roster?
    “Yes, I didn’t go to college right out of high school.”
    “Why not?”
    I inhaled the coffee again and took another drink. Why indeed? I nearly spaced out again as the memories came rushing back. France. Vacation. An older man. Pleasure and pain. Three weeks turning into three years that ended when the man tossed me aside for another toy with tits. I returned to the States an empty shell of myself, and I filled the void with meaningless sex and lots of alcohol for another two years. My parents dragged me to therapy and I eventually recovered— sort of. Enough to enroll in college and hold down a job.
    “It’s a long, long story, Dr. Taylor,” I finally said, awash with sadness. I tried not to think about those three years, but they followed me around like a sinister shadow, ready to darken my brightest day. Ready to pull the rug out from underneath me the moment I felt strong.
    “Everyone has a long story, Ms. Monroe. It’s the long stories that shape us.” He placed his mug down on the desk. “Ready to go?”
    “Sure.”
    The drive to my apartment was only five minutes, but it was too long — and not long enough. I sat in the passenger seat of his black sedan, grateful for the heat blasting out of the vents yet feeling out of place, like I didn’t belong in his car—let alone in his presence. Oh, but I wanted to belong.
    “What are your plans for Christmas?” he asked as he parallel parked in front of my building.
    “No plans,” I admitted. If he hadn’t caught me lying once today, I would’ve said I was spending the holidays with my family.
    “Why not?” He turned to me and I caught a whiff of his cologne. Mmm.
    I sighed. Seriously, what was with the Spanish Inquisition?
    “My parents live nearby, but they’re frolicking around Europe for a couple of weeks. I have a brother in Oregon, but I can’t stand his wife and I hate flying, especially during the holidays. I’m probably going to curl up with a bottle of wine and watch The Christmas Story all day.” Ugh. Why was I opening up to him? I didn’t open up to anyone except my therapist, and I saw her only once a month now.
    “That’s a terrible movie.” He grinned and I relaxed—just a little.
    “It’s not so bad.” I shrugged and glanced at a truck passing by. “So what’s your favorite movie?”
    His expression darkened a shade, enough to reignite my anxiety. “Anything with a good mindfuck.”
    I forgot to breathe for a few seconds, and I raced to comprehend yet another crumb of information Dr. Taylor was tossing at my feet. He climbed out of the car and circled to my side. Speechless, I stepped out when he opened my door. We faced each other on the sidewalk as the wind picked up, blowing my hair around and sending a chill to my bones.
    “You really should wear a jacket, Angela.”
    “So should you,” I was quick to point out.
    One dark eyebrow raised and his lips tightened, though I detected a strand of humor veiled behind his stern façade. “Have fun getting wasted and watching bad movies.”
    I laughed and stepped back. “Merry Christmas to you too, Dr. Taylor. Oh, and thanks for the ride.”
    By the time I reached my cozy apartment overlooking the street, his black sedan was gone and I felt ridiculously empty inside. Despite the void in my heart, hope surged through me like a gulp of hot coffee. For the first time since France, I felt a real connection to another man —a man who threw words like punish and mindfuck around. Even if I never saw Dr. Taylor again, at least I knew I wasn’t dead inside.
    Chapter 2
    New car battery? Check. Tight fuck-me jeans and a low cut sweater? Check. Fresh- baked gingerbread cookies? Check. I smiled as I sped down the road toward Dr. Taylor’s house. To my mega surprise, he called last night to say