Professor With Benefits: A Teacher Student Romance (Beta Brothers #3)

  P R O F E S S O R W I T H

  B E NE F I T S

  A T E A C H E R S T U D E N T R O M A N C E

  Hazel Kelly

  © 2019 Hazel Kelly

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, copied, or stored in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the author. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, events, brands, companies, and locations in this story are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, organizations, and settings is purely coincidental.

  Edited by Aquila Editing

  Cover Artwork – © 2019 L.J. Anderson of Mayhem Cover Creations

  For Kaitlin,

  My favorite little storm cloud.

  Thanks for all the rainbows.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  P R O L O G U E

  O N E

  T W O

  T H R E E

  F O U R

  F I V E

  S I X

  S E V E N

  E I G H T

  N I N E

  T E N

  E L E V E N

  T W E L V E

  T H I R T E E N

  F O U R T E E N

  F I F T E E N

  S I X T E E N

  S E V E N T E E N

  E I G H T E E N

  N I N E T E E N

  T W E N T Y

  T W E N T Y O N E

  T W E N T Y T W O

  T W E N T Y T H R E E

  T W E N T Y F O U R

  T W E N T Y F I V E

  T W E N T Y S I X

  T W E N T Y S E V E N

  T W E N T Y E I G H T

  T W E N T Y N I N E

  T H I R T Y

  T H I R T Y O N E

  T H I R T Y T W O

  T H I R T Y T H R E E

  T H I R T Y F O U R

  T H I R T Y F I V E

  T H I R T Y S I X

  T H I R T Y S E V E N

  T H I R T Y E I G H T

  T H I R T Y N I N E

  F O R T Y

  F O R T Y O N E

  F O R T Y T W O

  F O R T Y T H R E E

  F O R T Y F O U R

  F O R T Y F I V E

  F O R T Y S I X

  F O R T Y S E V E N

  F O R T Y E I G H T

  F O R T Y N I N E

  F I F T Y

  F I F T Y O N E

  F I F T Y T W O

  E P I L O G U E

  N O T E F R O M T H E A U T H O R

  O T H E R B O O K S I N T H E

  B E T A B R O T H E R S S E R I E S

  MORE STANDALONE

  COLLEGE ROMANCE

  “Of all forms of caution, caution in love is perhaps the most fatal to true happiness.”

  Bertrand Russell

  P R O L O G U E

  It’s ironic that my name means “princess.” I’m about as far from being a princess as it gets.

  I don’t like pink. I would hate living in a castle. And I sure as hell never combed my hair with a fork or lusted after a prince.

  At least, not until Professor Kellan Montgomery came crashing into my life like a wrecking ball.

  But I know better than to believe in princes. And I know better than to think a fallen princess like me is going to find true love and ride off into the sunset on the back of some hunk’s white horse. Or motorcycle, in Professor Montgomery’s case.

  Regardless, it’s never going to happen. After all, when have you ever seen a romantic comedy about a princess who wears black clothes, heavy black eyeliner, and sometimes puffs a joint before her shift at the campus bookstore?

  That’s what I thought.

  Girls like me don’t find love. We avoid it. Like the plague. Even when it takes the form of sexy professors with penetrating blue eyes who can’t seem to take a hint.

  The point is, I’m not the kind of girl that needs to be swept off her feet, because I don’t wear uncomfortable shoes.

  And I’m not interested in pretending another person can cure my loneliness. The world is deluded enough without one more hopeless romantic maiming one more unsuspecting daisy.

  So thanks but no thanks, Professor.

  You can grab my ass all you want.

  But if you try to hold my hand, this story won’t have a happy ending.

  O N E

  - Sadie -

  I stood across the street from the frat house and took a deep breath, a wave of unwelcome nostalgia choking my throat.

  I told myself it was just the vodka shots I took before I came, but deep down, I knew better. This was the first party of my senior year, and older friends had warned me that this would happen. That my senses would heighten as my mind struggled to memorize every little detail of my college experience for posterity.

  I stared at the brick mansion across the street with its obnoxious white pillars and oversized gold-painted Greek letters over the door. It was tacky as hell and yet familiar in a way I knew I would miss. A way I sort of already missed.

  Which was more than I could say for the brain-rotting EDM leaking out its hundred-year-old windows.

  I knew once I went inside, it wouldn’t feel like a picture on a postcard anymore. I’d be too busy trying not to get spilled on, trying not to step in anything gross, and trying not to catch the eye of any creeps. But out here, it was easy to admire the beauty of the Beta House.

  Even the idea of a place where a bunch of man-boys could simultaneously grow up together while acting like incorrigible children seemed poetic.

  I thought of the way my dad’s eyes sparkled when he talked about his days as a frat boy. It made him so happy, the mere memory made him look younger. Thinner even. And while I resented the shit out of him, I didn’t begrudge him those fleeting seconds of blissful time travel.

  When I was finally ready to cross the street, a local bus heaved its way around the corner as if it was working well past its retirement, so I stayed put, enjoying the smell of freshly cut grass and the warm evening sun against the back of my black hoodie. I’d thrown it on over my little black dress at the last minute because I hadn’t decided yet whether I wanted male attention tonight.

  As the bus approached, I imagined stepping out in front of it, imagined how the impact might shatter my pelvis and stop my heart.

  I didn’t necessarily want to have that thought, but I couldn’t help it. I’d been imagining what it would be like to step in front of buses and trains since I was a little girl.

  I wouldn’t really do it, because I knew it would destroy more than just my life. But I liked considering my options. I liked knowing that if I ever got sick of sucking it up and rolling with the punches, I could just opt out. Just end it. No note, no Swedish death cleaning. Just a regular French exit.

  Sometimes I wondered if other people had these thoughts.

  Like this summer, for example, my extended family went out on my rich uncle’s yacht to watch the fireworks for Fourth of July, and I couldn’t help but notice that most of my younger girl cousins wanted nothing more than to take turns playing “Titanic” at the front of the boat. Every single one of them wanted to spread their arms wide, feel the wind at their face, and let the sea breeze surround them like it might if they were flying.

  Yet that held no appeal for me.

  I was much more interested in the view from the back, where the white wake mixed with the dark waters churning up from the deep. I liked to stand back there and think about jumping.

  I could do that for ages, ruminating on how my skin might change color as I sank into the abyss. Maybe a dolphin would come by and nudge me in the ribs a few times. Best case, I’d sink all the way to the bottom and provide nourishment for thousands of microscopic glowing sea creatures. Worst case, I’d end up in a floating island of plastic beside a turtle being strangled by a net of unwanted accessories.

  Was that normal stuff to think about if you didn’t actually have a death wish?

  I had no idea.

  All I knew was that I wasn’t about to ask anyone for a second opinion because there was no fucking way I was ever going back to therapy. After all, what I was sad about couldn’t be dealt with or healed. It demanded to be felt. Carried.

  Fuck anyone who tried to tell me that I wasn’t entitled to my pain. I was. I knew I was. And nobody was going to take it away from me.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I smiled when I opened the text from Nina.

  We’re in Logan’s room, slowpoke. Where the heck are you?

  I looked both ways and crossed the street, smiling to myself at how easy it was to tell whether someone had just arrived on campus or had been stomping these sidewalks for years.

  If someone was fall-down drunk before sunset, for example, it was usually a good indication that they were new to the freedoms of an unchaperoned campus environment. It was also easy to spot freshmen because they never seemed that comfortable with the group they were rolling with, as if they knew one inappropriate laugh or joke could have dire consequences for their social life.

  Personally, while I still loved getting irresponsibly intoxicated like an amateur, I definitely didn’t miss the insecurity of youth. As far as I could tell, the best thing about ageing
was that the older I got, the fewer fucks I gave about the opinions of my peers.

  I mean, of all the kinds of freedom a person could enjoy, I’d trade financial and spiritual freedom for the freedom to not give a fuck what other people thought of me every day of the week. Not that enlightenment didn’t sound epic, but unrealistic goals weren’t really my thing.

  I slipped through the open door, and my cheeks immediately started vibrating with the music as I weaved through the crowd of talking heads and scantily clad bodies to get to the stairs. I kept to one side as I made my hurried ascent to the second floor, where a popcorn machine was overflowing beside two boys who were catching the overflow in a laundry basket.

  I watched them for a second, enjoying the mouthwatering scent as I considered suggesting they unplug it from the wall. In the end, though, I decided to let them handle things their way and continued to Logan’s room.

  His door was cracked, so I pushed it open, my chest lifting when I saw my two favorite couples gathered around a half-dozen bottles holding different colors of bright liquid.

  “It’s about time you showed up,” Nina said, dropping something in the red bottle.

  Logan and Carter raised their chins in my direction, and I could tell by the glassiness of their eyes that they’d been drinking for hours.

  “Don’t worry,” Zoey said. “We wouldn’t have drunk the Skittles vodka without you.”

  “Skittles vodka,” I said, squeezing onto the nearest end of the futon beside Carter, who slid a huge bowl of Skittles my way so I could help sort. “Sounds tasty.”

  T W O

  - Kellan -

  I held my smile until the friendly family was out of sight before dropping my waving hand and sitting down on the front steps of the small home I just showed them.

  What a day.

  I knew it was risky buying this place right before school started, but it seemed like it would be such an easy place to rent. It was close to campus, had good access to public transportation, and I’d even replaced the kitchen appliances. Sure, the yard needed some work, but fuck. That was a minor inconvenience compared to the issues most of the shitholes around here had, especially the ones that were still available.

  I took my glasses off and rubbed my eyes.

  It wasn’t the money I was worried about. If I didn’t have enough to take a punt on this place, I wouldn’t have. I was just concerned I wouldn’t have the energy to keep showing it once classes started.

  Teaching took a lot out of me.

  Whatever. Worst case I’d have to hire someone else to show it. I hated to waste money on that, but I’d end up wasting more if I couldn’t get someone forking over rent as soon as possible.

  I put my glasses back on in time to watch a bikini-clad girl climb out her window onto the roof across the street. Her bronzed skin made it obvious that she was no stranger to sunning herself, and the strings of her swimsuit filled my mind with filth. God, what I wouldn’t give to untie them with my teeth. She looked good enough to have right there on the loose shingles. The neighbors could watch for all I cared.

  Surely this place would get snapped right up then, even if it went to less than ideal tenants…

  I ran a hand through my hair and pulled my phone out. It was almost six. Four hours since my little brother texted me. Not that he was little anymore.

  He was bigger than I was thanks to the passionate affair he’d been having with the gym since his high school football days. I, on the other hand, was lean from a running habit I picked up after a bad breakup a few years ago.

  “Party at the house tonight. Last chance for you to be a frat boy before classes start. You’re invited as long as you don’t embarrass me by wearing those geeky glasses.”

  My, how the tables had turned.

  It was like he’d completely forgotten that I was the one who got him into that frat in the first place. Idiot.

  I glanced up at the sunbathing beauty, who’d set herself up on the only part of the roof that was still getting the late evening sun. College girls. Fucking tanning at dinner time.

  No wonder I’d been in no hurry to leave campus.

  Sure, my research was here, along with the majority of my real-estate investments, but the neighborhood eye candy didn’t make it harder to stay.

  Too bad it was all off limits now.

  Not that my dick seemed to understand that. My mind was good. It was logically inclined and knew lusting after students was unacceptable. My body, on the other hand, was still struggling to come to terms.

  Fortunately, I was a lot pickier than I used to be. Bikini britches was nice to look at and everything, but my tastes had matured a lot since I graduated. As an undergrad, I was down to fuck girls just for liking the same TV shows as me. Or the same happy hour specials. Or for saying they didn’t want anything serious even if it wasn’t true.

  But I was in my mid-twenties now. So we at least had to have music in common.

  Joking aside, it would be cool to meet someone who had thoughts in her head that hadn’t been planted there by her Facebook newsfeed.

  That’s what really got me hard these days. The idea that I might meet a woman who made up her own mind about things. A woman who actually cared about something besides flattering selfie angles and the social media feedback of acquaintances she was never going to see again. A woman who found the real world as interesting as the one in her phone.

  But since there weren’t any women like that around here- apart from a handful of my colleagues who were off limits for even more reasons than my students- I figured I might as well go get drunk at the Beta House.

  After all, Carter was right. It was my last chance. Once classes started in two days, there would be no more keggers for me, that’s for sure.

  I stood up and dusted off my jeans before climbing the stairs to lock the front door of my shiny new, tenantless house. Then I grabbed my helmet off the bench on the porch and slid it on as I made my way to the cracked driveway.

  I glanced up at bikini britches one last time and turned the engine over, trying to decide whether to chance it on my fridge or grab food on the way home since there was no way I was rocking up to this kegger on an empty stomach. The thought made me feel old, but I didn’t care. Hangovers made me feel even older.

  Still, it was always pleasant to spend a few hours recalling my glory days at the Beta House. Okay, so maybe pleasant isn’t the word.

  Pleasant conjured up images of the English countryside and fields of lavender and old bookstores. Maybe a better word would be invigorating. Like music that’s too loud and rickety rollercoasters and…smelling salts.

  Either way, it would be good to have a few drinks with some old friends, and with classes starting so soon, it couldn’t hurt to get some practice ignoring the jail bait. I might even wear my contacts and put on some casual clothes to appease my brother.

  It would be fun. Like wearing a disguise, a disguise that said, “of course I wouldn’t rather be listening to experimental jazz and drinking pot still whiskey with a beautiful woman in a place where housekeeping implied more than taking the trash out.”

  Fuck.

  Maybe Carter was right. Maybe I was getting old.

  Maybe I should just drive my bike straight through Warby’s and end it all in an explosive cloud of fried onions and hot dog buns. Go out in pork-scented flames, a handsome young scientist who never lived to finish his research.

  Naw.

  Maybe another day.

  I had a frat party to get to.

  T H R E E

  - Sadie -

  I assumed the Skittles vodka would be disgusting, but it only seemed right to partake since I helped make it. Plus, Skittles were always Sabrina’s favorite, and I liked having her at the front of my mind. Especially when I was feeling sentimental on my way to unprecedented belligerence.

  Besides, it wasn’t nearly as gross as the time I tried to soak gummy bears in vodka, which ended up being a disgusting waste of both liquor and sweets.

  “Let me try that one again,” Nina said, taking the orange bottle from me.

  I glanced past her to where Carter was looking out Logan’s window and wondered what he was thinking. Most of the time, he had an aloofness about him that made him seem dumber than he looked. It was almost a superpower how quickly he could put people at ease by seeming unthreatening.