Crazy in Love - Lane Hart Page 0,10
from his lips sounds sweeter than any other sound I’ve ever heard. Did I imagine the warmth behind it because I’m desperate for the comfort? Gah, I really need to pull myself together.
“I’m so sorry you ended up in here,” I tell him, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “And I’ll be glad to pay for any of the medical bills, the ambulance and all since it’s my fault for ruining your day, putting you in here…”
“Reagan, stop. This wasn’t your fault. It was just a freak accident that could’ve happened anywhere. I should know better than to put something in my mouth without knowing where it’s been first.”
I couldn’t help but smile, considering his words in a slightly different dirty way.
Professor Daughton clears his throat. “That didn’t come out the way I intended, but you get the point, right?” he asks, and I could almost swear he was blushing underneath his golden tan. “Hell, I didn’t even have my EpiPen with me, which was stupid.”
“The needle thing?” I ask for clarification.
“Yeah. So, if this is anyone’s fault, it’s mine for bumping into you, being unprepared and pretty much being an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot,” I tell him. “In fact, your lectures are the best I’ve ever had.”
Professor Daughton chuckles, and I realize that my words could also be taken as innuendo.
“If that’s so,” he asks, “why are you barely pulling a C?”
Shit.
“Well, technology and I don’t really get along.” It’s true. I’m excelling in every other course, except his.
“Which is why you don’t have a cell phone?” he asks.
“Yes,” I answer. “But I think I’ll go buy one tomorrow.”
“From your previous research papers, I can tell you have a grasp on the subject matter. You’re just a little…behind on your execution for the assignments.”
“Behind is better than saying I’m completely incompetent on the Internet I guess,” I joke.
“The world is changing, and social media is the primary source from which most young adults and many adults get their news. If you plan to have a career in journalism, then you’re gonna have to get on board.”
“I know,” I say with a sigh, resting my back against the small supply cabinet.
“What is your plan after graduation?” he asks with a tilt of his head. Only he could manage to look hot, sexy and serious wearing only a hospital gown.
“Something with photojournalism is my ultimate goal.”
“A picture is worth a thousand words,” he says with a nod. “And during the semester have you noticed how a photo can quickly go viral on the Internet?”
“Yes, in fact, my research paper is about ten of the most viral photographs, how they are alike and different, to try and see if there’s some sort of connection of what grabs the public’s attention.”
“That sounds fascinating,” he says, sounding genuinely interested. “But don’t forget that you need to incorporate your own brand into the project. Maybe add in the most popular stories or photos you posted on social media. Which ones received the most views, shares, likes and why you feel some stood out more than others.”
“Right,” I say as I glance around the room to avoid eye contact. That is the part where I’m seriously behind. Putting myself out there in public is…scary. I have a fear of rejection and criticism. What if the photos I love most are the ones everyone says suck?
“I haven’t seen any updates on your pages in a few weeks,” Professor Daughton says.
Shoot. I had no idea he would actually check up on us throughout the semester.
“Don’t worry,” he adds. “You still have two weeks to get more active, grow your audience and get your name out there. Remember, this is about helping you in the future with creating your personal brand and practice increasing traffic. No matter where you go to work, they’re gonna expect you to be familiar with social media and drawing attention to your articles.”
“I know. And I’m gonna get on it.”
“Good,” he says. “And if you need any help or, say, extra credit to pull up your final grade, just stop by and see me during my office hours.”
And there it is. The famous “extra credit” of his that I’ve heard so much about from all the girls who have taken him up on his offer.
Wait, does that mean he’s hitting on me? The thought doesn’t make me as happy as I thought it would, especially since I wouldn’t be the first or last girl he’s given “extra credit” to.
Before I can answer, a