Crazy in Love - Lane Hart Page 0,5
media instructor. Professor, this is Josie Carter, my best friend.”
“Nice to meet you, Josie,” he says, wiping off his palm before offering it to Josie.
“You too,” she replies with a smile. I hold my breath while praying that she won’t open her big mouth about me talking about him, about how hot he is or how when he sits on the edge of his desk, it causes his dress pants to pull tight across his well-endowed package.
“I’ll buy you another shirt,” I blurt out to interrupt any comments Josie might have been thinking of making.
“No way,” Professor Daughton says with a shake of his head, drawing my eye to his thick, glossy brown hair that’s combed perfectly to the side. I would be willing to eat baby animals just to have a chance to run my fingers through those locks. “I’m sure my shirt will be fine after a trip to the cleaners.”
“Then I’ll pay your dry cleaning bill,” I insist.
“I would’ve had to clean it anyway,” he says with a smirk. “Please don’t think about it again. In fact, it looks like a delicious salad.” Reaching down he plucks a chopped tomato off of his shirt and pops it into his luscious mouth. Holy moly. The way those luscious lips open and move against the red vegetable is magical. “Yum,” he mutters. “Sweet too. Wait…is that –”
His words are cut off at the same time his eyes bulge. He grabs his throat with both hands as his face begins to turn a deep, horrible shade of red. Oh my God, he’s choking!
Jumping up so fast my chair falls over backward with a loud smack on the tile floor, I rush around Professor Daughton’s chair and haul him up, grabbing underneath his muscular arms, with strength I didn’t know I had. Wrapping my arms around his trim waist, I place my fist above his navel and cover it with the other hand to start squeezing, trying to expel the food blocking his airways.
“Ah, Reagan?” Josie asks while I perform the Heimlich.
“What? I’m a little busy here!” I shout while driving my fist upward.
“I don’t think he’s choking,” she replies calmly. My eyes jerk over to her where she’s still sitting casually in her chair, mouth hanging open while watching the scene play out.
“Of course he’s choking!” I yell as I continue thrusting against his body with all my might. But when the professor begins adamantly shaking his head in disagreement, my hands pause.
“His lips are swelling, and there are red splotches spreading over his face,” Josie says helpfully. “Oh fuck! I bet he’s got a food allergy!” she exclaims.
The professor’s head bobs up and down in agreement so I drop my hands. “A food allergy?” I repeat. “Then what the hell are we supposed to do? I don’t even have a phone to call for help!” I screech, starting to panic even more when I continue to hear the professor’s gasping breaths.
“Here,” a middle-aged, mom looking lady says when she taps on my shoulder. She offers me some sort of slender, dildo looking cylinder with an orange tip. “Do you know how to use an EpiPen?” she asks.
I take the device from her hand and turn it this way and that. “No idea.” Unless it goes in my va-jay-jay. That’s the point at which the professor hits the floor.
“Oh shit!” I shout. Kneeling down beside him, I watch in amazement as Professor Daughton’s lips and face swell even larger, right before my eyes.
“Here, then let me do it,” the woman says. Crouching next to me, she takes back the dildo and pops the top off, revealing a needle that she slams down into the side of the professor’s upper thigh.
“Oh my God,” I murmur in shock.
Several unsteady heartbeats later, the Professor Daughton’s beautiful sapphire eyes blink open, before widening when he sees me hovering over him. “That wasn’t very smooth,” he mutters softly before he groans and reaches for the big ass needle still sticking out of his leg.
“An ambulance is on the way,” Josie says from above us, still holding her cell phone up to her ear.
“What are you allergic to?” the lifesaving lady kneeling next to me asks.
“Deathly allergic…to pineapple,” the professor answers.
When I glance up, Josie gives me a sympathetic frown because she knows exactly what I’m thinking.
I almost killed my professor.
Chapter Two
Gage Daughton
If there was any doubt left about my epic level of dorkiness, well, this has certainly drilled the point home.
I can practically feel Reagan’s