Her Dirty Teachers - Mika Lane Page 0,3

done. Fifteen minutes of work, and I was a couple hundred dollars richer. One more dance that night, and I’d be well on my way to having my tuition for next semester.

Chapter 3

SENNA

“Oh my god, you got to dance for that hot guy, Senna,” Godiva said, pulling on her jacket to leave.

“I know, right?” I gushed, still catching my breath. “He smelled so good.”

She gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Good luck tomorrow, sweetie. Call me when you get a break. I want to hear all about it.”

For a moment, my heart broke that Godiva wasn’t joining me in my college adventure. She was at least as smart as I was, and I knew she didn’t want to dance forever. Hell, it wasn’t possible to dance forever. The best a girl could do was make as much money as fast as she could before she burned out, and save, save, save. Some of the girls I worked with blew their money as fast as it came in, but not me. I had a plan and I was sticking to it.

“Talk to ya tomorrow, sweetie,” I said, holding the dressing room door for her.

But just as she started to pass through it, Zin came flying in, almost knocking her over. “Senna. You danced for the wrong guy, dammit.”

Huh? I didn’t pick the right guy? Well, my chances had only been fifty-fifty.

She stepped closer to me. “You had one job to do,” she spat.

Oh, no she didn’t.

In my heels, I towered over her. “For your information, Zin, there were two men at that table who were tall, blond, and wearing black polo shirts. Your instructions should have been clearer,” I hissed back.

Her face twitched. When it came down to it, she was the one who’d messed up. Not me.

Sadie, heading to the stage for her dance, patted Zin on the back. “Don’t feel bad. I’m sure he still had a good birthday.”

Zin glared at us all, turned on her heel, and left.

Godiva laughed and took off.

With time to kill before my next dance, I reviewed my first day’s class schedule. I’d studied the campus map, circling each of the buildings where my classes were to be held and was pretty sure I could find my way around without any major mishaps. I could always hit up another student for directions, but I’d been warned during orientation that a favorite trick was to send lost freshmen in the wrong direction.

It was supposed to be funny. But it would piss me off.

My first class, Freshman English, was in Hobart Hall. Scrolling through the list of faculty, I looked for my professor. When I got to instructor for the eight a.m. class I’d registered for and saw my teacher, I dropped my phone on the floor.

My mouth also went dry and a gulp of water did no good.

Messed up my lipstick for nothing.

Shit. Where was Godiva when I needed her?

The dressing room door opened. Had she come back, perhaps because she’d forgotten something?

But it was Sadie, returning from her dance. “Hey, you’re up soon, honey. Zin told me to get you.”

“Um, yeah. Okay,” I muttered, hand over my mouth.

I was going to be sick.

“Senna? Are you okay? Are you nervous about school tomorrow or something? You look awfully pale all of a sudden. I’m really sorry I couldn’t take that extra shift tonight, and that you got stuck with it—”

She babbled on while I picked up my phone and looked at the English faculty again.

The dude I’d just given the special dance?

He was my English professor. Hobart Hall, eight a.m. Tomorrow morning.

Chapter 4

PROFESSOR BENJAMIN ADLER

“Have I told you how much I fucking hate Mondays?”

Joanna looked up from her New York Times.

“It’s not Monday, Benjamin,” she clucked, putting her feet up on her desk and turning back to her paper.

Shit. She was right.

I invited myself into her office, just next door to mine in Hobart Hall. “Okay, well, have I told you how much I fucking hate teaching Freshman English?”

She nodded slowly, putting aside the paper and taking a sip of her coffee. “You have told me that. Probably a hundred times.”

And I probably would tell her a hundred more.

She sighed. “Look. It’s your turn. I did it last semester, and Don what’s-his-name taught it the semester before. Just suck it up, Benno.” She threw me the smirk that made her so awesome. Everyone needed a coworker who called them on their shit.

And she was right. It was my turn. But that didn’t make it