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My Professor’s Secret Baby
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She’s my student and I shouldn’t be with her.
Izzy is only 19, and an academic overachiever in my college science course.
But will I lose my job once our little secret is discovered?
My Professor’s Secret Baby is a full-length standalone romance novel. Jamie Knight promises to always bring you a happy ever after filled with plenty of heat. And never any cheating or cliffhangers!
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“I’m so glad that you decided to hang up your nerd hat for the night and come party,” yelled Layla, inches away from my ear.
I had to strain to hear her over the loud techno music blaring from the loud speaker. The speakers seemed alive as they shook with each beat. The room was filled with sweaty bodies pulsing to the rhythm of the music. I nodded in Layla’s direction.
It felt nice to be out of my dark dorm room. I had been holed up for a few days, studying for a math test that I knew was going to be a major part of my overall grade in one of my classes.
Earlier, while my head had been buried deep into my math book with all types of notes scattered all over my desk, Layla had stormed into my room, all huffy. She always had a demanding way about her, but I loved her anyway.
“Where have you been? What are you doing?” she demanded, her hands on her hips.
Her normally nearly porcelain white skin was bright red and her breathing was shallow. I could tell that she had been walking fast.
I looked up, almost in a daze.
“I’m studying,” I told her.
“That’s all you ever do. But not tonight. We’re going out,” she said, grabbing my hand, not waiting for my response.
“Hey. I have class tomorrow. Several, in fact. A math class, with a test. As well as that brand new class starting mid semester, due to them finally finding a professor for it. The Organic Chemistry class…”
I tried to keep protesting, but Layla had a firm grip and was a lot stronger than she looked. Once I realized how insistent she was on making sure I went out with her, I stopped trying to fight.
I’d learned some time ago that it was pointless to try to stop some people from getting what they wanted out of life, and Layla was one of those people. Vivacious, head strong, and always determined to grab life by the horns and make it hers, she was like some force of nature to be reckoned with.
And I didn’t have it in me to do the reckoning. I felt overwhelmed with my college study work load and decided that she was probably right – a break from it all, a fun night out, would probably do me good.
Now, standing there in the middle of the crowd, nursing a long island iced tea that I sipped out of a large, clear glass through a tiny, red straw, I made a face as I sucked in the liquid and cringed. Layla laughed, showing off all of her shiny, straight teeth.
“Let me guess. You’re a lightweight?” she yelled, thick veins bulging from her neck as she leaned toward me, smirking and shaking her head at me.
I hoped that she wasn’t surprised that the drink was strong for me. I could count on one hand the number of times I had indulged in any liquor at all. As a matter of fact, Layla had to make a few calls on the way to the club once she realized that I wasn’t 21 yet and wouldn’t be able to get in.
“Damn, I forget how young you are,” she had said, as she dialed the phone and waited for someone to pick up. “You should live a little.”
After she made a few calls and didn’t get an answer, I started to think that our night was going to come to a grinding halt. After about the fourth call, though, someone picked up.
“Sara, hi! I’m glad that I caught you. I have a favor to ask. Can I stop by? I’m right around the corner.”
She hung up quickly and pulled me around the corner to the grad students’ dorm rooms. I had never been there, so it was nice being able to see where I would soon be heading. The point behind all my arduous studying was to go to grad school.
Layla disappeared into one of the dorm rooms and told me to wait out in the hallway. She emerged after a few minutes with the ID of a girl who looked a lot like me, except older. Layla waved the driver’s license at me and raised her eyebrows. The name on the ID read Sara Miller.
Layla said that she was a friend of hers who was a lot like me. She knew that Sara was probably going to be studying and wouldn’t need her ID, so she asked if she could borrow it. Sara had graciously said yes.
“It’s so sad when people come to college and waste all of their time in books,” said Layla, clucking her tongue and shaking her head. “But you? You can’t let your college years pass you by. You will feel so much better if you just let go and have fun.”