He glared down over the rows of seats at the professor, though with the vastness of the hall and glut of students, his dirty look was in vain. All A’s except for one class: Interpreting Literature, with Dr. But while Ben may have entertained a fantasy or two about melting the charismatic teacher’s frosty demeanor, today he burned not with lust, but with bottled anger.īen looked down at the paper he held on his lap, wrinkled and worn from crumpling it spitefully into a ball, then smoothing it out again. Sexy for an older guy, if not a bit detached and robotic. With the loose, layered clothing, his body wasn’t easy to scrutinize, but the suit jacket hung nicely on his broad shoulders. Coyle was attractive, Ben supposed, with his dark hair curling above his collar, nice bone structure, deep-set eyes. He kept his gaze mainly on the floor as he lectured, gesturing emphatically with his hands like a symphony conductor. Coyle never made eye contact with the students. The teacher’s deep, melodious voice carried thespian style through the lecture hall as he droned on about D.H.
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