Troublemaker Meets The Four Hottie Professors

Cheska

The bass from the speakers thumps against my ribcage, making the world tilt just a little more than it already is. I press my palms to my temples. My head is heavy, and the room is starting to spin in slow, blurry circles.

The rest of the cheer squad is acting like a pack of animals. They are screaming, jumping, and slapping my arms every time the beer bottle spins on the sticky table and points its jagged neck right at me. Again.

"Another one!" Jules yells, her face flushed with cheap vodka and mischief. "Truth or dare, Cheska?"

"Truth," I mutter, trying to keep my balance while sitting perfectly still. "I'm done with the dares."

Jules leans in, a wicked glint in her eyes. "No way. You've done ten truths tonight. You're taking the dare or you're buying the next three rounds."

I groan, looking at my empty wallet. "Fine. What is it?"

Jules doesn't hesitate. She points a manicured finger toward the VIP section, away from the neon strobe lights. "See that guy? The one sitting alone like he owns the place? Go over there. Kiss him. And then tell him he's a terrible kisser."

My jaw drops. I look at the man. He is sitting in the shadows, draped in an expensive black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looks dangerous. He looks like he's in a completely different world than this sweaty, loud club.

"No," I say, but my friends are already grabbing my arms. They pull me up, laughing and shoving me toward the VIP line. "Guys, stop! I can't do that!"

"Go on, Cheska! Don't be a coward!"

The alcohol in my blood gives me a sudden, stupid surge of confidence. I shake them off and straighten my skirt. I run a hand through my hair and take a deep breath.

"Watch me," I hiss.

I walk toward him. Every step feels like I'm moving through honey. The closer I get, the more the air seems to change. It gets colder, quieter, and much more intense.

He's staring at the dance floor, but he isn't really seeing it. He looks like he's haunted by something. He looks broken.

"Hey," I say, stopping right in front of him.

He looks up. His eyes are hazel, sharp, and so intense I almost forget how to breathe. He doesn't say a word. He just looks at me like I'm an interesting puzzle he doesn't feel like solving.

"Are you alone?" I ask. My voice is breathy. "Are you single?"

He takes a slow sip of his drink, his throat moving as he swallows. "I suppose I am," he says. His voice is deep. It's a low growl that vibrates in the air between us.

I don't give myself time to think. If I think, I'll run. I step into his space, hiking my knees up onto his booth and sliding onto his lap.

He freezes. I can feel the hard muscle of his thighs beneath me. He smells incredible. It's a mix of expensive whiskey, sandalwood, and something clean like rain. It's an intoxicating, masculine scent that makes my head swim more than the beer did.

"What do you want?" he asks. He doesn't push me off. His large hand hovers near my waist, not quite touching me, but I can feel the heat radiating off his palm.

I lean in until our noses are almost touching. I can see the golden flecks in his eyes. I can see the slight curve of his mouth.

"I want you," I whisper.

I bridge the gap and press my lips to his.

At first, he is like stone. He doesn't move. But then, his hand slides firmly onto the small of my back, pulling me flush against his chest. He groans deep in his throat and starts to kiss me back.

It isn't a simple kiss. It is slow, possessive, and practiced. He tastes like smoke and honey. He moves his mouth against mine with a confidence that makes my knees weak and my heart hammer against my teeth. He is better than any guy I've ever been with. He is leagues better than my ex, Kier.

I'm starting to lose myself. I'm starting to want to stay here all night.

I force myself to pull away. I'm breathless, my heart racing so fast it hurts. I scramble off his lap, my face burning. I look back at my friends, who are cheering and filming on their phones.

I turn back to him and put on my best fake smirk, even though my lips are tingling.

"You're not a good kisser," I say. My voice cracks just a little bit.

He doesn't look insulted. He leans back in the booth, a slow, dark smile spreading across his face. He lets out a low, dry chuckle that sends a shiver straight down my spine.

"Are you sure about that?" he asks.

His gaze drops to my mouth and then back to my eyes, challenging me. He knows I'm lying. He knows exactly what he just did to me.

I can't handle the way he's looking at me. I roll my eyes, turn on my heel, and practically run back to my friends without looking back.

The moment I get back to the table, the squad explodes. They are screaming, doubled over with laughter, and slapping the surface so hard the bottles rattle. Jules is practically crying, pointing at me like I just pulled off the stunt of the century.

I can't join in. I can't even smile.

All I can feel is the lingering ghost of his lips on mine. The heat is still there, humming under my skin. His eyes are burned into my brain, dark and cold and seeing right through me.

My phone buzzes against the wood. I glance down and see the name on the screen. Kier.

I gasp, my heart doing a nervous little skip. "Guys, hang on. I have to take this," I say, pushing through the crowd toward the exit of the bar.

The cool night air hits my face, but it doesn't do much to dampen the flush on my cheeks. I swipe to answer.

"Hey, babe," Kier's voice is warm, easy. "Are you still with the girls? I'm just at the bar next door. Want me to come grab you so we can hang out here?"

I look back through the glass door at my friends. They're still shots-deep and chaotic. I don't want to go home yet, and being with Kier feels like the only way to wash off the strange tension from that stranger in the VIP booth.

"Okay," I say, my voice a bit shaky. "Stay there. I'll walk over."

I hang up and try to force a smile. I tell myself the kiss was just a dare. It didn't mean anything.

And that is the last thing I remember clearly.

When my eyes snap open, I bolt upright. My head is throbbing with a dull, rhythmic ache. This isn't my room. The bed is massive, the sheets are crisp white, and the air smells like an expensive hotel.

Then I see him. Kier is lying right next to me, fast asleep.

The panic sets in when I realize I'm naked. Completely bare under the heavy duvet.

I stop breathing for a second. My hands go cold as I try to piece the night together. I remember the bar. I remember the alcohol and the laughter. I remember leaning into Kier's chest and the way his hands felt on my waist. But after that? Nothing.

"Did we?" I whisper to myself. My heart is hammering against my ribs.

I pull the covers tighter around my chest, feeling a flush of heat crawl up my neck. I look at Kier's peaceful face. I want to wake him up and demand answers, but I'm terrified of what he might say.

Suddenly, my phone on the nightstand starts vibrating like crazy. I grab it before it wakes him. It's my brother, Calix.

I answer it, my voice trembling. "Calix?"

"Cheska! Where the hell are you?" Calix's voice is a roar of pure worry and anger. "You didn't come home last night!"

"Calix, I... I just..." I stumble over my words, my brain feeling like it's full of cotton.

Kier stirs next to me. He rubs his eyes, blinking at the ceiling. "Argh," he groans, his voice thick with sleep. "Can you guys stop fighting? It's too early for this." He pulls a pillow over his face to block out the light.

The blood drains from my face.

"Cheska!" Calix yells through the phone, his tone turning sharp. "Who was that? Who is that man? Tell me where you are right now. I'm coming to get you."

Panic takes over. I don't give him a chance to say another word. I thumb the end-call button and scramble out of bed. I grab my clothes from the floor, shaking as I pull them on. I have to get out of here. Now.

I slip out of the bedroom and hurry down the stairs. My heart is thumping so loud I'm sure everyone in the house can hear it. I reach the bottom step and freeze.

There is a man in the living room.

He is sitting on a sleek leather sofa, looking perfectly relaxed. He has a cup of coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other. He wears a simple black t-shirt that stretches over broad shoulders. The air around him feels heavy, still, and dominant.

He slowly lowers the paper.

Hazel eyes.

A cold, unreadable stare.

I stop breathing. My stomach drops into my shoes. It's him. The man from the bar. The stranger I kissed in front of everyone.

"W-what are you doing here?" I stammer. My voice is barely a whisper.

He doesn't answer. He just looks at me, his gaze traveling slowly from my messy hair down to my wrinkled clothes. He's dissecting me without saying a word.

Before I can move, I hear footsteps on the stairs behind me. Kier walks down, shirtless and yawning.

"Oh, Dad," Kier says, his voice casual. "I didn't think you'd be back from the province so soon."

The world stops spinning. I look at Kier, then back at the man on the sofa.

"Dad?" I choke out.

The man I kissed last night-the man who made me forget my own name with a single touch-is my fling's father.