Stone Crest: Rise of a Raven

9. Chapter 9

Chapter nine

Raven

I had just gotten out of the shower and made it back to my room, when my bedroom door bursts open.

“Holy freaking shit, Raven.” Presley shrieks. “You literally walked out of Professor Locke’s class today.”

“That I did.” Running my hands through my hair I give a light tug before I face her.

Her eyes are round and slightly frantic. “Are you insane?” She plops down on my bed. “Word around is he’s a total dick. Which he clearly fulfilled the rumors.” She laughs. “And you basically just told him to fuck off.”

And slept with him. A lot.

She continues to babble, while a sudden feeling of unease creeps across my skin. I tug on a shirt and the tiny hairs on the back of my neck rise. I’m being watched . I peer over my shoulder through the window that has a view of the park across the street. A tall iron fence separates the park from the forest.

“It was awesome,” she praises.

My attention slips back to her. She’s dressed in a white pantsuit. “Got plans?” I ask.

“Yeah. Some stupid charity event my parents are hosting.” She rolls her eyes.

“You don’t talk about them much.”

She shrugs. “Not much to say. All they’re worried about is how much money they can make and appearances. As long as I fall in line and abide by their rules, they don’t have anything to say to me.”

My cold heart melts off a frozen layer for my new friend. I know exactly what that’s like.

“Any who.” She smiles. “I’ll be back late.”

“Have fun.”

"Oh! I almost forgot." She pulls something out of her pants pocket, then lays it on my dresser. "I told you to keep this." She grins. "Maybe motorcycle man could be the one."

I eye the crinkled white paper. My fortune. Is it weird that I thought of Jax Teller and ran into a man on a motorcycle minutes later? A little. But crazier things have happened. Like him ending up being my professor.

She leaves my room, and I step back over to the window. I still can’t shake the odd feeling, so I do another sweep across the dimly lit area before I reach up and draw down the blinds.

My phone rings. The name Arthur flashing across the screen with a middle finger emoji has me rolling my eyes. I slide the screen and answer.

“I haven’t been arrested or called to the dean’s office. You should be proud.”

I hear the scoff, and a smile hits my lips knowing I’ve already ruffled his feathers.

“Your sarcasm is not appreciated, Raven,” he snaps.

“That’s why you’re calling right? To make sure I’m falling in line?” I ask as I grab a pair of sweats from my drawer.

“Considering your past behavior I don’t think it’s too farfetched.” He clears his throat the way he always does when he was about to say something smart.

“It’s barely been a week. I haven’t even had time to get into trouble even if I wanted to,” I quip as I step into my pants.

I hear the clank of a glass, knowing he’s pouring himself a whiskey. Another effect I seem to have on people.

“I’ve spoken with Dean Wilkerson. He’s going to be keeping an eye on you.” He takes a drink. “I don’t want history repeating itself, Raven.”

I toss my towel aside and snatch up my hoodie. “Yes, father.”

“I’m serious. You have one year. I expect you to keep up your grades and graduate without any spectacles. I don’t want to hear of you causing any problems.”

I place my phone on the desk, tapping the speaker icon.

“I know you went through the loss of Bethany, but it’s been three months. Now I feel you just enjoy the dramatics.”

Tugging on my shirt, I flip the phone off as I look over at the picture that I have of me and Bethany attached to my dresser mirror.

“Raven.”

“Yeah. Sorry. What was that?” I shake my head and grab my phone.

“Let me put it simply. Don’t fuck up.” Then the line goes dead.

“Love you too daddy dearest,” I mock as I throw my phone onto my black comforter.

Running my hands through my hair, I step back over to the window and peel back the blinds to squint out into the darkness. When I don’t see any movement, I decide I’m just on edge. Overthinking.

Shooting a glare at my phone, I plop down on the bed and fall back on the pillow. Obviously, my father has zero empathy and a stone cold heart. My best friend died. In front of my eyes. All because of me. Everyone had a different grieving process. Was mine a little extreme? Probably. But it’s how I’ve coped. Shut off my feelings. It helped. It made the days easier. So did the alcohol, which my last university wasn’t very thrilled with. Apparently showing up to class drunk is frowned upon.

Pressing my thumbs to my eyes I groan. I had been doing better. I stopped drinking when I totaled my car last month, which triggered this sudden relocation, but the other stuff, I wasn’t ready. It was easier to stay in my bubble and try to get out from under my father’s thumb as quickly as possible.

The first week went by faster than I thought. It was Friday, which meant I had Locke’s class again today. I went straight from my English class to his. No stops. I was actually early, and the first one in the lecture hall.

The room is quiet, not a soul in sight yet. We still had almost fifteen minutes until class officially started so I sat down and decide to look over the syllabus again.

Sullivan Locke.

It didn’t give away any personal information just his email and office hours. I had a hard time connecting the two men. The one who had zero reason to continue my charade, follow me home, or crawl into my bed, but did. Then there was Professor Locke. Rude and unforgiving.

I got a few lines down the syllabus when the door to the right of the chalk board opens.

Locke steps in, his phone to his ear. “That’s fine. I’ll see you tonight.”

His gaze moves to mine and his strides slow. He hangs up without even saying goodbye, then moves towards his desk. Wonder strikes me. Who was he talking to? Was it a woman? An irrational pang of jealously hits me and I shake my head, trying to steer my train of thought away from anything personal. It was one night. Nothing special. With that lie floating across my brain, I take a breath and unfold from the chair to start down the ramp. If I was going to be in his class for the next five months, I would prefer to be civil.

I clear my throat. “Locke.” I stop just beyond his desk.

He’s seated now. His head buried in what looks to be calendar.

“It’s Professor Locke. Can I help you, Ms. Cunningham?”

So that’s how he wants to play this?

“Sorry. I’m usually on a first name basis with guys who have been inside of me.”

His eyes fly up to mine, almost causing me to flinch back, but I lift my chin. Screw him. We’re both adults.

“Did you know?” He grits out the question.

The accusation in his voice has me being pissed, flying right out the window. Now I’m enraged.

“Yeah, I knew. I logged onto the university website, stalked all the professors and picked you out of the line up. Set up the whole charade of being followed by some frat boys and then persuaded you to come up to my apartment so I could see what’s under those ridiculous dress pants.” I make a show of leaning over to look at his pants. “For the record, I prefer the black jeans.”

He pushes up from his chair, planting his hands on the desk. “You think this is funny?”

I tilt my head. “I think it’s amusing that you’re arrogant enough to think I targeted you or had any ulterior motive. What happened on the sidewalk was pure coincidence, and the aftermath…. well, I’m a woman with needs, Locke. Any man would have been able to get the job done, you were just convenient.” I shrug.

That last part is a complete lie, but I won’t give him the upper hand. Like he was some innocent participant. The victim.

I lean in slightly. “Don’t worry, Professor. It won’t happen again.”

His eyes settle on mine. Non wavering. “I’m not worried. It will never happen again.”

We both say the words, but the longer I stand here and the longer he looks at me, I get the feeling we both don’t believe it. Wrong or not.

A door slams from the top of the lecture hall, causing him to blink and push away from the desk.

“Anyway. That’s all I got,” I say as I watch his forearms flex when he cracks his knuckles.

Good job, Raven. Mature. Daddy would be prou d.

He doesn’t respond, or acknowledge me further, so I finally spin around to return to my seat.

I’m halfway up the aisle when I hear his voice.

“Ms. Cunningham,” he rasps.

I meet his eyes over my shoulder.

“If you need to speak to me again regarding anything to this class. I prefer email.”

Asshole.