EXTRA CREDITS

Chapter 2: Friday Problems and Fantasy Professors

The sun barely peeked through the pink curtains when Lexie stirred awake in her hot-pink silk sheets, one leg kicked over a sparkly purse. Her lashes fluttered. Her lip gloss was still on. Her tank top barely covered her chest, and her cheek was stuck to her pillow.

Typical Friday.

She stretched with a yawn, then rolled out of bed and began her usual slut-girl morning routine: sexy playlist on, teeth brushed with glittery toothpaste, and a face mask smeared on while twerking in the mirror. By the time Tiffany burst into the room in a rhinestone thong and platform slippers, Lexie was already shimmying into a tight, spaghetti-strap tube top that barely covered her boobs and a pair of barely-there white shorts that hugged her thick hips.

"Are we hot or are we *hot* today?" Tiffany grinned, spraying perfume like it was holy water.

"We’re hot," Lexie smirked. "Let’s go melt some credit limits."

It was still technically a college day, but class had never stopped the Sigma Pearls from choosing luxury over lectures. They Ubered to Fifth Avenue, parading down storefronts in heels they couldn't walk in and sunglasses too big for their faces.

At a high-end boutique, Lexie picked up a pair of rhinestone stilettos. "These are, like, *orgasmic*."

"Buy them, b***h. They look like they came from heaven."

Lexie reached into her purse—and paused.

"Oh my God. Where's my credit card?"

Tiffany froze. "Wait. Where's *mine*?"

They stared at each other. "Noooo."

The guy behind the counter, an amused twenty-something with a bored expression and a lip piercing, raised an eyebrow.

"We, uh, might have left our cards in our... other purses," Lexie said sweetly.

Tiffany flipped her hair. "What if I gave you my number instead?"

The guy smirked. "Your *phone* number?"

Tiffany leaned over the counter, boobs practically on display. "Unless you'd rather I wrote it on your chest."

He cleared his throat and handed them the bag. "Have a good day."

"We always do," Lexie chirped.

At the coffee shop around the corner, the girls were giggling over their purchases when Lexie suddenly stopped mid-sip.

"Wait. Is that... Brayden?"

Tiffany turned. Lexie’s smile dropped.

There he was. Brayden. Her sort-of boyfriend. With another girl. Sitting way too close, talking way too softly.

Lexie stormed over, iced coffee sloshing in hand.

"Brayden, what the hell? Who is this?"

The girl blinked at Lexie, then turned to Brayden. "You didn’t tell her yet?"

Lexie’s heart pounded. "Tell me *what*?"

The girl stood. "I’m carrying he’s child."

Silence.

Lexie stared. Her mouth opened but no sound came. Her brain froze. And then—

Splash.

Her iced coffee hit Brayden square in the chest.

"Are you *kidding* me?!" she screamed.

Tiffany grabbed her arm. "Lex, let’s go. He’s not worth it."

Lexie stomped out of the shop, cheeks burning, vision blurred.

"I can't believe this! I feel like I'm in a trashy soap opera."

"Babe, there are hotter guys to screw," Tiffany said, patting her arm. "Screw him. Like, literally *don’t* screw him ever again."

Lexie wiped a tear, then checked her phone.

"Crap. Tiff... It's *Friday*. Not Saturday."

"So?"

"So I have *class*!"

Lexie burst onto campus in her limo, holding her designer bags like shopping trophies. She bolted across the quad in heels, her tiny shorts riding up, her tube top fighting to stay on. Students stared.

She didn’t care.

She threw open the lecture hall door to *Media Ethics 101*.

The room went silent.

There, at the front of the room, stood the hottest man she’d ever seen.

Black button-up shirt rolled at the sleeves, tattoos sneaking out from his wrist. Sharp jaw. Wavy dark hair. Eyes like a thunderstorm.

*Professor Roman Wolfe.*

He didn’t smile.

"Miss Monroe," he said, voice like smoke. "You finally decided to attend a lecture."

Lexie blinked. "Are you... the new lecturer?"

He raised a brow. "Are you?"

Laughter echoed around the room.

Wolfe crossed his arms. "I’m Professor Roman Wolfe. And you’ve missed so many classes, I assumed you were a myth."

Lexie swallowed.

And tried not to picture him naked.

That’s when it hit her.

*This* was the Professor Roman Wolfe. The same Media Ethics professor Principal Simmons warned her about. The one she had to somehow impress—or seduce—if she didn’t want to be kicked out of college.

She blinked a few times, trying to mask the panic rising inside her.

Wolfe narrowed his eyes. "Take a seat, Miss Monroe."

Lexie shuffled awkwardly down the steps, her heels clicking far too loudly as she slid into an empty seat near the middle row. She clutched her shopping bags to her chest like they might shield her from judgment.

As Wolfe resumed the lecture, she tried to focus.

She really did.

But every time he moved, the fabric of that tight black shirt stretched over his broad chest, and her thoughts wandered. She imagined what lay beneath the buttons. His tattooed arm gripping her waist. His voice, low and commanding, whispering things that had nothing to do with ethics.

She didn't even notice him approaching.

A gentle *tap* on her forehead with a pencil snapped her out of her thoughts.

"Miss Monroe," Wolfe said calmly. "Since you're clearly very engaged, why don't you tell the class what we were just discussing?"

Lexie blinked. "Umm... something about... uh... news?"

A few students snickered.

Wolfe didn’t smile.

"Since you clearly didn’t pay attention, I expect a 5,000-word essay on today’s topic. Due Monday."

Her jaw dropped. "That’s, like, so unfair."

He arched a brow. "Is it more unfair than ignoring half a semester’s worth of content and expecting a passing grade?"

Lexie shrank into her chair. "Whatever."

"Exactly," Wolfe said, turning back to the front. "Whatever this is, it ends now."

When the lecture neared its end, Wolfe returned to the podium and began distributing papers.

"These are last week’s tests," he said. Some of you did well. Others… not so much."

He moved down the rows, passing papers to each student.

Lexie watched in silence—until he placed a sheet of paper in front of her.

Her name was at the top.

Grade: **F**

She stared at it, confused. "This must be a mistake. I didn’t take this test."

Wolfe stopped beside her desk, arms crossed.

"I know."

"So... why did I get an F?"

He leaned closer, his voice low but firm. "Because, Miss Monroe, when you skip a test, you fail. It’s a radical concept, I know."

Lexie flushed. "But I wasn’t even there. I didn’t even know there *was* a test."

"And whose fault is that?"

She opened her mouth.

He continued, quieter. "Next time, attend class. You might learn something."

Lexie stared down at the paper in her hands. It was going to be a long, long semester.