Revenge Stand with My Sinful Tutor

The Worst First Lesson

LEAH

It was past seven o’clock, and there was still no sign of my f*****g tutor.

I sat alone at a corner table in the back of the campus library, surrounded by stacks of heavy textbooks, uncapped highlighters, and my growing frustration. The steady hum of the air conditioner and the occasional rustle of turning pages were driving me insane.

“Are you sure you got the address right?” Daniel asked over the phone.

“He said the school library! I’m pretty sure I know where the school library is,” I whispered angrily into the microphone, keeping my voice low so the students nearby wouldn’t throw a fit.

“That’s really strange,” Daniel said, sounding thoughtful. “My brother said Mr. Grayson is never late. He probably got held up by something important.”

“Well, I’m not waiting around any longer,” I snapped, gathering my loose papers and slamming my notebook shut. “I’ve been sitting here for over two hours like an idiot.”

“Okay, okay. Just text me when you get home safely.”

“I will. Bye.”

I hung up and slung my tote bag over my shoulder. For the past two hours, I'd been sending messages to both Mr. Grayson and the mysterious number that had texted me the previous night, but neither had bothered to respond.

I'd initially been instructed to text rather than call, but my patience was wearing thin. Surely, after waiting this long, I was allowed to break that rule.

I decided to try Mr. Grayson first.

I dialed his number twice, but both times, the call rang without an answer.

With a frustrated sigh, I pulled up the mysterious number and pressed the call button.

I held the phone to my ear.

Instead of going to voicemail, it began to ring.

But I wasn’t the only one who could hear it.

A loud, obnoxious ringtone suddenly blared somewhere inside the library.

Ring... ring... ring...

I froze, slowly lowering my phone.

It had to be a coincidence, right?

I ended the call and dialed the number again.

Once more, the exact same ringtone pierced the silence, echoing off the high stone walls. A few students at nearby tables looked up from their laptops, glaring around the room in search of whoever was responsible for the disturbance.

My heart skipped a beat.

That means he’s actually in the library.

Gripping my phone tightly, I stood and followed the sound.

The first few steps took a surprising amount of courage. People were already staring at me as I moved between the aisles, probably wondering why I was wandering around like a lunatic with my phone pressed to my ear.

I followed the ringing to the far end of the building, a bit far from my original table.

Tucked into a dimly lit corner was the source of the noise.

A phone lay on a wooden desk, its screen lighting up with each incoming call. The chair behind it was empty, and the tabletop was buried beneath a messy pile of heavy textbooks, loose sheets, and open notebooks.

I approached the desk, picked up the phone, and tapped the screen.

My name and number glowed across the caller ID.

You have got to be kidding me.

I stared at the screen, trying to process what I was seeing, when a strange sound caught my attention.

Heavy, ragged breathing.

It was coming from the last row of bookshelves directly behind the desk.

Please let it not be what I think it is, I prayed silently, my stomach twisting into a knot.

Was a fifty-year-old man seriously having s*x in the middle of a university library?!

Driven by a mixture of shock and morbid curiosity, I tiptoed toward the dark aisle. I had absolutely no idea why I was moving closer to the noise instead of minding my business, but apparently, my curiosity had decided to take control of my brain.

Please let it be literally anyone else.

As I crept toward the end of the shelf, the muffled sounds grew unmistakable. Whispers, rustling clothes, and the distinct sound of a girl softly moaning echoed between the metal shelves.

Oh, it was definitely what I thought it was.

What the actual f**k?

My eyes widened in disbelief.

“You’re not being quiet enough,” a guy’s low, raspy voice whispered through the darkness.

I stopped.

That smooth, youthful voice definitely did not belong to a fifty-year-old professor.

“I’m... I’m... f**k,” the girl gasped.

A wave of secondhand embarrassment hit me like a truck.

I needed to get out of there. Immediately.

This obviously wasn’t Mr. Grayson. It was just two reckless college students hooking up behind a row of bookshelves.

I spun around to make my escape, only to slam my face straight into a tall metal ladder standing in the middle of the aisle.

CLANG!

“Ow!” I yelped, clapping both hands over my mouth a second too late.

The ladder wobbled violently, sending three heavy textbooks tumbling from its top step. They crashed onto the tiled floor with a thunderous bang.

The moaning stopped.

Dead silence settled over the aisle.

Shit.

Panicking, I dropped to my knees and scrambled to gather the fallen books before whoever was behind the shelf came out to investigate. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

I grabbed the last book and sprang to my feet, ready to sprint out of the building.

Instead, I crashed straight into a broad, solid figure standing behind me.

The impact knocked me off balance, and I landed on the floor with a painful thud.

“f**k! I’m so sorry about that!” the guy exclaimed, reaching down to help me up.

It took me a second to realize that the enormous obstacle I’d just collided with was, in fact, a person.

A guy.

He bent toward me, offering his hand, but I immediately flinched away and scrambled backward.

Absolutely not.

This was the same guy who’d been responsible for all those sounds thirty seconds ago. There was no way in hell I was letting his hands anywhere near me. Only God knew where they’d been two minutes earlier!

“It’s fine! It’s totally fine!” I blurted, pushing myself off the floor without his help.

I finally looked up at his face, ready to give him a piece of my mind, while brushing the dust from my sweater.

“I’m sorry! I was the one who ran into you. It’s completely fine!” I added hastily, already turning away.

“Are you sure you’re okay, though?” he called after me.

I didn’t bother answering.

I power-walked all the way back to my original table, grabbed my jacket, and prepared to get the hell out of that nightmare.

Then I looked down.

The tutor’s phone was still in my hand.

I let out an exasperated sigh.

Of course.

Turning around, I glanced toward the messy desk where I’d found it. The chair remained empty.

He still wasn’t there.

Sighing, I pulled out a chair and sat down, determined to wait for whoever owned the phone and give him a piece of my mind for wasting my entire evening.

Five minutes passed in silence.

Then, finally, a tall figure strolled toward the table.

His hands were shoved casually into his jacket pockets, and his dark hair was a messy, wild disaster. He walked as though he had all the time in the world, completely unbothered by the fact that someone had been waiting for him for hours.

He pulled out the chair facing my table and sat down.

The moment he lifted his head, his dark eyes met mine.

A lazy, confident smile spread across his face.

Then he raised a hand and gave me a little wave.

My stomach dropped straight into my shoes.

Oh, no.

No f*****g way.

It was the exact same guy I’d just bumped into behind the bookshelves.