Nicole is shitfaced.

Off her trolley. Fucked out of her mind. Utterly trashed.

And I wouldn't mind, but just hours ago she was lecturing me on the safeties of drinking during the first week of University—or as us Brits like to call it—freshers week. It's an excuse to get blind drunk and not suffer any consequences. A tradition my roommate is taking full advantage of, apparently.

"She can't come in here, love," informs the boisterous bouncer currently guarding the entrance of the nightclub like some high fly agent.

Mate, you're not James Bond.

"She just needs water," I insist.

As I say this, Nicole projectile vomits tonight's consumption of packet noodles and vodka shots.

FUCK MY LIFE!

"Water ain't going to cut it," replies the bouncer.

Nicole starts crying, followed shortly by the obligatory swearing off of alcohol for the remainder of all time. Mascara runs down her cheeks as the tears flow, making her look like something out of a horror film. Still, she's gorgeous. It's amazing how one can blow chunks and still have perfectly styled hair. I knew from the moment I met her that Nicole was the type who took pride in her appearance. Her long blonde hair isn't natural, but it's maintained to make you think otherwise. Biweekly nail appointments are marked on our kitchen calendar and every so often, she books in for a Brazilian. I've only known the woman three days and already, I know the state of her vagina.

"Sloan! I need my bed!"

"You and me both," I assure.

Her head goes limp and I gently push her against the wall, using the bricks to prop her up.

"Where's your phone, Nicole?"

She mumbles a halfhearted response.

"Hey! Don't go to sleep!" I plead, thinking through possible options.

I moved to Oxford three days ago and so far, only know Nicole. There's no one I can call who will help us, and I doubt any taxis will take her in this state.

Bollocks!

Luckily, Nicole is local to the area. Just yesterday, she was telling me how she grew up in a village not far from the city. I swipe her phone and am glad to see it isn't password protected. She strikes me as the trusting type, and I make a mental note to discuss this further with her. She really should protect her personal items more.

Her contacts—I notice—don't include a Mum or Dad and that pretty much puts my plan on its arse. I could try contacting a random number, but at 2am it's a long shot. I keep scrolling, hoping something will jump out at me and eventually it does. Jamie Hudson followed by a bunch of love hearts. I can only assume the same surname, alongside such vivid emojis means they're either siblings or cousins. Surely her own family will save us?

Fuck it!

I hit call and wait anxiously for the line to connect.

"Nicki—I'm balls deep in work. This better be good."

The voice on the other side is nothing like how I imagined. Southern, British accent with a hint of husk and sarcasm. I've no doubt the fact it's 2am has some part to play it that, but I find myself secretly hoping he sounds like this all the time.

"Hi—Umm—this is Sloan. Nicole's roommate."

He doesn't respond.

"She's pretty drunk and we've got no way of getting home."

"Where are you?" he asks.

"Outside Jungle Fever."

"Alright, hang tight. I'll be there in ten minutes."

The way he barely sounds put out makes me think this is a regular occurrence.

"Thanks" I offer. "Umm—are you a relative?"

"I'm her older brother," he shares. I hear rustling on the other end. "See you soon, Sloan."

The way he says my name sends shivers down my spine, and I will myself to get a grip. James Hudson could be literally any old creep and here I am, fangirling over a single phone call.

"Okay."

Nicole slumps further down the wall and I sit next to her on the curb, resting her head against my shoulder. It's here I notice she's shivering so I give her my jacket, hoping this helps with the sudden chill she's feeling. Within seconds, I feel the absence of my additional layer and scold myself for not wearing something more September-appropriate. My satin black dress is sleeveless and stops mid thigh, though I will say I do look good in it. As a redhead with fare skin who only just grew boobs in the last two years or so, I struggle to find clothes I'm comfortable in. I was teased at school for my freckles and chest—or lack thereof—and to this day, still undergo daily battles with my self esteem.

After what feels like a long wait, a black SUV pulls up in front of us and the driver's window rolls down. "Sloan?"

I nod.

Jamie shoves the car in neutral and opens the door, revealing what is—quite frankly—sex on legs. He looks nothing like Nicole. His hair is the richest shade of chestnut and his eyes, like midnight skies. I find them endearing and a little intoxicating. Though, nothing is quite as sexy as a grown man displaying concern for his baby sister.

"How much has she had to drink?" he asks.

His voice is as smooth as silk.

"Quite a lot," I admit. "I couldn't get her to eat anything before we left."

He frowns and I swear it makes him look cuter.

"Would you mind getting the door, please?" he asks, bending over Nicole's slumped body.

I wait for him to support her head before I move closer to the car door and pull it open. There, I watch him lift her into his arms and position her into the backseat of his car.

"Sorry for bringing you out here," I say, feeling the need to justify doing so.

"It's fine," he assures, fastening Nicole's seatbelt. "I was already awake."

"Right," I reply, just as he backs away from the vehicle and straightens up. "Balls deep in work."

He smirks.

"So, you're the roommate?"

"So it seems."

"Do you want a ride or are you sticking around?"

He gestures towards the club's entrance where a rather confident group of girls flirt shamelessly with an older cluster of men.

"And endure another hour with horny teenagers. No, thanks!"

I practically jump at the chance to go home.

"You're in your first year of University," he counters, opening the car door for me.

I slide in and watch as he rounds the bonnet before entering from the drivers side.

"Aren't you one of those horny teenagers?"

I immediately fight my case. "I'm here for my masters degree. I'm twenty-one."

"Ahh—so not a teenager."

I have a feeling he deliberately doesn't say anything about not being horny and I can't help but notice it changes the atmosphere in the car.

"No. Not a teenager."

My response has a double meaning and I swear to God he picks up on it.

"So, Sloan." I love the way he says my name. "What are you studying?"

"English lit," I reply, frowning.

"You don't seem happy." We set off and immediately stop for a red light.

"I applied last year when Laurence Carter was running the program," I explain. "He left unexpectedly in the summer and has been replaced by some amateur professor who no one knows."

"You never know, this new guy might be better than Laurence Carter."

I snort. "Do you even know who Laurence Carter is?"

He turns his head ever so slightly towards me and the red traffic light illuminates his gorgeous face. I hadn't noticed it before, but he has cheek dimples.

"We are all but creatures, endless in our search for acceptance."

Holy shit—he just directly quoted him.

"You're a fan?"

"Who isn't?" he asks.

"Lots of people," I insist. "I've yet to meet anyone my own age who's even heard of him."

"Well, keep looking. I'm not your age."

"How old are you?" I enquire, desperate to know.

He smiles, pressing on the accelerator when the light turns to green. "Why is that so important?"

"I like to know who I'm riding."

He laughs.

"With. Who I'm riding with," I clarify.

Nice going, Sloan!

"I'm fifty-seven," he jokes, pulling onto Castle Street.

Oxford is full of beautiful houses. Ours is a gorgeous three-story Victorian terrace house, which our landlord has turned into two flats. British student accommodation doesn't have the best reputation, but I seem to have stumbled upon the exception. My parents house in Yorkshire is nice enough, but it's never quite matched my very specific taste. I've always had a soft spot for Oxford. Ever since holidaying here when Lara and I were kids, I've known I'd come back. It's full of history and beautiful architecture. The cobbled streets give it a majestic vibe and I find the whole aesthetic very relatable. Castle-like buildings, lovely streets and—of course—home to one of the best schools in England.

What's not to love?

"Where did you do your honours degree?" he questions, polite in asking.

I rarely share this much about myself and never to a guy. Most men I've dated have only ever been interested in one thing.

"London."

"Imperial?"

I nod.

"No kidding. I went there."

"You did?"

I can't hide the shock in my voice.

"What did you study?"

"Creative writing."

That explains why he's a fan of Laurence Carter.

"Is Professor Wellington still teaching there?" he asks.

"Yes! Unfortunately."

The stuck up bitch gave me my first ever C and to this day, I still hold a grudge.

"I hated that woman. She tore up my dissertation."

I stare at him, mouth agape. "I hope you have an electronic copy."

He tilts his head to one side. "Duh?"

"Well, seeing as you're fifty-seven, you probably went to University forty years ago. Did computers even exist then?"

"I was a mature student like you," he counters.

"Wow. Mature. You sure know how to make a lady feel sexy."

His eyes run the length of my body, stopping briefly at my chest.

"Well?" I ask.

"Well, what?"

"What's your verdict?"

He smirks, not bothering to deny the fact he'd been checking me out.

"He who speaks his mind knows only true liberation."

More Laurence Carter.

"Quit avoiding my question with dirty talk."

He momentarily throws his head back and chuckles, exposing his brilliant, strong jaw. "Who knew literature could be a chat up line?"

"Maybe you should try it on the next pretty girl you see," I suggest.

"I already am."

His response sends a jolt of electricity through my body. Our eyes connect and he smirks, shameless in his message.

"Is it working?"

I shrug. "Maybe."

He shakes his head and smiles as I look out the car window. "Nicole tells me you live local?"

"About five miles out."

"You're lucky," I say. "It's gorgeous around here."

"The view is particularly beautiful tonight."

Again, his eyes are on me and the energy surrounding us feels charged. Luckily, our street comes into view and I deliberately say nothing as he pulls up outside our flat. I may be incredibly attracted to him, but I'm not about to give the game away. Besides, Jamie seems like the type who enjoys the chase.

Leaving the car, I offer to open the front door as he carries Nicole into our home.

"She'll have a headache in the morning," I say, positioning a glass of cold water on her nightstand.

He spares one last glance at his snoring sister and slowly makes his way towards the door. I follow him out and shamelessly check him out from behind, enjoying the view. His physique is impeccable—boarding on Chris Evans—and his strides are confident. I can't quite tell if what I'm smelling is soap of aftershave, but it's gorgeous nevertheless. Lemongrass and Sandalwood.

"Coffee?"

We both know what I'm really asking.

"I'm more of a tea drinker," he claims.

He eyes the door leading to his sister's bedroom.

"I promised myself I wouldn't drink coffee again."

"Not even just this once?" I question, smirking.

He bites his lip, battling a conundrum. I purposely step closer, feeling drawn to his energy. His flirtatious nature.

"Sloan—"

I clench my thighs.

"I have tea too," I whisper.

His gaze darkens, thrilled by the prospect of my accommodating ways. Once again, his eyes travel the length of my body and stop upon seeing the wristband all University students are given upon orientation. He instantly takes a step back.

"Nicole is—" he pauses. "It's important she's surrounded by good friends."

The mention of her name extinguishes any and all heat I had been feeling.

"Of course," I say, putting even more distance between us.

Nicole has been nothing but wonderful to me since I arrived. On my first night here—when severely homesick—she binge watched the entire Twilight saga with me as a way of cheering me up. And how am I going to repay her?

By jumping into bed with her big brother.

"Thanks again," I say. "For the ride."

"Not quite the ride you had been expecting," he quirks.

I can't help but smile. "Maybe not, but you're right. Nicole is a good friend. I shouldn't want to drink coffee with her brother."

He smiles.

"I'll keep checking on her," I promise, gesturing towards her bedroom door. "And I'll make sure she's up on time for her first class tomorrow."

"Thanks."

He shoots me one final smile before turning to leave.

"See you around, Jamie."

He cringes. "Call me James. Only Nikki calls me Jamie and I hate it."

"Alright. See you around, James."

He smirks and strides out of the door, leaving in his wake that delightful smell. I watch him renter his car and drive off, wondering if I will ever see James Hudson again.

Huh?

James Hudson.

I swear that name sounds familiar.

Very familiar.

✨✨✨✨

Hello, Lovely!

Welcome to The Professor. I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.

I am SO excited for this book and cannot wait to share all the amazing things I have planned for these characters. This book has lived inside my head for three years and it feels great to finally be sharing it with you!

Feel free to pop off in the comment—I ALWAYS reply. Be sure to also follow me on social media, as it's the best way to keep updated!

Lots of love,

Rebecca xo