Hard: A Step-Brother Romance by Sosie Frost

back to the campus. I tried not to think about Zach. I got to
the main gate before his grin popped into my head again.
    Not
too bad for a first attempt. I made it half a mile, but it wasn’t enough. My
fingers curled over the steering wheel as I chastised myself. I’d have to try
harder.
    “No
way,” I murmured. “You are not trying anything Hard . Not ever again.”
    No
matter how much my idiotic body wanted it.
    Step-brother.
Stealing your inheritance. Worst possible idea.
    God,
he was a great kisser.
    I
rolled onto campus a mess of nerves, stress, and a horrid combination of shame
and unfulfilled need.
    The
few students taking their summer classes stared at my sleek Mercedes, but I
swore they glared at me, like they knew what I did. I checked to make sure I
didn’t wear a giant sign looped over my body, sandwich-board style.
    Come
see the amazing brother-fucker. Gaze upon the most regretted life decision
since the twerking Miley Cyrus!
    I
kept my head down and blouse buttoned, trying to look as non-sexual deviant-y as
possible. Of course, that meant every hound from the dining hall to the
education building tried their luck. But baby didn’t sound as good
coming from the twiggy idiots playing ultimate Frisbee in the middle of the admissions
hall. I ducked below a wobbly pass and burst into my advisor’s office.
    Professor
Sweeten was anything but sweet. She graded on favorites, changed editions of
the textbook every year so the incoming students couldn’t buy used books, and
hated anyone who ever disagreed with her opinions. Granting her tenure was like
giving the devil the keys to the church and wondering why the collection plate was
empty. And cracked. And covered in sulfur.
    “Good
afternoon, Professor Sweeten.” I gave her my best smile. “Thank you for meeting
with me. How are you—”
    “What
do you want?”
    She couldn’t
even bother to raise her wrinkled head to look me in the eye. She hacked—a
smoker’s wheeze that sounded like it might have hurt, bless her shriveled
heart.
    “Um…I
emailed earlier this week and asked if it were possible to change assignments
for my student teaching position in the fall—”
    “Oh, you .” She pushed the plastic frame of her glasses low on her nose and
glanced at me. “I remember you. May Franklin.”
    “Shay.”
    “Right.
You listen to me young lady. In any other circumstances with any other students,
the answer would be a crystal clear N-O. Is that understood? You are assigned
where you’re assigned. If you were a real teacher, this would be your job .
You would be expected to move if you wanted to earn your salary and put food on
your table. That’s what being an adult means.”
    Oh,
she was lucky I wore my heels or I would have thrown down right in her office.
    “Yes,
ma’am,” I said.
    “I
don’t care who your father is. Was.”
    That
made two of us. “What does he have to do with this?”
    Professor
Sweeten scoffed. “Hard to deny a student’s request when her father donated
enough money to build a new wing for the library. You can have your
reassignment. The best charter school in Buckhead is a dream job to those who earn the opportunity. Fortunately, with just the click of a pen, it’s yours. Congratulations .”
    “Excuse
me?”
    “Pay
attention, Miss Franklin. You may think you can waltz in here and buy your way
into whatever position you want, but that’s not how my class works.”
    She was
kidding. She had to be. Anger prickled at my temples, but the
indignation hadn’t hit my mouth yet.
    Yet .
    Professor
Sweeten tossed the reassignment form to me. “By the end of this semester,
you’ll be lucky if you can afford a passing grade.”
    I
folded the paper and tucked it neatly into my purse. “With all due respect,
ma’am, you haven’t seen the size of my bank account.”
    I
didn’t let her speak and slammed the door behind me. Her bookshelves rattled,
and I could only hope I entombed her with her educational ethics