Troublemaker Meets The Four Hottie Professors

Cheska

Friday finally arrived. This week has been a slow, agonizing crawl, and I feel like I've aged a month in five days.

"Ms. Vega!"

I turn to find Mr. Serrano staring at me. He looks like he's been sucking on lemons all morning. "Did you read the book I assigned?"

Book? What book? I search my brain, but it's a total blank.

"Uh, no. I didn't know there was a reading assignment," I stammer.

The classroom goes dead silent. Every head turns in my direction. Kai slips in through the door right then, late as usual, but Serrano doesn't even blink in his direction. All his fire is aimed at me.

"Are you telling me," he says, his voice dropping to a dangerous level, "that you didn't pick up the copy of Noli Me Tángere from the library on Wednesday?"

I shake my head. "I didn't know we needed it yet. I thought we were focusing on the other text first." I pull the wrong book from my bag to show him, hoping it proves I at least tried.

"So you thought I'd let you off easy?" he asks, his voice thick with sarcasm.

"No, Sir. I just meant-"

"Enough. Grab a pass from my desk, go to the library, and get that book. If you walk back into this room without it, it's an automatic F."

He points a finger toward his desk. I scramble to pack my things, my face hot with a mix of shame and rage. Kai starts to stand up to follow me, but Serrano cuts him off before he can even get vertical.

"Mr. Valencia, where do you think you're going?"

"I was just going to help her, Sir," Kai says, looking caught.

"Since when are you her bodyguard?" Serrano snaps. "Do you think she's incapable of walking to the library alone?"

Kai rubs the back of his neck, looking down at his desk. I feel the sting of his embarrassment for him. It's a cheap shot.

"Sit down. She can handle it."

"Yes, Sir. Sorry," Kai mutters. He catches my eye and mouths a quick apology.

"Ms. Vega, are you waiting for an invitation?"

I grab the pass and bolt out of the room before I say something that gets me expelled. I intentionally slow my pace as I hit the hallway, my heels clicking against the linoleum. That man is obsessed with making me miserable.

When I reach the library, the air is still and smells of old paper. The librarian looks up from her computer. "Pass, please."

I slide it over. "I need a copy of Noli Me Tángere."

"Only one left. Back wall, right corner. Good luck," she says without looking up.

I spend ten minutes weaving through the tall shelves. I finally find it tucked away on the fifth shelf. Of course. It's way above my head. I go up on my tiptoes, stretching my fingers until they just graze the spine. I give it one more desperate reach, my balance shifting.

Then, my foot slips.

I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for the hard impact of the floor. But instead of cold tile, I hit something warm and solid. Two strong arms wrap around my waist, steadying me.

I open my eyes and find myself staring at a stranger. He has dark brown hair and eyes so soft they look like silk. He looks like he walked off a runway in London.

He is, without a doubt, more stunning than Damian.

"Thanks," I whisper, my voice catching in my throat. He helps me stand, but his hands linger on my waist for a second too long, sending a jolt of heat through my sweater.

"You almost had a nasty fall there," he says. His voice is deep and calm, but it's the accent that kills me. British. Crisp. Smooth.

"Yeah. Thanks again," I say, looking down to hide my blush. I notice a tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve. Since when were those allowed on campus?

"Be careful next time, love," he says, his lips pulling into a smirk as he hands me the book.

Love. My brain short-circuits. Before I can ask his name or if he's a transfer student, the bell rings, signaling the end of the period.

"Anyway, I'll go now. Catch you later," he says, turning on his heel.

I stand there like a statue, clutching the book to my chest. I stay frozen for a few seconds before I shake myself out of it. I walk back to the librarian to check out the book, my head spinning.

"Do you know who that was? The guy who just left?" I ask.

She frowns, thinking. "The tall one? No idea. Never seen him before. But he had a visitor pass on his jacket."

A visitor. Great. The best-looking man I've ever seen, and he doesn't even go here.

I realize I'm late for the next transition, so I take my time walking back to Serrano's room. If I'm already in trouble, there's no point in rushing.

When I walk back in, Serrano is already at the board. He doesn't even let me sit down. "Why are you always late, Ms. Vega?"

I sigh, leaning against the doorframe. "Only one copy left, Sir. It took a while to find."

"You always have an excuse."

I feel the heat rising in my neck. I'm about to snap back, but he waves me off. "Just go to your next class. You're late for that, too."

"Yes, Sir," I say, biting my tongue so hard it tastes like iron.

I walk out and slam the door a little harder than necessary. "Asshole," I mutter to the empty hallway.

But as I walk away, I'm not thinking about Serrano. I'm thinking about the way those arms felt around my waist and the sound of that British accent calling me love.

...

By the time my last class ended, my soul felt like it had been put through a paper shredder. I was hollow. All I wanted was to crawl into bed and let the world disappear.

But the universe wasn't done with me yet.

"Cheska!"

I turned to see Miss Reina, my art teacher, waving me over. I dragged my feet toward her.

"Mr. Delmar wants to see you. He's waiting in the teachers' office."

My heart did a traitorous little flip. I remembered the last time we were alone. I remembered the heat of his gaze and that smirk that made my blood boil. Maybe he missed me. Maybe he couldn't stop thinking about the way I tasted at the bar.

"Okay," I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the flutter in my chest.

I walked into the office, expecting a private moment, but the air turned to lead the second I stepped inside. Damian was there, but so was Mr. Serrano.

Great. As if this day couldn't get any worse.

"Sir? You asked for me?" I asked, my voice tight with irritation.

Damian nodded. He looked professional, cold, and utterly distant. "Yes. We need to discuss your recent assignments."

He slid a paper across the desk. I looked down at the red marks scarring the page. "You have too many errors, Cheska. If this keeps up, you're going to fail my class before the first month is over."

I felt the heat crawl up my neck. My cheeks burned with a shame so sharp it felt like a physical sting.

"And my concern," Mr. Serrano cut in, sliding an essay toward me, "is that this isn't getting better. This is your second time taking my class, and you're on track to fail again."

It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. I didn't know whether to scream or cry. I bit my lip hard, trying to keep the sob trapped in my throat, but a shaky breath escaped me anyway.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. I tried to blink back the tears, but they were already blurring my vision. "I didn't realize it was this bad."

"We're worried about you, Cheska," Damian said. His voice was softer now, almost gentle, which somehow made it hurt more. "That's why I called you here."

The door opened behind me. I turned around and froze.

It was him. The guy from the library. The one with the British accent and the arms that felt like a sanctuary.

"This is Mr. Velasco," Mr. Serrano announced. "We've brought him in to be your tutor."

My brain short-circuited. "Tutor? You assigned a tutor for me?"

They both nodded, their faces grim and serious.

Something inside me snapped. I didn't cry. Instead, I started to laugh. It was a jagged, hysterical sound that echoed off the office walls. I dropped the failing papers onto the desk and shook my head, my eyes bright with a mix of fury and disbelief.

"No thanks," I said, my voice dripping with ice. I had tried tutors before. None of them could fix what was wrong with me.

"I don't need a tutor. It doesn't work for me. I'll study on my own. Thanks for the offer."

"Cheska, we're doing this to help you. We want you to-" Damian started, but I cut him off.

"No! You're doing this because you pity me," I snapped.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr. Rivera walk past the window and enter the office. Now all four of them were here. The Dean, the Professor, the Teacher, and the Tutor. It felt like a goddamn ambush.