Professor's Kiss: A Second Chance, Bully Romance. (Irish Kiss Book 2) Page 5

  “Ahh, fock,” he muttered, “how old are ye, boy? Take the keys. Drive ye focking self.”

  “Gladly,” I muttered under my breath, slamming the door shut behind me.

  I jogged down to the garage, a monstrous showroom filled with about a dozen different types of rides, all of them flashy and ostentatious as fuck. I eyed the cars. Which one was the least obnoxious? I spotted a midnight-black Aston Martin Vanquish, the James Bond car from the movie Die Another Day, the one with Halle Berry in it.

  That’d have to do.

  I found the keys in the rack on the wall, slid into the pristine leather seat and gunned it out the garage and down the long driveway.

  Since my mother died three months ago, I’d been forced to live here in this giant mansion near Limerick with my father.

  Any other male teenager would have loved to live in a rock star’s mansion. Booze, parties every other night and more fake tits and willing dick-suckers than the Playboy mansion.

  Okay, so maybe I’d taken up the offer to “break in Dillan’s son”. I lost my virginity to a nameless blonde three days after I’d arrived.

  It should have been Ailis. We were going to lose our v-cards together. We’d said so. That was before she ruined my fucking life.

  Okay, so maybe I’d taken up a few more “offers” since then. But I’d quickly learned how vapid they could be. Most of these hangers-on could barely string a proper sentence together, their ultimate goal in life to get pregnant by a rock star so they could collect alimony for the rest of their miserable botoxed lives.

  I parked in the school parking lot, in my assigned space. There were benefits to being the son of a rock star, I guess. I killed the engine, ignoring the students who were already staring at the car, not at me because the windows were blacked out. Not yet. I took a long, deep breath. I could do this. I could.

  Just two more years of school, then I was free. I’d be eighteen, graduated, then I could do what I wanted.

  I slid out the car and the whispers started as the crowd slowed down past me.

  “That’s him. Dillan O’Donaghue’s son.”

  “Oh my God, the rock star?”

  “He’s hotter than his daddy.”

  “I wonder if he has a girlfriend.”

  I could feel all their eyes on me, their stares shining with the reflection of stardust and gold. It blinded them. I could be anyone and they’d still flock to me, hoping that some of this fake gold dust rubbed off. They can fucking have it.

  I hated it here already. I hated them.

  I wanted my ma back.

  I wanted my life back.

  It took all of three days to own this fucking school. The kids, even the current ruling seniors, the football players and their skinny blonde girlfriends, all bowed down to me. All scrambled over themselves to be my friend.

  I fucking hated them all.

  They handed me the keys and crown to this place without a second thought. As if I were the prodigal prince returned.

  I owned this place. Controlled it. Even the teachers let me get away with whatever the fuck I wanted.

  Power flooded my veins when I strode down the hallways, and I hated myself for liking it even a tiny little bit. Students giving me distance as I passed, reverently nodding their heads, quietly coming up to my side whenever they wanted something.

  One term down. Five more to go.

  Every day that passed, I felt myself growing more hateful than ever. Of this city. Of this school. Of the fucked up place I was forced to call “home”.

  Every day dragged like a muted purgatory. I stopped caring about…everything. Except music. My guitar was my only source of life, the temporary spring that woke up my frosty world.

  I was numb. But at least if I was numb, I didn’t have to feel the pain of missing my ma every single day.

  Today was the first day back at school for the new term. I was dreading all the stupid simpering questions my “friends” would ask.

  What’s it like to have Christmas with Dillan O’Donaghue?

  Did you get to hang out with the rest of The Dublin Jar?

  What did your da get you for Christmas?

  The truth was I’d spent Christmas alone in the huge cold mansion. My father had fucked off somewhere with his latest blonde overinflated fuck. Not that I’d ever admit that to these insipid juveniles.

  “Danny!” A sharp, clear voice called out my name as I strode up the steps to the main building, the familiarity and genuine warmth in it startling me.

  I whipped around, my heart creeping up into my throat.

  There she was.

  Ailis Kavanagh.

  Looking healthier than I’d seen her last in that hospital room over six months ago, her skin with colour in it, her long hair pulled back.

  A bright star in this sea of darkness.

  Her face broke out into a grin. And I almost forgot myself.

  “Danny!” She ran up to me, her cheeks flushed. “I heard you were attending this school. I couldn’t wait to see you.”

  “What are you doing here?” I heard myself say.

  What a stupid question.

  She was a student here. She said as much, telling me that she was in remission and was strong enough to attend school again.

  I nodded along, stupidly, mutely, as if I cared.

  Her face softened. “I hope you’re doing okay. I’m so sorry about…”

  The day my mother died came storming into my brain, taking over my senses like a deadly poison, blackening them like storm clouds.

  I remember that I hated Ailis.

  That she ruined everything.

  “Leave me alone.”

  My hands snapped out as if to shove these thoughts away. Except I was pushing Ailis before I knew what I was doing.

  She fell on her ass, a pained cry leaving her mouth, her second-hand skirt askew. I just stood there, staring down at her as if she were a piece of dirt on the ground. Her large green eyes screwed up with tears and she stared at me as if she’d never seen me before. As if I was a stranger. I was, even to myself.

  I hated myself.

  I fucking hated myself.

  But I craved every drop of this hate.

  At least with this hate I felt something. I wasn’t numb anymore. I wasn’t dead.

  14

  ____________

  Ailis

  Now – Dublin, Ireland

  I slammed against the College Administrations counter in my haste.

  “I need to transfer out of Advanced Performance & Arrangement,” I blurted out.

  The lady behind the desk was plump middle-aged woman with a pile of copper curls on her head and thick pink-framed glasses that sat precariously on her nose. Her nameplate read Ms Doyle.

  “And you are?” she asked as she eyed me over the rim of her glasses.

  “Ailis Kavanagh, final year.”

  Ms Doyle tapped on the keyboard with her long false nails painted the same garish pink as her glasses.

  “Ms Kavanagh, there you are.” She looked back up at me. “Why do you want to transfer?”

  Crap. I couldn’t admit to her that my teacher and I had a…past.

  That he still haunted my present.

  That I fantasised about him when I was at home alone.

  “I…er, just wonder if there’s a better class for me at this time,” I said lamely.

  “How strange. Suddenly a rash of young ladies are begging me to get in this class. You’re the only one who wants out.”

  “Ailis Kavanagh is not most ladies,” a familiar masculine voice that sounded like sin came from behind me.

  All the nerves in my body reacted like I’d been electrocuted, the hairs on my skin standing on end.

  It was him.

  Dear God. Would he ever leave me alone? Would I ever be freed of him?

  I swallowed, turning on my heel to face my old-nemesis-turned-professor. “N-No offense…professor. I-I just want to do what’s best for my career.”

&nbs
p; He stopped right in front of me, towering over me with his height and his presence. “And you think opting out of my class is the right move?”

  “I…yes.”

  He leaned right into me. “That’s your problem, Ms Kavanagh. Your reaction to stress is to run. Don’t be such a coward.”

  “I am not a coward,” I said through gritted teeth, my hands in fists by my sides seconds away from swinging at his perfect fucking nose.

  “Could have fooled me.”

  Rage bled into my vision, the rest being taken up by his ice-flame eyes. Before I could yell back, Ms Doyle piped up.

  “I’m afraid I can’t transfer you, Ms Kavanagh.”

  I spun towards her, my throat closing up. This was a conspiracy. Danny had orchestrated this.

  “Why the hell not?” I smacked my palm down on the counter top, my anger lashing out at her instead.

  Ms Doyle gasped.

  “Language, Ms Kavanagh,” Danny said, sounding endlessly amused.

  Get yourself together, Ailis. You won’t win any favours acting like a bitch.

  It’s Danny’s fault. He makes me act this way.

  I cleared my throat, trying to calm the simmering of my blood. “I’m sorry, Ms Doyle. I didn’t mean to yell.”

  She frowned at me, a hint of curiosity in her eyes as they flicked between me and Danny, who had decided to lean against the counter, his shoulder brushing against mine.

  Deliberately.

  He wanted to unbalance me. To unnerve me.

  And it was working, damn him.

  I could barely think, barely breathe with him so close, his scent in my nose trickling down my body to pool between my legs. I shoved these thoughts to the background—tried to, anyway—and gritted my teeth. He would not win.

  “Ms Kavanagh,” Ms Doyle said, “Advanced Performance & Arrangement is a core requirement. You need it to graduate.”

  Fuckety fuck.

  “Looks like you’re stuck with me, Ms Kavanagh.” Danny’s low voice rumbled into my ear, sending yet another trickle of heat down my mutinous body.

  Lucky me.

  I turned and marched out of the head office, the cold wind stinging the wetness that had gathered in the corner of my eyes.

  One year.

  I had to put up with Danny for one year. It was going to be hell. He was never going to put me forward for one of those coveted special projects. Bitter disappointment coated my tongue.

  Please at least make him fair with my grades, I begged.

  That’s all I wanted. That’s all I could hope for now. To pass.

  Then I could get the hell out of here and as far away from him as possible.

  15

  ____________

  Ailis

  I felt detached from the world around me as I floated like a ghost into my next class, History of Music in Ireland. At least this was mostly a theoretical class as opposed to the workshop-style, practical-based, performance-required structure that most other classes took.

  I walked all the way to the back again, hoping to fade into the wall enough that I wouldn’t be called upon.

  I barely registered that someone had sat down beside me until he nudged my arm.

  My neighbour was a boy my age, cute, cornflower-blue eyes and boyish floppy hair like golden wheat.

  “Hey,” he said, sticking his hand out. “I’m Ethan.”

  Damn the Irish for being so friendly. I forced that social part of my brain into gear and took his hand.

  “Ailis—”

  “—Kavanagh,” he finished for me. “I know. I was in Advanced Perf.”

  The class I just embarrassed myself in front of.

  I let out a groan.

  He chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to give out to ye.” He leaned in as if he was going to share a secret. “Personally, I thought he was a right ass.”

  I let out a soft sigh. “He is a right ass.”

  Ethan’s eyes widened. “You know Danny O’Donaghue, then?”

  There was no fucking way I was admitting that. Too many questions. And I didn’t know this guy from boo. I had no idea how gossipy he was. Last thing I wanted was to give Danny a reason to think I’d been talking about him.

  I shook my head. “Just met him today.”

  Ethan nodded, accepting my lie. “Haven’t seen you around before.”

  Thank God for change of subjects.

  I relaxed a little, a smile lifting at the corners of my lips. “I’m here for my final year. I was accepted on an exchange scholarship. Was studying in Limerick before.”

  “Well you’ll love it here. It’s a great school and most of the teachers are grand.”

  We chatted a little about the college and the courses until the class started.

  I was right. The History of Music in Ireland was about as interesting as watching paint dry.

  But at least I wasn’t called upon to answer any questions and the teacher, a slim, frizzy-haired lady, seemed nice enough.

  After class was dismissed, Ethan followed me out the door.

  “I feel like it’s my civic duty to show you around the place,” he said, his arm brushing mine as we walked. “Make sure you know all the shortcuts through the college and which teachers you can push the boundaries with. Have you got plans for lunch?”

  He was flirting with me; I wasn’t so innocent not to realise that.

  I’d had several flings with local boys while I’d waitressed back home. Strangely they had all been dark-haired, blue-eyed boys.

  It appeared I had a “type”.

  Ethan looked nothing like my type. Which mightn’t necessarily be a bad thing.

  It was just a shame that the touch of his arm did nothing for me. Unlike the way my body reacted when a certain someone got near me.

  Still, Ethan seemed lovely and was nice to look at. Maybe he’d grow on me?

  We walked together down to the college eating area, a market-style cafeteria with foods from various other European nations—Spanish, Italian, French—clustered around a seating area. We sat down at a table outside—it was still mild in Dublin in September and not raining for once—and I waved Anna over when I spotted her.

  Ethan and Anna had attended DCM for the last three years so they knew each other already, no introductions needed. The two of them bought their lunches from the market stalls. I was on a strict budget so I’d brought in a ham salad sandwich from home.

  The three of us chatted about our subjects this semester. Ethan and Anna argued about the best teachers, agreed on the worst.

  Ethan balled up his cardboard lunch box and stood. “I’m grabbing a hot chocolate, anyone want anything?”

  I shook my head. I figured from the designer polo he had on that he had money, probably parents who were paying his way through college.

  “Ethan,” Anna piped up, “you shouldn’t be having dairy before a vocal class. It creates too much mucus in your throat.” The three of us shared a vocals class after break.

  Ethan shrugged. “I guess I’m just a badass, then.” He shot me a wink as he strolled off.

  Anna began chatting about the extra singing lessons in Vienna her parents had paid for that she could take over the summer. If I didn’t like her so much I’d have been jealous.

  My eye drew across the courtyard to where a tall figure dressed in head-to-toe black was leaning against the brick wall of one of the buildings. A smaller, curvier female figure stood close to his side, one I recognised as one of my teachers. She laughed and placed her hand on Danny’s arm. He didn’t shrug it off.

  She was his age, his peer, daughter of a famous folk musician; she must have known what it was like growing up for him, understood him.

  A stab of hot iron went through my stomach.

  Dammit.

  I was not jealous. I wasn’t.

  Danny could do whatever the hell he wanted with whoever he wanted.

  Supposedly, he’d plenty of lovers, plenty of women who have claimed to have slept with the “t
en-inched sex god.” Jesus, didn’t reading that make me blush. I’ve not thought about the size of his, ahem, instrument at all, I swear.

  I heard that he never allowed his lovers to be seen with him in public. He didn’t want the attention shone anywhere but on his music.

  That sounded just like my Danny. I was glad that there was at least a small part of the beautiful boy in him that I used to know. It would be so sad if there was nothing left of him except my memories.

  “Don’t even think about it, Ailis,” Anna said, breaking through my reverie.

  “Huh, what?” I shook my head and turned back to her. Why did tearing my eyes away from Danny feel like ripping skin?

  “The infamous Danny O’Donaghue.” She nodded to the man who’d been consuming my thoughts. “You were staring.”

  “No, I wasn’t,” I said, just a little too quickly, then winced.

  Anna snorted. “Don’t worry, I’m not judging ye. Everyone’s talking about his sudden appearance as the Advanced Perf teacher. He’s a broody rock star musician and hot as fuck to boot. I’d do him in a second…if it wouldn’t get me kicked out.”

  “What?”

  Anna leaned in, a gleam of mischief flashing over her blue eyes. “Last semester, Mr Rogers was caught with one of his students. They both got kicked out.”

  “What? Was she underage?”

  “Nope. She was twenty.”

  “Then why—”

  “No fraternization. It’s in Mrs Hardass’s school rules. No warnings. No second chances. Nothing. Ruined both their careers. This country is small, the industry even smaller. Memories are long. And Mrs Prim has influence over the industry. Besides, nobody wants a scandal anymore. They want singers and musicians who can sell records, not magazine covers.”

  Her eyes flicked to the right where Ethan was strolling back with a hot chocolate in his hand.

  “But Ethan’s cute, huh?” she said in a low voice.

  She shot me a wink and straightened as Ethan rejoined our table, smiling as if she didn’t just drop a bomb in my lap.

  They both got kicked out. No warnings. No second chances. Nothing. Ruined both their careers.

  I shoved these thoughts aside. So my crush on Danny hadn’t diminished even after six years apart. So what? It’s not like he’d ever go for me. He didn’t even like me, for some stupid unknown reason.