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to my side of the car. I used my key to unlock my door and get in, smirking at her as I pulled out of the parking garage.
    My eyes were focused on the road, but I reached over and laced my fingers with hers. It was only a ten-minute drive to campus, even in New York traffic. I turned into a lesser used entrance that led right to the faculty lot. I had early meetings, and the lot was mostly empty. I pulled up and stopped near the entrance but under the cover of trees. “I’ll let you out here and go back to park.”
    She released my fingers and reached for the door handle. My hand shot out and caught hold of her arm. “Sweetheart, get your ass back here and kiss me goodbye.”
    Charlotte’s eyes dashed around the lot. “Gabe!” she whispered fiercely. “What if someone sees?”
    I sighed, “I don’t give a fuck. When you have to be out of my presence, I expect you to leave me a piece of you to take with me.”
    Her eyes went soft and she leaned across the seat to place a sweet kiss on my lips.
    “I don’t think so, sweetheart.” I dove a hand into her hair and gripped it tight, slamming her mouth down over mine. My tongue thrust into her mouth and she moaned, her mouth opening to welcome me in. I kissed the shit out of her, only pulling back when I was close to the point of no return.
    I grunted in satisfaction at the glazed look in her eyes and winked. “See, sweetheart? You need to relax. Now get to class and daydream of me.”
    Charlotte smiled wide and practically bounced out of the car. I watched her until she was inside, then put the car back in gear. As I pulled away, my eye caught movement and I saw another student walking around the corner of the building, his head bent, absorbed in his phone. He glanced up as he reached the door, looking right to where I idled, and our eyes met. Then he opened the door and rushed inside.
    Had he seen us? I rolled my eyes and shrugged it off. Charlotte’s paranoia had apparently rubbed off on me.

Chapter 9
Charlotte
    T he exam for my Shakespeare class was easier than I expected, a lucky thing too, considering how little studying I’d gotten done in the last three days. My Special Themes in Literature exam was a breeze, as I’d expected. I was just reading through my answers when the professor called out my name, drawing my attention to the front of the room.
    “Miss Young you’re wanted in the dean’s office.”
    I glanced down at my test packet one last time. “Almost done,” I mumbled.
    “I’m sure your answers will be sufficient considering you have a nearly perfect grade in my course and haven’t written anything new for the last five minutes.”
    “Okay,” I agreed reluctantly, shoving all my stuff into my backpack.
    Nerves fluttered in my stomach as I handed her my test. The only communication I’d had with the dean since I started school here three and a half years ago was the letter I received each semester letting me know I’d made President’s or Dean’s list for my grades. What the hell could he want to speak with me about now that would make one of my professors act so strangely?
    By the time I made it across campus to the administrative building, I was a nervous wreck. The dean’s administrative assistant was seated at her desk outside his office. “Hi, I’m Charlotte Young. My professor told me I needed to come in to see the dean.”
    “Yes, Miss Young,” she responded, eyeing me up and down with a hint of disdain. “Mr. Whitehall will be ready to see you in a moment. Please take a seat over there while you’re waiting.”
    She waved towards a row of chairs against the wall and turned her attention back to her computer. When I took a seat, I realized my hands were shaking and gripped them together in my lap. Then my foot started tapping, the sound echoing in the room. Mr. Whitehall’s assistant cleared her throat and glared at me.
    I glanced at the clock, staring at it as the minutes passed. After ten minutes, my nerves turned to