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"My English professor, whom I'd shaken my stuff in front of less than twenty-four hours earlier, recognized me without any trouble. Yup. While I stood there droning on about my favorite author, he was probably remembering the freckle on my left butt cheek." Wellshire University's hottest professors. Brilliant. Good looking. And terribly off limits. My Math professor is dexterous with his . . . equations. My English professor is a champ at caressing my . . . run-on sentences. And my French professor is magnifique around penetrating . . . verb conjugations. I love their classes. I always sit in front. And I raise my hand for every question. Until the day I saw them watching my little show at Club V, where I earn money for school by showing off my . . . skills. I thought they'd stop coming when they realized I worked there. But now that they've seen me, they can't seem to look away. The dude I'd just given the special dance? He was my English professor. And I'd be seeing him at 8am tomorrow morning. Contains mature themes.