Dylan Roxi is officially a Hot New Author! Her debut novel, “Offsides” is selling off the charts! Congrats to her!

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Mystery Chapter…

I love my job – every single part of it. What that means is that picking a favorite part of my job would be hard to do. Or at least it should be. But it isn’t.  My favorite part is the teaching bit. It sounds quite cliché, but the actual process of thinking up creative ways to pass knowledge to people literally gives me the thrills. It’s why I became a lecturer in the first place, and even though there were a number of nice things about the job – good money, job security, the enviable social status that came with it, there was nothing that I quite enjoyed better than standing in front of a class and teaching new stuff to a bunch of people. But because of how difficult it was keeping track of a bunch of faces and their individual reactions to my brilliant analogies, I tended to enjoy teaching better when it involved less people, and one-on-one teaching was the ultimate pleasure of my teaching career. But the higher I climbed up the ranks in the faculty, the more difficult it had become to find the time to take on individual lessons. I still managed to fit some into my schedule every now and then though, so, when Dr. Barkley had called a couple of days ago saying he had a student who was in dire need of extra lessons in History, but that he was too busy to take him on, I agreed to take the classes. Of course I still had to meet the student and decide whether he would be worth the time I would be carving out from my schedule. Giving tutorials to a student who wasn’t ready and willing to be tutored went against the whole idea of one-on-one teaching being the ultimate pleasure. 

So far, it was looking as though this particular student did not meet the requirement of being ready and willing. It was 1:12 pm, seven good minutes past the fashionable lateness, and I had half a good mind to call Barkley and tell him off for the waste of my time, but I decided to wait until 1:20. At least then, he wouldn’t be able to claim that I had been too harsh with my punctuality requirements. 

I heard a knock on my door, and barely a second later, my door opened. 

Wow, I thought. I added that to the growing list of offenses, and I was already getting ready to get into a detailed rebuke on the essentiality’s of punctuality and what counted as standard knocking etiquette, but as soon as I saw who it was that had now entered my office, I forgot all about my speech. It was the same guy from five months ago, the one who had come to my office with his friend to apologize for a death threat that his friend had sent to me, and had then had the nerves to ask what it would cost to bribe me into convincing the school authorities to rescind their expulsion of his friend? The arrogant, obnoxious brat! What was he doing in my office?

From the look of shock on his face, it was obvious that he too had no idea that I was the one he was scheduled to meet. He soon recovered though, or at least so it seemed, because he took a couple of tentative steps forward towards my table. 

“Hi, I’m Marco Laredo. I’m here for the tutorial discussion. From Dr. Barkley,” he said. 

I could sense from the curtness in his voice that I wasn’t the only one still feeling some leftover frostiness from our last encounter, a meeting which I was now actively trying to avoid remembering. There were a lot of negative feelings from that period, and if I allowed them to come flooding back, there was no telling how mad I could get. And, according to the people in my life, I wasn’t too different from an injured wild animal whenever I got mad. I obviously couldn’t risk being that unrestrained within my place of work, where everyone knew me to be the cool, calm and collected Dr. Parcel. So I decided to take that route, the cool, calm, collected route. In charge, and in control. 

But despite my foul mood, for which he was responsible, the obsessive in me wanted to take a good hard look at the young man who stood in front of me, and so I decided to go ahead and do it anyway. He looked really good, I have to give him that. He had to be between 21 and 22, and he could easily be the most attractive young man I have seen in my entire life. The fact that I could still notice that bit of detail in spite of my feelings for him in that moment was all you needed to know about how good looking he was. He had dark green eyes, and on first glance, they seemed to be the highlight of his narrow face, but on closer look, I found that his chiseled jaw and his sharp cheekbones were also pretty noticeable. He also had gorgeous brown hair, curled up and slicked to one side. That piece of detail was certain to make him a hit with the ladies. He was wearing a black body-hugging round neck top on blue jeans and what looked to be Nike sneakers, and I wondered whether it was the perfectly toned muscles on his arms that had made me assume that he was a soccer player, or whether it was the athlete vibe that he oozed.  

Trisha Fuentes

About the author: Hey, it's Trish!  And welcome to my site!  In addition to all my novels, I've now incorporated pen authors from my publishing company, Ardent Artist Books.  Enjoy Romance Reader!