Read My Lips (A College Obsession Romance) by Daryl Banner Read Free Book Online

Most of you know me. Six of you don’t. Hi. I’m Professor Dan Trellis. You can call me Dick.”
    Two guys wearing baseball caps in the seats ahead of me turn to each other. “How do you get Dick from Dan?” one of them mutters quietly.
    “You ask nicely,” answers the other, and they both break into a fit of muffled snickering.
    I roll my eyes.
    “This is not the slack-off crew,” Dick says in a tired drone, though it seems less like a fact and more like he’s trying to convince himself. “Most of your life here will be cables and gels and C-clamps. Shit gets stressful the week leading up to dress, just before each show goes up. You will be going up Bertha the cherry-picker at some point, so if heights aren’t your thing, make them your thing. Introduce yourself to Bertha. Learn how to operate Bertha. Love Bertha. You’ll be given an assistant when you first use her, blah, blah, life’s about confronting fears and shit, right?”
    I’m about to make a mental comment on all of the professor’s swearing when something else steals every bit of my wayward attention.
    Every bit of my delicious, sexy attention.
    Another figure has come out of the shadows from backstage. His brawny build is unmistakable, as well as the swagger in his stride. When the light finally touches his face, it’s like a gift from the School of Sex. Dark, brooding, fierce … he always looks pissed off about something. Why do I find that so hot?
    “Nice to have you join us, Clayton,” the professor mutters with a turn of his head. “Most of you know Clayton, my right hand man with the lights for the last two years. Invaluable to us. Be like him.”
    Clayton … Is that his name?
    If it is, you wouldn’t know it from the way he completely disregards Professor Dick, hopping down the steps and taking a seat in the front row. Just as well, Dick doesn’t seem to mind as he lifts his clipboard back to his face and resumes instructing us on what our semester with him is going to be like.
    Meanwhile, my eyes drift to the beauty in the front row. Clayton . His face taut with concentration, he stares at the professor as the speech goes on and on. Something about sound crew. Something about time management and patience.
    Yeah, I know all about patience. Here I am, patiently staring at the beauty who’s invaded every one of my dreams since I stepped foot into this very theater. I have never, in all my life, been as drawn to a person as I am to him.
    Clayton. The name fits him so well. He’s a statue, a hardened clay sculpture, a work of art.
    Suddenly, everyone’s rising from their seats and filing onto the stage. I must’ve missed something. I get up awkwardly, following the baseball-capped boys. I avoid eye contact with Clayton and pray that, should he get a look in my direction, he doesn’t remember who I am. I realize how unlikely that is, considering the full-on eye contact we shared right after my bold and embarrassing performance yesterday.
    “Here’s the lighting rack,” Dick goes on, tapping a giant contraption made of pipes upon which tons of different lighting instruments hang.
    The crowd of us gather around the professor as he starts describing the different types of lights. As I take my place in the back, I don’t realize until it’s too late who I’m standing right beside.
    I freeze. The whole world is gone and all I’m aware of is his body standing to my left.
    Oh my god, he smells so good. He could have come from three hours of working out, or from a morning of transporting heavy props and set pieces backstage. Who knows. Who cares. His scent intoxicates me, just like it did that first day at the mixer.
    Does he always smell like this?
    “There’s all kinds of gels,” Dick goes on. “See, with them, the lights get colors, or get shapes, or get …”
    Clayton’s big, firm body is like a bonfire at my side. I feel his heat. Does he know he’s standing next to me? Is this intentional, or completely incidental that the