5

Evan

I should’ve handled it better. Hell, I knew I should’ve handled it better. But the moment Becca  opened her mouth in the middle of my lecture, my composure snapped. She hadn’t just challenged me in front of everyone—she’d actually made sense.

That shouldn’t have infuriated me, but it did.

The image of her sitting there, her posture confident, her gaze steady as she tore apart the very foundations of my lecture, replayed in my mind like a broken record. She was unapologetically bold, with a sharp tongue that sliced through my carefully constructed arguments like they were nothing. And, damn it, I couldn’t even be angry because she was right.

I leaned back in my chair, pinching the bridge of my nose. The rest of the lecture had gone by in a haze, my usual rhythm thrown completely off. The students had noticed, too. They’d all seen her throw down the gauntlet, and I hadn’t responded the way they’d expected. How could I, when every word she said had been grounded in logic?

Still, that wasn’t what got under my skin the most. It wasn’t her argument or her critique of Romeo and Juliet. It was her.

Becca .

She had no idea how utterly captivating she was—how her fiery confidence drew everyone in, me included. Her passion burned brighter than anyone else in that lecture hall, and that scared me more than I cared to admit.

Because I wasn’t supposed to notice. Not like this.

I should’ve stopped myself before it got this far. When she stayed behind after class, I should’ve kept it professional. Instead, I’d allowed the tension between us to spiral out of control. I’d let the conversation veer dangerously close to personal territory, let my words linger longer than they should have.

And now, here I was, pacing my office like some kind of lovesick idiot.

Damn it, Evan , get it together.

This wasn’t just unprofessional—it was downright stupid. Relationships with students were strictly forbidden for a reason, and I’d built my entire career on maintaining my reputation. But Becca  was something else entirely. She challenged me, infuriated me, and left me wanting more in a way no one ever had.

I sighed, sinking into my chair and staring blankly at the papers on my desk. I needed to focus, to regain control.

This wasn’t just a battle of wits or a clash of egos. Becca  wasn’t some fleeting distraction—I knew that now. She was a fire I couldn’t let myself get burned by.

And yet, part of me wondered if I already had.

Off-limits. I kept repeating the phrase in my mind like a mantra as I paced in front of the lectern. Standing still was out of the question. The energy coursing through me needed an outlet, or I’d risk exploding.

Becca ’s gaze followed me, unwavering. Her lips were slightly parted, and she had no idea how much that look unraveled me.

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to face the projector screen instead of her. “As you’ll see here,” I began, voice steady despite the storm brewing inside me, “the way emotions are expressed in English can differ vastly from person to person. For example, an ‘I love you’ doesn’t carry the same weight or meaning from one person as it might from another. That’s the beauty of the written word. A character in a story can declare, ‘You are my moon and stars,’ and readers might swoon.”

I smirked at the groans that rippled through the lecture hall. Turning back to the class, I added, “Of course, saying that aloud might sound ridiculous to most of you. For some, it wouldn’t feel natural at all. But that’s where storytelling shines—a character can say anything as long as it fits their personality and development.”

My eyes landed on Becca , who was furiously scribbling in her notebook. She was one of the few students who didn’t rely on a laptop to take notes. Instead, she recorded my lectures and wrote by hand, her brow furrowed in deep concentration. Every so often, she’d bite her lower lip in thought.

What was she writing?

Matthew, a student in the front row, raised his hand, interrupting my thoughts. “Do you really think saying something like that to a girl would make her swoon?” He tapped his pencil against his laptop, his expression skeptical.

“Probably not,” muttered the guy next to him with a snicker. “You’d have to actually talk to a girl first, dude.”

Laughter broke out, and Matthew’s face turned scarlet.

Becca  leaned forward, drawing the attention of the room. “It’s all about context,” she said confidently.

The movement caught my eye, and I had to fight not to focus on the way her posture accentuated her figure. She had no idea how much she tested my self-control.

Matthew and his friend turned to face her, curious. Becca  shot me a quick glance, as if seeking permission to continue.

I gave her a small nod, intrigued.

“If you look at your favorite movie,” she explained, “you’ll notice how frustrating it is when a character does something that feels out of place. A superhero with a sarcastic, savage personality isn’t going to start spouting poetry. But their banter might turn flirtatious, even if it’s cutting.”

Her insight sparked murmurs of agreement from the students. She spoke with a quiet authority, her passion shining through. I’d misjudged her at first, thinking she was shy. But when it came to books and storytelling, she came alive.

My watch vibrated, signaling the end of class. “Alright, assignments,” I announced as the students began packing up their things. “Using what we’ve discussed, I want you to watch your favorite movie tonight. Take your favorite character and write a short story where they’re forced to change at their core. Give them a reason, a motivation, and conflict that makes that change believable.”

The students filed out, leaving me in a strangely empty lecture hall. Without Becca ’s presence, the room felt suffocatingly quiet.

What was wrong with me? I’d never been this affected by a student before. It wasn’t just unprofessional—it was reckless. Relationships between professors and students were strictly forbidden, and for good reason.

But what if she wasn’t my student anymore?

I shook the thought away, frustrated with myself. This wasn’t the time to entertain dangerous hypotheticals.

The next class entered, and I forced myself to refocus. Without Becca  there to distract me, the lecture went smoothly, though it felt mechanical. By the time it ended, I bolted from the classroom, desperate for fresh air.

The quad buzzed with activity as students sprawled on the grass or wandered between buildings. I told myself not to look for Becca , but it was useless. My gaze darted around, searching for her like a moth drawn to a flame.

When I reached Cole’s lecture hall, I stepped inside, grateful for the cool air that hit my face. The silence of the building was a welcome reprieve.

Cole’s head popped out of his office. “Evan ! What brings you over here?”

“Needed to clear my head,” I admitted, following him into his office. Dropping into a chair, I propped my feet on the edge of his desk. “Anything exciting happening on your end of campus?”

Cole grinned, shrugging. “Same old, same old. Just trying to convince students that statistics isn’t the devil incarnate.”

I smirked. “I’ll admit, I don’t see the appeal myself. Now, English Lit—that’s a subject with real value.”

“Sure, if you like reading about doomed lovers,” Cole shot back with a laugh. He leaned against his desk, hands in his pockets. “Actually, I do have this one student… Becca . She looks like trouble.”

My heart stopped.

“What kind of trouble?” I asked, keeping my tone casual.

Cole shrugged. “Hard to say. She doesn’t talk much, but she’s got this way of observing everything, like she’s piecing you apart. And she’s always writing. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

The admiration in his voice made my blood boil.

Cole’s gaze drifted toward the hallway, his grin turning wistful. “I wonder what it’d take to get her to open up.”

I clenched my fists, barely containing the surge of possessiveness. Becca  wasn’t mine. She couldn’t be.

But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t the only one drawn to her.