Chapter 11 Lottie
The next day, I woke to a wash of dreary gray light filtering through my curtains. The sky looks heavy, swollen with clouds that don’t quite break — just linger. It feels like it’s echoing my mood. Unsettled. Overcast. Full of things I don’t have the vocabulary for.
I sit on the edge of my bed and rub my hands over my face.
I need to get myself together. I need to be steady. I need to be able to see Professor Hale today without falling apart.
Just thinking about him sends a shiver down my spine.
It’s ridiculous.
This will be the third day. Third. And yet my body reacts like I’ve known him forever — as if some buried instinct recognizes him in a way my conscious mind can’t explain.
I drag myself to the bathroom and turn on the shower. Steam slowly fills the room, softening the harsh morning light. When I step under the hot water, I let it pour over my shoulders and down my back, trying to let the heat melt the tension knotted inside me.
It helps. A little.
My breathing slows. The tightness in my chest loosens. I tell myself, firmly, that I can do this.
I can stay professional. I can keep my distance.
This won’t be the hardest thing I’ll ever face. I’ve worked too hard to lose control now.
I dress carefully. Jeans. A long-sleeved shirt. Neutral colors.
Nothing that feels like a statement. Nothing that feels like I’m trying.
I don’t want to give myself—or him—anything extra to notice.
When I check the clock, I’ve got an hour before class. Breakfast first. Routine helps. Routine grounds me.
The cold outside hits me like a wall, sharp enough to make my eyes water. Winter doesn’t negotiate. It doesn’t care about comfort. It just takes.
Inside the cafeteria, I grab something simple and settle into the quiet corner Sandy and I always claim. I nibble at my food, forcing my mind to stay present.
Bread. Eggs. Coffee.
Not him. Not his scent.
Not the way the air changes when he steps into a room.
When I finish, I clean up and head back out into the cold, letting it sting my lungs. I need the distraction of class. Even something straightforward like math feels like a blessing right now.
I take my seat and open my laptop.
Focus. Equations.Numbers. Certainty.
But my thoughts keep slipping.
I have to drag them back over and over again, like pulling a stubborn animal on a leash. By the end of the hour, I feel wrung out — like I’ve been wrestling something wild and unseen the entire time.
Statistics is better.
It demands more. Requires more. For a little while, I forget everything else.
But when the bell rings, reality crashes back in.
I’m going to see him. Soon.
I bundle up and cross the quad toward the Sciences building. The closer I get, the more my skin tingles. It’s like my body knows before my mind does. Like something inside me is alert, awake.
I slip into the classroom with a few minutes to spare and take a seat in the middle row. Not too close. Not too far. That way, I can blend in.
Be invisible.
But I feel exposed anyway. Like there’s a spotlight hovering just above me.
With one minute left, he walks in.
He pauses just inside the door. And takes a slow, deep breath. Like he’s inhaling something he likes.
My heart stutters.
He shakes his head slightly, as if clearing it, and moves toward his desk.
“Good afternoon, everyone. Glad to see you all made it despite the cold.”
The class chuckles softly.
He claps his hands once. “Okay, let’s get started.”
Then his eyes find me.
“I’m going to write the agenda on the board. Charlotte—” He pauses. “I mean, Lottie — could you take attendance?”
The sound of my name in his voice sends a ripple through me.
“Sure,” I manage. “No problem.”
I stand and walk toward his desk.
The moment I step within arm’s reach, his scent hits me. Grapefruit and honey. Bright. Warm. Almost golden.
It wraps around me so suddenly that I forget how to breathe for half a second. I grip the edge of the desk and focus on the paper.
Names. Call the names. Do your job.
My voice sounds steady, somehow. I don’t know how I manage it.
When I turn to place the attendance sheet back on his desk, he’s closer than before. Too close.
The warmth of him feels amplified.
My pulse spikes. My thoughts scatter. My body reacts before I can shut it down — heat flaring low, sharp, and disorienting. Dick hardening so fast it's almost painful.
I step back quickly.
“I’m, uh… I’m going to run to the bathroom, sir. If that’s alright.”
He clears his throat, voice slightly tighter than before. “Yes. That’s fine. Don’t be too long.”
I nod and leave fast, hoping no one notices how rattled I am.
The hallway feels too bright. Too loud. I lean against the wall for a moment and drag in a slow breath.
Everything feels heightened. Every sensation turned up too high.
In the bathroom, I lock myself in a stall and brace my hands against the cool metal partition. My pulse pounds in my ears. My skin feels too tight.
I close my eyes and try to breathe through it. But the memory of his scent lingers — deeper now, richer when he stepped closer.
The thought alone makes my body tense sharply, an instinctive surge I can’t fully control.
I bite back a groan and press my forehead against the wall, his scent seeming to envelope me. I pull my dick from my pants, lick my lips, and, feeling like I can taste him on my tongue, it only takes a few strokes before I cum.
This is insane.
It takes a few long minutes before the rush fades into something manageable. Before my breathing evens out. Before I feel like I’m in my own skin again.
I step out, wash my hands thoroughly, and splash cold water on my face. The chill shocks me back into focus.
Is this what the next few months are going to be like?
Jerking off in bathroom stalls?
Constantly fighting myself?
Constantly pretending I’m unaffected while every nerve in my body screams otherwise?
I grip the sink until my knuckles ache and stare at my reflection.
Wide eyes. Flushed cheeks.
Someone caught between instinct and reason.
Someone who doesn’t know how to navigate this.
When I return to class, I slip into my seat quietly.
The moment I sit, his scent shifts again.
Stronger. Sharper.
My breath catches.
He’s not helping.
Not even a little.
Isn’t he on suppressants?
If he is, they aren’t working.
I almost scoff at the thought. Like I have any room to judge. Mine are failing spectacularly.
“Lottie?”
I blink, realizing he’s looking at me.
“Everything alright? You don’t agree with something I said?”
Heat rushes to my face.
“Sorry, professor. No — I was thinking about something else.”
“Oh?” A hint of amusement curves his mouth. “Am I boring you?”
I force a weak laugh. “Not at all. Just… a lot on my mind. You can continue.”
He smiles — and the transformation steals the air from my lungs.
His whole face shifts. Softens. Brightens.
“Thank you for your permission,” he teases lightly before turning back to the board.
I try to listen.
I really do. But I can’t focus on the words.
I’m too aware of him. The way he moves when he talks. The way his expression changes with every point. The subtle shifts in his scent when he steps closer to the center aisle.
My mind drifts to places it shouldn’t. Places that make my pulse jump. Places that make my breath hitch. Places I absolutely cannot afford to go. Like how expressive he would be when I push—I shake my head sharply, earning a few curious glances from nearby students. I offer an awkward smile and duck my head.
I don’t even pretend to understand the lecture anymore.
He could be speaking another language.
All I can think about is him.
Before I know it, the bell rings.
The sharp sound makes me jerk in my seat. Class is over. And I didn’t absorb a single thing.
If this keeps up, I won’t just lose my composure.
I’ll lose my grades.
I gather my things slowly, exhaustion settling into my bones.
Chemistry is next. And I already feel like I’ve run a marathon.
Four months of this. Four months of proximity. Four months of fighting instinct every single day.
I swallow hard.
I don’t know how I’m going to survive it.