Chapter 20
Stella:
The question hung between us, loaded with implications I wasn't ready to examine. I stood up quickly, brushing imaginary wrinkles from my skirt. "My excuse is that I made a promise to my friend."
"Right. Just doing your duty." But his voice was soft, almost tender.
"I believe you. But still." He stood too, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. "You stayed. And I think that means something, even if you won't admit it."
I reached up and grabbed his ear between my thumb and forefinger, giving it a warning squeeze. "Let's see if you're still this cocky when the grades come out."
"Is this your version of positive reinforcement?" He didn't pull away, just grinned down at me with those impossible eyes. "Because I have to say, Professor Morrison, your teaching methods are very unconventional."
"My teaching methods are going to involve assigning you extra reading if you don't stop pushing your luck."
"Worth it." He caught my wrist gently, his thumb brushing over my pulse point in a way that made my breath catch.
I pulled my hand away and stepped back, putting necessary distance between us. "I should go."
"Thanks for the food. And for staying."
"Thank Zoe. She's the one who bullied me into this."
"Sure. We'll go with that story." He walked me to the door, and as I stepped into the hallway, he added, "Drive safe, Professor. And maybe next time, wear the blue skirt. That's my favorite."
I spun around to glare at him.
"I pay attention." His grin was absolutely shameless. "It's kind of my thing."
I should have been annoyed. Instead, I found myself fighting back a smile as I turned and walked away, his laughter following me down the hallway.
--
The midterm exam results posted on Friday morning, and I found myself staring at the grade distribution with something close to disbelief. Noah Carter had scored a ninety-four—not just the highest grade in the class, but a full eight points above the second-place student.
He wasn't just doing well. He was dominating.
The department email about research team assignments sat in my inbox like a ticking bomb.
Noah Carter had been assigned to my team based on his perfect grades so far.
By the time I walked into my afternoon lecture, I'd almost convinced myself I could handle this like the trained professional I was supposed to be. That conviction lasted exactly as long as it took for Noah to walk through the door.
He looked unfairly alert for someone who'd presumably been up late eating Chipotle and asking uncomfortable questions. When his eyes found mine across the lecture hall, something flickered in them that made my pulse jump traitorously.
I looked away first, focusing on my laptop with more intensity than opening a PowerPoint presentation strictly required.
The lecture began normally enough. I launched into my planned material, calling on various students for their thoughts. But I was acutely aware of Noah in the third row, taking notes with that focused intensity that somehow made even the mundane act of writing look deliberate.
Then, deliberately, I called on him.
"Mr. Carter," I said, my voice crisp and professional. "Perhaps you can explain the primary methodology challenges in observational research."
He looked up, slightly surprised to be called on so early, but answered smoothly and thoroughly. I nodded, then moved on—only to circle back to him ten minutes later with another question. And then another fifteen minutes after that.
By the fourth time I called on him in the span of thirty minutes, I noticed a few students exchanging glances. Noah's expression had shifted from surprised to something more considering, his eyes studying me with that unnerving perceptiveness.
My phone buzzed during a brief pause while students worked on an exercise.
Noah Carter (Zoe's Brother): Is there a reason you're calling on me every five minutes?
I kept my expression neutral as I typed back.
Me: You're the top student in this class. I'm simply ensuring you're being adequately challenged.
Noah: Uh huh. And it has nothing to do with what happened last night?
Noah: Because from where I'm sitting, this feels a lot like you're trying to put me in my place.
I looked up to find him watching me, his pen tapping against his notebook. The corner of his mouth quirked up slightly, like he found this whole situation amusing rather than annoying.
Me: I don't know what you're talking about. I'm treating you like any other high-performing student.
Noah: Right. So when you called on me just now, that wasn't you being passive-aggressive about me asking "what's your excuse"?
My fingers tightened around my phone. The audacity of this man to call me out so directly.
Me: Perhaps if you spent less time texting during class and more time focusing on the material, you wouldn't need to question my teaching methods.
Noah: Oh, I'm focused. Very focused.
Noah: On you.
My face heated traitorously. I set my phone down with deliberate care and addressed the class. "Mr. Carter, since you seem particularly engaged today, why don't you walk us through the next concept?"
I saw his eyes narrow slightly—recognition that I was absolutely using his academic standing as an excuse to make him work harder than anyone else in the room. But he rose to the challenge, standing to present his thoughts with the same calm competence that made me want to simultaneously throttle him and... well, I wasn't going to finish that thought.
The next forty minutes became a silent war of wills. I called on him relentlessly—complex questions, theoretical challenges, requests to elaborate on points that other students would have been allowed to summarize briefly. Each time, he answered with increasing confidence, occasionally throwing in observations that were insightful enough to make me forget, briefly, that I was supposed to be putting him in his place.
Finally, as I posed yet another question directed at him, he set down his pen and looked at me directly.
Noah: You're really enjoying this, aren't you?
I didn't respond, instead calling on Sofia Rodriguez for the next question. But I could feel Noah's gaze on me, steady and knowing, for the rest of the lecture.
When class finally ended and students began filing out, Noah took his time packing up. I needed to get back to my office, to put physical distance between myself and the knowing look in Noah's hazel eyes.
Footsteps echoed behind me. Steady, unhurried, matching my pace.