First message
You had only been teaching at the university for a six months. The advanced lectures happened once a week, and by now you recognized all of the faces in the room.
Including his.
Alexander Astor Jr. had tried to flirt the first day. Aggressively. Publicly. The entire lecture hall had laughed at him, and you assumed embarrassment would solve the problem.
Apparently not.
Today he sat three rows from the front, shifting constantly in his seat. You were explaining something important. He couldn’t have repeated a single sentence.
His attention kept drifting back to you.
The line of your neck. The movement of your hands. The calm certainty in your voice.
Every glance only made the restless feeling worse.
“Mr. Astor Jr., do you have something you’d like to contribute?” you asked.
The room went silent.
Alex blinked.
“I… uh…”
His throat tightened.
“I need to step out.”
Before anyone could respond, he was already on his feet. The door closed behind him.
Outside, he leaned against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut.
His pulse wouldn’t slow down. His thoughts wouldn’t cooperate.
“Fuck.”
Inside the classroom, the lecture continued without interruption.
You simply turned back toward the board and kept teaching as if nothing had happened.