Chapter 4: First Impressions... Last?

23:00 – A pub in Westminster.

The place was lively, as it always was on a Friday night. Glasses clinked, low laughter spilled out in waves, and somewhere in the corner, someone was butchering Oasis on the karaoke mic.

Ashton sat at the far end of the bar, nursing a glass of scotch, the amber liquid catching the light each time he swirled it. The tie was gone, the sleeves rolled up, and the second button of his dress shirt undone. His hair, once neatly styled, had relaxed into loose, slightly disheveled waves—evidence of the long day behind him.

Next to him, taking up a lot more space on the barstool, was Adeyomi Goodorally—his colleague and, on most days, the only person who could get more than a grunt or two out of Ashton when work wasn't involved.

Adeyomi was built like a fortress—broad shoulders, carved biceps, and hands the size of dinner plates. His skin was a flawless, deep mahogany, catching a sleek sheen under the golden lights. A former national-level footballer back in Nigeria, now turned Auburn's most beloved coach, he had that easy charm that made him magnetic in any room.

He was already two pints in, his booming laugh rolling over the hum of the pub.

"I'm just saying," Ade said, nudging Ashton with one powerful elbow, "when a dean starts dropping words like respect and out of courtesy, he's already got something up his sleeve."

Ashton didn't smile, but the corner of his mouth twitched like it wanted to.

"He always does," Ashton muttered, taking a sip of his scotch. "I don't trust it."

Ade raised a brow. "What, the new professor? The woman?"

"Alexis Wood," Ashton replied dryly, like he was trying to get used to the shape of her name. "Apparently the second coming of literary brilliance."

Ade tilted his head, studying Ashton. "You read her file?"

"Skimmed it."

"And?"

Ashton hesitated. "She's... qualified."

Ade leaned in slightly. "But?"

Ashton stared into his drink, voice lower now. "But I've heard that song before."

"I'm just saying, man," Ade leaned in, voice low enough that only Ashton could hear over the clamor, "Samantha was a walking red flag. You should've seen it before deciding to outright propose to the bitch who cheated on you right in front of your very own eyes."

Ashton paused mid-sip, the amber scotch catching in his throat. He set the glass down gently, then let out a slow, almost reluctant smirk. The word—harsh as it was—felt oddly cathartic coming from Ade. It cut through years of carefully maintained reserve, reminding him that sometimes it took brutal honesty to shake loose the ghosts.

Ade watched that smirk form and nudged Ashton again. "See? You're still thinking about it."

Ashton ran a hand through his slightly disheveled hair. "You always talk too much."

"But I'm right," Ade countered, sliding his empty pint glass aside and flagging down the bartender for another round. "You dodged a bullet, my friend."

Ashton exhaled, the tension in his shoulders slowly easing. "Maybe. But it wasn't my bullet to dodge in the first place."

Before Ade could respond, both men turned their heads toward the back of the pub where a sudden, loud howl broke through the hum of conversation and music.

Ashton's eyes sharpened as he spotted the source—two women making a scene. One was a blonde, laughing with abandon, her voice ringing out clear and carefree. Beside her was a familiar-looking redhead, climbing atop a table with the confidence of someone claiming the spotlight. She raised her pint of cider high in the air, her fiery hair catching the light as she grinned like she owned the place.

Ade nudged Ashton with a knowing smile. "That any of your business?"

Ashton's jaw tightened ever so slightly. "Not sure yet."

The blonde girl let out a wild cheer, clapping her hands as her redheaded friend wobbled down from the table. The fiery-haired woman stumbled just a bit but caught herself, flashing a daring grin. She weaved confidently through the crowd and planted herself right at the bar—precisely between Ashton and Ade.

With a loud, rebellious shout that cut through the pub's din, she declared,

"WE DON'T NEED NO FUCKING MENNNNNN!"

Heads turned, conversations paused, and even the bartender froze mid-pour. The room hung on her words like a sudden storm had blown through, electrifying the moment.

Ashton exchanged a quick glance with Ade, his dark eyes narrowing ever so slightly, a mixture of amusement and wariness flickering across his face.

Ade, never one to let a party spirit die, lifted his glass with a booming laugh.

"THAT'S RIGHT! WHO NEEDS 'EM?!"

Then added with a wink,

"Except the good-looking, respectful kind... like me."

The crowd around the bar chuckled, but the redhead between them was already in her own world. She burst into laughter so loud and wild that the bartender nearly dropped a pint glass. Swaying as she braced a hand on the bar, she turned to Ashton—her eyes bright with mischief and cider. She reeked of alcohol and confidence.

"You!" she said, pointing a crooked finger toward Ashton's chest.

"You look like someone who corrects essays with rage."

Ashton's jaw shifted slightly. His eyes narrowed, but not in offense—in stunned realization.

It was her.

Alexis Wood.

The same woman whose headshot he had studied that morning. Whose impressive résumé now sat on the Dean's desk. She had looked so polished, so composed—an academic darling with red hair cascading like silk in her professional photo.

And now, here she was, flushed and laughing in the middle of a pub, cider on her breath and chaos in her wake.

She didn't know him. That much was obvious. There was no flicker of recognition in her eyes, only boozy amusement. To her, he was just another stranger at the bar.

Ashton took a slow sip of his drink before replying coolly,

"And you look like someone who's about to fall off that stool."

Alexis gasped theatrically, one hand on her chest.

"The audacity," she said, grinning, then leaned heavily against the bar and asked the bartender for another cider.

The bartender, clearly used to handling half-sober patrons on a Friday night, slid a fresh pint of cider down the counter toward Alexis.

She caught it like a pro.

Then, with a wild grin and no warning whatsoever, she hurled the whole damn pint straight into Ashton's chest.

The glass didn't shatter, but the cider exploded across his shirt and coat, soaking him from collar to lap.

"YOU NEED TO CHILL, SIR!" Alexis declared, wobbling on her stool, pointing at him with a drunken smirk like she'd just won a bar fight.

And then—because her chaos knew no boundaries—she burst out laughing right in his face.

Ade leapt off his stool, nearly choking on his drink.

"YO—WHAT THE—?!" he shouted, eyes wide, looking from Ashton to the puddle of cider now forming beneath the bar.

Ashton didn't move.

Not even a blink.

He sat there, dripping and utterly still, as if his brain was deciding between retribution and restraint.

A drop of cider slid from his chin. His glasses were smeared. His dark button-down shirt clung to his torso.

Silence hung in the air like an aftershock.

Alexis, entirely unaware of the consequences, leaned closer and whispered dramatically,

"Brood less. Smile more."

Then she leaned back triumphantly... and immediately started tipping sideways off the stool.

The cider still dripped from Ashton's shirt when the blonde woman from earlier—the howling cheerleader—came sprinting toward them, eyes wide like she'd just watched a slow-motion car crash.

"Oh my God, Lex!" she hissed, grabbing Alexis by the wrist and yanking her off the barstool before she could fall flat on her face.

Alexis blinked, confused.

"But I was just giving a public service announcement..." she mumbled.

"You just baptized a man in cider, you lunatic!" the blonde hissed again, dragging her backwards like a mother pulling a toddler out of traffic.

She turned to Ashton and Ade, her cheeks flaming.

"I am so sorry—she doesn't usually throw drinks at people. Usually." Then added, under her breath, "It's been a year."

Ade waved it off with a chuckle, still holding his glass.

"No harm done. Just a bit sticky."

Ashton, on the other hand, remained quiet. His wet shirt clung to him uncomfortably, but his gaze was fixed on Alexis—not with anger, but with a strange, unreadable intensity. The kind of stare that suggested he was cataloging this woman with absolute precision.

The blonde noticed.

"We'll get out of your hair now. I swear we're not always like this," she said, dragging Alexis—who was now humming what sounded like Bohemian Rhapsody—toward the exit.

"Tell your shirt I'm sorry!" Alexis shouted over her shoulder, her laughter echoing through the pub.

Ade turned to Ashton, who still hadn't moved.

"Well. That was... eventful."

Ashton pulled off his glasses, wiped them slowly with the dry inside hem of his jacket.

"I've reviewed CVs for years," he murmured, mostly to himself.

"But none of them ever threw a pint at me."