Chapter Five - This Is Still a Bad Idea

The next morning dawned too bright.

Lena rolled over, staring at the strips of sunlight slicing through her bedroom blinds — streaks of light like prison bars. Her mouth was dry. Her head throbbed — not from the wine, but from everything left unsaid. The way he looked at her. The way she didn’t stop him. The way her fingers had gone tap-tap-tap across her phone after midnight, hovering over the app. Debating one word. One emoji. One breath of permission.

She hadn’t.

But she hadn’t blocked him, either.

She stumbled to her feet and went to the shower, letting the water hit her for longer than she needed. The water burned against her shoulders, but she didn’t flinch. Didn’t flinch. Just let it sear the memory into her.

His voice had come with her. That slow, deliberate cadence. “Your hands are shaking.”

They still were.

She dressed more slowly than usual. She picked something plain — a gray blouse with a high neckline, dark jeans, and her lowest heels. No accessories. No distractions. No excuses. But if she looked plain enough, perhaps the heat in her chest would cool. Maybe she could reset.

It was half full by the time she reached the faculty lot, with people who were so worn down they had managed to haul themselves into early office hours. Lena held her tote bag protectively as she moved through the building. No one knew. Of course, they didn't. But she felt exposed all the Mollye, as if a shadow of last night had seeped into her skin.

Her phone buzzed again.

Snapchat.

She didn’t open it.

Not until she was behind closed doors in her office, blinds drawn.

It was a photo.

No caption. Just Jace — shirtless, sitting on a seat on his boat (of course, he had a ship), his skin glistening like he’d just come from the water, dark swim trunks still damp and clinging low on his hips. One glass of whiskey rested in his hand. Another, already poured, sat untouched in the empty seat beside him. His eyes didn’t meet the camera, but the message was there, unspoken and deliberate. Five seconds. That’s all she got. And it still felt like an invitation.

She looked at the lock screen for a while.

Then she pushed the phone face down to the bottom of her drawer.

She may or may not have noticed. It wasn’t just the texts. It was the relentless, low-simmer way she was being pursued that gave her a strange, unspoken thrill. She answered two emails. Replied to a student forum post with more warmth than she felt. She even nodded graciously to the adjunct from the psych department who handed her a lukewarm bagel in the lounge.

The storm between her and Jace wasn’t gone — not by a long shot. But somehow, it wasn’t the first thing on her mind for once. And that scared her even more.

At lunchtime, she circled the quad for a bit of sun, hoping it might help clear her head. She passed three of her own students without being recognized — the absence of her cardigan and heels making her practically invisible. One of them, Rachel, was sprawled out on the lawn with a massive salad bowl in her lap, chatting animatedly into her phone, her recent mojito phase clearly behind her.

Lena quickened her pace.

When she returned to her office, she locked the door and then sat. Not because she had a reason. She desired the illusion of safety.

Her phone buzzed again.

Snapchat: jface8989 — New Message

She hesitated.

Then, I tapped it open.

This time, it was text. Not a picture.

Didn’t mean to mess with your head.

You just looked... alive last night during class.

That second glass was yours ;).

Another buzz followed seconds later.

I know I shouldn’t say that. You didn’t ask me to. None of these are things you asked me for. At least we can be playful, though. Thoughts? You seriously need some fun, Lena. Even if it's not with me, go out with your friends sometime soon. You need it.

She stared at the screen. Her fingers hovered.

But her fingers moved before she could stop them.

(Why was she even doing this?)

The message was sent. Then the Bitmoji vanished.

Her heart skipped.

Seconds later, it popped back up.

Also, you're not telling me to disappear or get lost, J.

Lena flung the phone across the desk — not violently, but quickly — then stood, pacing a single, furious step in one direction and then another in the opposite direction.

He wasn’t wrong. That was the problem.

She hadn’t told him to stop. He knew she wanted him, and that was the issue. Even if she said she in no way wished to be with him, he would respect it, but wouldn't believe it.

Not last night. Not at the bar. Not when his voice went deep and raspy and coiled low along her spine. Not even now.

She should report him.

She should close it all down.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she retrieved the velvet box from the drawer, the virgin box.

She stared at it as if it might leap.

Her hand hovered over it.

Then she opened it again and closed it, stepping back as if distance could unravel desire.

It didn’t.

She marked papers that night like a machine, eyes hardly reading the words. Everyone else had handed in lazy musings about metaphors and themes of class.

Except for him.

The paper was shorter this time—just a paragraph.

But every word oozed with restraint.

The line between power and permission isn't as wide as people pretend. But some women — women like you—carry both. You don't bend the rules. You become them. And that's what makes touching you feel like both a risk and a reward.

She read it three times.

Then set her phone down gently, as if it might combust.

 The next day came and went — not a word from him. No Snap. No glance in class. He showed up late, left early, and said nothing unless asked directly.

The next day came, and not a word from him. Not a Snap. Not a glance in class. He was a late arrival, an early departure, and he didn’t say a word voluntarily.

Lena should’ve felt relieved.

Instead, she felt hollow and a little disappointed.

After everyone left, he found herself looking at the empty seat he typically occupied with a sense of insouciant conceit. Not sure if she crossed a line. If he had accepted the silence, ultimately, for what it was — a no.

But deep inside, she was too smart for that.

Jace Maddox didn’t retreat. He reloaded.

So when her phone lit up that night with a Snap from him, she wasn't shocked.

It was a photograph of a table for two.

A candle burned low—a drink half-finished. A chair pulled out, waiting.

Her pulse skidded. She secretly loved the whole "here's a drink for you, but you're not here?" invitation he had been doing with his pictures. It was cute.

No words. No address. But she knew that table’s wood grain.

It was from the nicer bar, just off campus.

She stared at the image. Her thumb hovered. Her heart beat in her throat.

She shouldn’t go.

She was not going.

But twenty minutes later, she was parking two blocks down.

He was in a rear corner of the bar, in low light, his space secluded behind high, dark-backed booths. This time, his shirt was unbuttoned at the collar. His sleeves rolled.

He didn’t rise when she entered.

He raised his eyes to her, looking straight at her.

“You came.”

She sat without answering.

“Why here?”

He glanced around. “Neutral ground. You’ve probably been here before. But not with me.”

“And that makes this less reckless?”

“Just makes it real.”

The server came. She ordered water. He didn’t say a word.

They were silent for just a beat too long.

Then Jace leaned in.

“I was not going to push again,” he said. “But the way you watched me in class today? I just thought, I’m as well being honest, then.”

“You didn’t even look at me.”

“I didn’t have to. I already knew where you were at.”

She laughed, short and nervous. “That’s either creepy or poetic.”

“I lean more towards poetic.” He smiled.

She took a sip of water. Set it down too hard and made a face that told him she was embarrassed. “You’re so sure of yourself.” She said, smiling.

“I’m not. I’m just sure of our situation.”

She swallowed hard. “You have no idea of what our situation even is.”

He tilted his head. “Neither do you. That’s why it’s worth exploring.”

“No,” she said. “That’s why it’s dangerous.”

He didn’t argue.

Didn’t try to convince her.

He just sat there. And letting the weight of all she wouldn’t say settle between them.

She despised that he became so fucking cool. Hated that her hands were sweating and her stomach couldn’t keep still while he just … watched.

Her breath hitched.

And then he leaned forward ever so slightly and whispered:

“You don’t have to want me. You don’t have to do any of it. But if you’re kidding yourself right now, you’ll regret it more than if you kissed me and then kicked me out of your life.”

Her lips moved, but no words came out.

The thought was there — crystal clear — but it caught in her throat atop a thread like it didn’t want to be spoken aloud. Because saying it would make it real. And Lena Hayes had devoted 10 years to keeping her silence.

"I didn't come to this meet-up to kiss you,” she finally said.

“Meet up?” he laughed. “It would cross lines to call this a date?” he laughed again at what he knew was a rhetorical question. “I know you didn’t come here to kiss me. But you came here for something?”

“I came here to end this.” She said the words as if someone else were forcing her to speak, and there was almost an inflection in her voice that made it sound like a question.

Jace didn’t move.

“Then do it,” he said. “Right now. Tell me to drop the class and disappear. Say that I am never to write to you. That this was nothing and will continue to be nothing.”

She fixed him with a stare, her jaw clenched. "Don't tempt me."

“I’m not tempting you. I’m giving you an out.”

She didn’t take it.

Instead, she leaned back in the booth, her arms crossed. And waved over the waitress. “Can I get an old-fashioned with three cherries?" She said. "You're dangerous and frustrating all at once, Jace Maddox.

"So are you, Lena.”

She loved hearing him say her name like that. So intentional, locking his eyes every time as if he was telling her what her name actually was. It was odd but arousing.

“I’m older than you.”

“I know. And I like that.”

“I’m your professor.”

“For two more weeks, Lena, who cares?”

Lena exhaled through her nose. “You’re not making this easier.”

“I’m not meaning to,” he said. “Easy isn’t honest.”

The waitress came back with her drink. They didn't order any food, but Jace ordered another bourbon, ice, and a splash of Coke. Only nervous thank-yous and silence as the woman left them alone, once more.

Lena moved the water to the side and focused on her drink.

"Fine. I give in," she whispered. "You wake me up, and that's as descriptive as I'll get at this moment about that. Or maybe you remind me. I don't know which is worse."

There was silence on the other side for a beat before he spoke softly, "Perhaps, it’s not about who you were or who you are. Maybe it’s about who you want to be?” he said, turning it into a reflective question for her to ponder.

She didn’t answer.

Her hands dropped into her lap and became suddenly inert.

Then he passed something across the table.

It wasn’t the box.

It was a paper napkin, folded in four, with a brief handwritten line in blue ink.

She unfolded it.

You do not need a license or a lover in good standing to feel something real.

It struck her harder than it should have, like a slap to the soul. And she folded it one more time, even tighter. She loved the little writing game they had been having, but it was turning into something important she had been wanting.

“I don’t belong here,” she said, sighing, exacerbated. "Being pursued by you makes me feel young and wanted, but

"But you are, and I think you're wrong. I think you are exactly where you need to be.” He smiled as he waved the waitress over again.

She didn't realize it, but she had already finished her drink.

"She needs another thank you, and I'll have one as well."

"Oh my gosh, I finished that so fast. I should go.” She said, surprised.

He nodded. “Then go.”

But she didn’t move.

Her body was stiff with immobility.

He reached for her hand.

She let him, and she instantly felt a flood of oxytocin coursing through her body. Instantly happy, relieved, excited, and nervous. All the things, and she instantly fell in love with it. His hands are firm but not coarse or brutal.

His fingers curled over hers as if he were grounding her to the moment.

Her gaze fell to their hands and then slowly met his again.

“I need to find out what this is,” she said, at last.

He sucked in air as if he hadn’t breathed before. “Then let’s find out and Lena do yourself a favor.”

"What's that?" she asked.

"Don't overthink it so much." He said, sounding both relieved and exacerbated.

She nodded, holding his hand tight.

And he smiled, soft and slow, as if he suspected this was a moment that would burn in both their bones.

“I’ll walk you out,” he said.

They finished their drinks quickly, and he left too much money on the table to both pay and tip the waitress well, so they could just get up and leave. The air between them was calmer than it had any business to be. As if holding its breath.

Outside, the breeze had dropped. The night felt heavier.

Lena paused at her car, looking back at him one more time.

“You’re still a bad idea,” she replied, leaning her back against her car.

“And you’re still worth the risk," he said, grabbing her hand and backing away, pulling her fingers as they slipped away so he could hold them as long as possible.

She should've kissed him, but she didn't. The hands were enough for the night.

That was the thought throbbing through her mind as she drove home with the windows open and the music turned low, her grip on the wheel more intentional than it needed to be. Not that she regretted never actually doing it — or at least, not entirely—but because as a driving force of human nature, she couldn’t shake the feeling of wondering what it would’ve felt like.

His hand had felt warm in hers. Steady. Intentional. He had not attempted to seduce her in the typical manner—no slick lines. No push. Just presence. And presence was much riskier. Presence stayed.

The house was still. Dimly lit. She tossed her purse on the counter and leaned against the kitchen island for a beat, waiting for the air to crystallize around her as it had once. But nothing about her life felt settled anymore.

Lena slid off her heel and padded noiselessly upstairs, the sound of her quiet steps оn the carpet louder than they should’ve been.

In her room, she perched on the edge of the bed, elbows on her knees, hair hanging down. That memory played over again — he pushed the napkin to her—the truth in his eyes.

And that box of velvet in her drawer.

It wasn’t about the toy. Not really.

It was about what it meant.

She stood up gradually, crossed to the dresser, and pulled open the second drawer, pushing socks aside as though they were accommodating to a bite. The box was still there. Closed. Untouched. But it crackled with tension, a memory not yet formed.

Lena picked it up.

She didn’t open it. Not yet.

Instead, she went to the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and ran the hot water. Steam billowed up the mirror in soft gusts. Hot showers were her go-to for unwinding and relaxation. She steams up while she lets her steam out. Showers and some wine, of course. Her reflection felt fuzzy, as though the person she once knew herself to be had steamed up.

She looked into the mist, her heart beating in her neck.

She wasn’t unraveling.

She was waking up and relieved.

And the sound she made wasn’t a sigh, but a decision.

She returned to the drawer, removed the box, and set it on the counter.

Her phone vibrated on the nightstand once.

Jace:

You looked dangerous tonight and still a little pent up. I want to know what you’re going to do about it.

Lena looked at the message for a long time.

Then she stepped back into the bathroom, her skin a little prickly from the steam.

And she opened the box.

This wasn't a surrender.

It was a choice.

And at last, she finally felt happy about one she was making.

[Author’s Note]

🔥 Lena finally opens the velvet box… but what happens when fantasy collides with reality? Don’t miss Chapter 6, where desire becomes impossible to ignore.