Chapter 4: Him

“I heard they hired some new teachers,” Delilah says as she opens her locker and tosses her books inside. “They did,” Tessa replies immediately. She leans back against the row of lockers with a knowing look. “And not just any teachers. I heard the new criminology professor is… a real treat for the eyes.”

 

Both girls slowly turn their heads toward me.

 

My smile drops. “A new criminology teacher?” I ask. “Why? What happened to Gino?”

 

I loved Gino.

 

He taught my favorite subject and somehow managed to make lectures about serial killers and forensic psychology feel like fascinating dinner conversations. He was in his fifties, sure, but he had more personality than half the students here.

 

And he adored teaching. He wouldn’t leave this university willingly. I was one of the few that called him by his first name.

 

Tessa shrugs. “Still a mystery.” She crosses her arms and scans the hallway. “But they replaced him pretty quickly,” she adds. “Apparently with someone young.”

 

“And hot,” Sam chimes in with a grin.

 

I sigh heavily and pull my criminology textbook out of my locker.

 

Gino was more of a mentor to me than most professors. The younger teachers here always seem to suffer from the same problem: arrogance mixed with a desperate need to prove their authority.

 

And I’ve never been particularly good with authority.

 

“Fresh meat,” Sam says, wiggling his eyebrows dramatically. “I’ve seen him. He’s like… a fifteen out of ten.”

 

He pauses thoughtfully. “Maybe he’s gay.”

 

“The hot ones usually are,” Delilah replies with a sigh.

 

“Pff,” Tessa scoffs. “You clearly haven’t found the right men.” She flips her hair over her shoulder. “That’s what relationships do to you at this age. You get boring. Stop being adventurous.” She points at herself proudly. “You can leave the new professor to me.”

 

I roll my eyes playfully.

 

Suddenly a ripple of whispers spreads through the hallway around us.

 

“Speak of the devil,” Sam whispers excitedly. “That’s him.”

 

And then I feel it. That strange sensation again. The same prickling awareness that’s been haunting me for weeks.

 

The feeling of being watched. Of being singled out in a crowd. Of someone’s attention sliding over me like a slow, deliberate touch.

 

Time seems to slow as I turn my head. My eyes blink once. Twice.

 

And then I see him.

 

Students instinctively step aside as he walks down the hallway. The crowd parts for him without him even asking, like he’s some kind of gravitational force pulling space open around him.

 

He moves through the corridor like it belongs to him. Like the entire building exists purely for his convenience.

 

Expensive laptop in hand, a car key between two fingers, some book in his other hand, his grip relaxed but controlled.

 

Everything about him radiates quiet confidence. Arrogance, even.

 

His expression remains distant as he scans the hallway, like none of this is remotely interesting to him. Like we’re nothing more than background scenery.

 

Just walls.

 

Students stare openly as he passes.

 

I see admiration. Jealousy. Blatant lust.

 

It’s almost ridiculous.

 

If someone started narrating this hallway like a nature documentary, I wouldn’t even be surprised.

 

Where is David Attenborough when you need him?

 

The dominant male has entered the territory. Watch closely as the females prepare their elaborate mating rituals.

 

I half expect someone to start dancing.

 

Because, to be fair…

 

The man is gorgeous. Tall. Broad shoulders filling out his dark shirt perfectly. Arms flexing subtly as he walks. Dark, healthy hair. A slight stubble. Runway ready.

 

There’s an effortless authority in the way he carries himself, like he knows exactly what effect he has on people and simply doesn’t care.

 

Everyone here wants him to look at them.

 

Just once. Just for a second.

 

To feel chosen.

 

But he doesn’t look at anyone.

 

His gaze remains straight ahead, distant and cool. Unimpressed.

 

He walks past our group.

 

And for a brief moment, I find myself waiting. Expecting him to glance at me.

 

Just once.

 

There’s a strange pull in my chest, a quiet curiosity urging me to see his eyes. To understand what everyone else is feeling.

 

I’m no better than the other girls in this hallway.

 

But he never turns his head. He doesn’t look at me. Not even for a second.

 

We are completely beneath his notice.

 

Fucking fantastic.

 

I turn back to my friends with a frustrated sigh. “How is he supposed to teach criminology?” I ask.

 

“He can teach me anything he wants,” Delilah murmurs appreciatively. Sam bursts out laughing. “I love a girl with ambition. Go get that dick.” He nudges Delilah with his elbow. “Imagine you hooking up with the new professor. Tell that story to Nick.”

 

I snort. Nick would absolutely lose his mind. “He’d have a heart attack,” I say.

 

“Can we not bring him up?!” Delilah hits me on the shoulder with her thick textbook, letting out an exasperated sigh. “I never want to hear that name ever again.”

 

“That’s going to be hard,” Tessa murmurs under her breath, glancing down the hallway, “considering he’s walking right at us.” She gently steers Delilah away from the corridor’s center.

 

I glance in the direction of the approaching figure and immediately recognize him. Sam nudges me, eyebrows raised.

 

Nick.

 

The rugby lad. The player. The cheater. The rich kid whose mommy apparently buys him everything he wants.

 

Mr. Popular, with his fancy hair and expensive branded clothes. Two girls flank him, both in tight, daring red dresses. Sam was right—Delilah definitely should’ve been wearing red today. She would've looked so much better.

 

Nick laughs loudly, pulling both girls toward him like a king gathering his entourage. Delilah has her back to him, but it doesn’t matter. He’s still reeling her in with that infuriating, knowing glint in his eyes.

 

He walks past, briefly making eye-contact with me before focusing his attention straight ahead.

 

Then my gaze flickers sideways, following his look.

 

Mr. Gorgeous.

 

He’s standing in front of the classroom, hand casually on the door handle, deep in conversation with Mr. Tideman.

 

Nick doesn’t hesitate. He walks right up to the two men as if he belongs there. The girls glance at the trio, eyes wide, before scuttling off to the nearest lockers.

 

Mr. Gorgeous turns to Nick, nods once—briefly, almost imperceptibly, like they know each other. Mr. Tideman finally walks away, leaving them alone.

 

Both Nick and Mr. Gorgeous walk into the classroom, already chatting away.

 

I blink, utterly dumbfounded.

 

Sam’s voice breaks through immediately: “What the fuck?” He mirrors my thoughts perfectly, loud enough for a few nearby students to glance our way.

 

I shake my head in disbelief. “I don’t know what just happened.”

 

Delilah groans miserably. “Kill me. Kill me now.”

 

“Please,” Tessa murmurs with a quiet laugh. “All the more reason to fuck him. Maybe he’s Nick’s hot uncle or something.”

 

“Mr. Popular and Mr. Gorgeous,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “Figures.”

 

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Look at you. Another dick-hungry girl. Mr. Gorgeous, huh?”

 

I slap his shoulder. “Please. I have eyes. Doesn’t mean I want to bounce up and down with his dick inside me.”

 

Tessa huffs, laughter escaping her lips. “I do. I want to bounce up and down.”

 

“No!” Delilah shrieks, holding up both hands like she’s stopping the apocalypse. We all freeze and look at her.

 

“No,” she repeats firmly, shaking her head. “If he’s in any way connected to Nick—or his family—we do not get involved. I don’t want any of you going through what I went through. Nick destroyed me online. I don’t want his anger. I don’t want any of your hearts broken. Do not get close to that family. Even his friends, whatever they are.”

 

Tessa and I exchange a look. Her long blonde hair is tied high in a ponytail, a single strand falling over her pastel pink shirt. The contrast between her soft top and the black leather pants with chain-adorned boots always confuses me. Cute, but fierce.

 

Delilah clasps her hands together in front of her, eyes pleading. “Please. I just want a drama-free year. Fuck whoever you want, but stay far away from anyone close to Nick. He’ll probably assume I’m behind it anyway. I can’t endure another summer like that.”

 

I nod quickly, the seriousness in my tone surprising even me. “Okay. I wasn’t planning on fucking the teacher. But your point is noted. He’s dead to me. To us.”

 

Sam turns toward Tessa, raising his eyebrows and giving her his best offended gay face. Waiting. Expectant.

 

I glance at the classroom, the door slightly ajar.

 

Something tells me this year isn’t going to be drama-free at all.