ONE NIGHT STAND WITH MY PROFESSOR

Andrews POV

Rain tapped softly against the windows when I woke up.

For a second, I forgot where I was.

The mattress beneath me was too soft. The air smelled expensive—cedarwood, cologne, and something darker underneath it. A city glow filtered through half-open blinds, casting pale gray light across an apartment that looked nothing like anywhere I’d ever belonged.

Then memory hit me all at once.

The party. The whiskey. The stranger with sharp eyes and a low voice. His hands against my waist. The way he looked at me like he actually saw me.

Shit.

I sat up too quickly, immediately regretting it when my head started pounding.

My hoodie was crumpled on the floor beside the bed. So were my jeans.

I grabbed them fast, trying not to look toward the other side of the bed.

But I did anyway.

He was still asleep.

One arm stretched across the sheets. Dark hair messy against the pillow. In sleep, he looked younger somehow. Less controlled.

Less dangerous.

The memories became harder to ignore after that.

His mouth against my neck. His voice near my ear. The leather jacket tossed over a chair. The silver watch resting on the nightstand beside the bed.

I looked away quickly.

This was exactly why I didn’t do things like this.

People always left complications behind.

Quietly, I pulled my clothes back on.

The apartment was ridiculously clean. Minimalist furniture. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking rain-covered streets. Books stacked neatly near the couch. A half-empty glass of bourbon sitting beside them.

Everything about this place screamed stability.

Meanwhile, I was sneaking out before sunrise wearing yesterday’s clothes like a criminal.

Fitting.

I reached the front door carefully, fingers wrapping around the handle.

“Andrew.”

My heart nearly stopped.

I turned sharply.

He wasn’t asleep anymore.

He sat up slowly against the headboard, eyes still heavy with exhaustion.

“You leaving already?”

His voice sounded rough from sleep.

I shoved my hands into my hoodie pockets. “I should go.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Rain filled the silence.

Then he gave a small nod like he expected this anyway.

“Right.”

I hated the weird guilt that twisted in my chest after that.

I didn’t even know this man.

Last night was supposed to stay last night.

Nothing more.

So I left.

The hallway outside his apartment felt colder somehow.

By the time I stepped outside the building, Blackwood was drenched in rain again.

Of course it was.

This town probably didn’t know how to exist without storms.

I pulled my hood over my head and started walking.

The cold air helped clear my thoughts, but not enough.

Because somehow, even hours later, I could still smell his cologne on my skin.

—

Blackwood High looked exactly how I remembered.

Too big. Too gray. Too suffocating.

Students crowded the front entrance, laughing loudly while rainwater dripped from the edges of umbrellas. Nobody looked happy to be here, but somehow I still felt out of place among them.

Maybe because they belonged here.

And I didn’t anymore.

I kept my hoodie up as I walked through the halls.

Whispers followed almost immediately.

“Isn’t that—” “Andrew Calebs?” “I heard he got expelled.” “No, I heard someone got arrested because of him.”

Same old Blackwood.

People here treated rumors like hobbies.

I kept walking.

Eyes down. Shoulders tense.

Just survive until graduation.

That was the plan.

No trouble. No attention. No attachments.

Easy.

“Andrew Calebs?”

I looked up reluctantly.

The guy standing near the trophy case looked like he walked straight out of a private school advertisement. Perfect uniform. Perfect posture. Perfect smile.

Too perfect.

“I’m Daniel Reyes,” he said, holding out his hand casually. “Student council president.”

I stared at his hand before shaking it once.

Firm grip.

Observant eyes.

Daniel tilted his head slightly. “First day back and you already look like you want to kill someone.”

“I’m thinking about it.”

That only made him smile wider.

Weirdly enough, it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I like honesty,” he said. “Most people here fake everything.”

Lucky them.

Daniel’s gaze flickered over me carefully then.

The wrinkled hoodie. The exhaustion under my eyes. The same clothes from last night.

I saw the exact moment he noticed.

But he didn’t say anything.

Interesting.

“Well,” he stepped aside smoothly, “welcome back to Blackwood.”

Something about the way he said it sounded less like kindness…

and more like amusement.

I left before the conversation could continue.

The rest of the day blurred together after that.

Teachers talking too much. Students staring too hard. Rain hitting classroom windows nonstop.

By final period, I was exhausted enough to disappear into the back row of Advanced Literature without caring who noticed.

The classroom smelled faintly like old books and coffee.

Safe.

I took the seat furthest from everyone else and dropped my bag beside my chair.

One empty desk remained next to me.

The bell rang loudly overhead.

Then the classroom door opened.

At first, I barely looked up.

Just another teacher.

But the second I heard the sound of dress shoes against the floor, something in my stomach tightened.

No.

No way.

The man from last night walked calmly toward the front of the classroom carrying a stack of papers beneath one arm.

Except he looked completely different now.

No leather jacket. No loosened collar. No tired smile.

This version of him was polished sharp.

Dark suit. Silver cufflinks. Cold composure.

Like the man from last night never existed at all.

The classroom instantly quieted.

He set the papers down on the desk before turning toward the chalkboard.

And that’s when I saw it.

The watch.

Silver.

Resting against his wrist exactly the way it rested on the nightstand beside his bed hours ago.

My chest tightened violently.

Impossible.

He picked up a piece of chalk and wrote smoothly across the board.

MARK SHAWN.

The sound scraped through my head painfully.

A professor.

He was a fucking professor.

My pulse became uneven.

Around me, students started whispering excitedly about the “hot new literature professor,” but their voices sounded distant now.

Because Mark Shawn finally turned around.

And looked directly at me.

Everything stopped.

For one terrible second, the mask slipped.

Shock flashed across his face.

Real shock.

His eyes locked onto mine so intensely that I forgot how to breathe.

Then just as quickly, the expression disappeared.

Professional. Controlled. Untouchable.

“Good afternoon,” he said calmly.

Like we hadn’t spent the night tangled in his sheets.

Like his hands had never touched me.

I stared at him in disbelief while the scent of his cologne drifted faintly through the classroom again.

The exact same scent still clinging to my hoodie.

Suddenly the room felt too small.

Too warm.

Too dangerous.

“Welcome to Advanced Literature,” Mark continued smoothly. “I’m Professor Shawn.”

Professor.

The word alone nearly killed me.

The entire class went by in a blur after that.

I couldn’t focus on anything he said.

Not when every small thing dragged me back to last night.

The sound of his voice. The movement of his hands. The memory of his mouth against mine.

Meanwhile Mark acted perfectly normal.

Not once did he hesitate again.

Not once did he look at me longer than necessary.

And honestly?

That irritated me more than it should have.

The bell finally rang.

Students immediately rushed for the door.

I grabbed my bag quickly, ready to disappear—

“Mr. Calebs.”

I froze.

The classroom slowly emptied around me.

Mark stood beside his desk flipping through papers like this was completely ordinary.

My pulse hammered painfully as I approached.

Up close, he smelled exactly the same as before.

That expensive cologne mixed with coffee and rain.

Dangerous combination.

He finally looked up at me.

His face revealed absolutely nothing.

“I wanted to discuss classroom expectations,” he said calmly.

I almost laughed at the absurdity.

“Seriously?”

His jaw tightened slightly.

“Mr. Calebs,” he continued evenly, “I expect total focus in this classroom. Let’s make sure there are no… distractions this semester.”

The pause before distractions felt deliberate.

Heavy.

My chest burned.

“You don’t have to worry,” I muttered coldly. “Last night clearly meant nothing to you anyway.”

For the first time, something cracked slightly in his composure.

Guilt.

Gone almost instantly.

“This conversation is over,” he said quietly.

Right.

Professor mode again.

I grabbed my bag harshly and turned toward the door.

But halfway out, something made me stop.

That feeling again.

Like someone was watching.

I looked up.

Daniel Reyes leaned casually against the hallway wall outside the classroom.

Smiling.

Not friendly.

Curious.

Predatory.

And somehow…

I knew immediately that whatever happened next—

Blackwood was going to make it worse.