MEETING IN THE BAR

Meredith

I should have looked away. Fled. But I didn’t.

I was frozen, locked in place as he studied me, his head tilting slightly. Not like he was amused. Not like he was interested.

Like he was… analyzing me.

And then,to my complete horror, he stood up. I turned back toward my drink, pretending I hadn’t just been caught ogling a man who was way out of my league. But it didn’t matter. Because he was already walking toward me.

As he approached me, getting so close I could feel the warmth of his body, I realized he was twice my height. He smelled outdoorsy too. As if he was just coming from working in a log factory or from the woods.

"You alone here?"

His voice was deep, rich, and smooth, cutting through the music like it was meant just for me. It wasn’t a question.

I forced a small, tight smile. "What makes you say that?"

His lips twitched, not a smile. Just the ghost of one.

"You’re just sitting here, not participating."

I hesitated. "Maybe I like watching."

"Hmm." He turned his glass in his hand, the liquid inside swirling lazily. "And what exactly are you watching?"

You.

I swallowed hard. "People. How they interact. How they just… know what to do in places like this."

His head tilted slightly. "You study people?"

I let out a small, nervous laugh. "Not in a weird way. I just… I don’t understand how they make it look so easy."

His gaze flickered. "Because it is easy. For them."

I studied him, something tugging at my brain. "But not for you?"

"No," he admitted. "Not for me."

That made two of us.

For a few moments, we sat together, two people who didn’t quite belong, pretending like we did.

Then, before I could think twice, I asked, "What are you doing here?"

He exhaled slowly, rolling his glass between his fingers. "What do you think I'm doing?"

I studied him again, his calm confidence.

"You just don’t seem like you are here for what others are doing," I said.

His eyes flickered with something dark, unreadable. "Neither do you."

I bit my lip. He wasn’t wrong.

"So what do you study? You look like a student," he asked, shifting the attention to me.

"Computer science," I said, my voice steadier now. This was familiar territory. "I’m interested in artificial intelligence, ethical hacking, and system security."

His lips twitched again, this time, almost in approval.

"Hacking?" he repeated, a hint of curiosity in his tone.

I nodded. "I’ve been coding since I was a kid. I like figuring out how things work. Breaking them down. Fixing them."

His fingers tapped against his glass, a slow, rhythmic motion that made something tighten in my stomach.

"And what’s your goal?"

"To be the best at it," I said without hesitation.

His gaze sharpened. "Ambitious."

"I don’t like doing things halfway. I love to finish."

Something shifted in his expression. I didn’t know what it was, but it sent a strange thrill through me.

For the first time that night, I wasn’t thinking about how awkward I was. I wasn’t thinking about how I didn’t fit in. I was just… talking.

And he was listening. I liked the way that felt.

***********************

I woke up with a headache and regret.

Not because I drank too much, I barely finished one drink. But because my first attempt at socializing had been a complete failure. I didn’t dance. I didn’t party. I didn’t even pretend to have fun.

Instead, I spent the night talking to a man whose face wouldn’t leave my head.

It wasn’t just his looks. Sure, he was unfairly attractive, and the way he carried himself made it impossible to ignore him. But it was the way he listened, like he actually cared what I had to say.

Like I wasn’t just some awkward girl fumbling through a conversation.

I hated that it got to me. I hated that I was still thinking about him. And I especially hated that I never got his name.

Not that it mattered. I wasn’t going to see him again. I shoved the thought aside, grabbed my backpack, and headed to my first class of the semester.

The room was massive, easily holding over a hundred students. I found a seat in the middle row, not too close to the front, but not far enough to seem like I wasn’t taking things seriously.

I pulled out my laptop, fingers tapping anxiously against the keyboard as students filled in around me. This was it. The start of my real life.

I straightened, ready.

And then he walked in.

At first, I thought I was imagining it. That my mind was still stuck on last night, still picturing him when I shouldn’t be.

But no.

It was him.

Same broad shoulders, same strong frame, same damn brooding intensity that made it impossible to look anywhere else.

And then he turned. And his eyes met mine.

My stomach dropped.

His gaze didn’t flicker in surprise. Didn’t widen in shock. Nothing. Just that same calm, unreadable expression, like he already knew I was here.

Like he had expected this.

And then he set his briefcase down, turned to face the class, and spoke.

"Welcome to Advanced Software Security. I'm Professor Earl Sherwood."

Oh. My. God.

My breath caught in my throat.

No. No, no, no, no. No way.

There was no way I had spent the night pouring my soul out to my professor. And there was definitely no way I had spent half of it thinking about how good he smelled.

I felt like I was going to be sick.

Around me, students straightened, typing notes, listening intently. Meanwhile, I was still trying to process the fact that I had been borderline flirting with my professor.

He continued speaking, his voice smooth and commanding, explaining the syllabus, the coursework, the expectations.

I couldn’t hear any of it. Because all I could think was—I am so unbelievably screwed. I sat frozen in my seat, my brain short-circuiting. This isn’t happening. It couldn’t be.

I blinked, half expecting the universe to correct itself, for someone else to walk in and introduce themselves as the real professor.

But no.

Earl-freaking-Sherwood stood at the front of the class, adjusting his watch like he hadn’t just shattered my reality.

I swallowed hard, my fingers clenched around my laptop. Does he remember me?

He didn’t look at me. Not once.

Not a double take. Not a flicker of recognition. Nothing.

Just smooth, controlled movements as he scrolled through his laptop and started talking.

"This course will cover system vulnerabilities, cyber threats, and penetration testing. I expect all of you to keep up, as I don’t slow down for anyone."

His voice was the same as last night, deep, smooth, a little rough around the edges.

But now it carried authority.

And every time I heard it, my brain flashed back to him sitting next to me, swirling his drink, those sharp eyes studying me like I was something interesting.

I shifted in my seat, heat creeping up my neck.

Does he really not remember?

Maybe I was overthinking it. Maybe he talked to so many students—so many people in general—that last night didn’t even register for him.

Meanwhile, I had been obsessing over it.

Over him.

Oh, God.

This was bad.

"If you’re looking for an easy A, drop this class now." His tone was firm but not harsh, just matter-of-fact. Direct.

Not like how he was acting toward me.

He called on a few students, asked a question about ethical hacking, paced the room like he owned it.

And not once did he glance in my direction.

Which meant one of two things; He didn’t recognize me at all or he did, but he was pretending he didn’t. I didn’t know which option was worse. I shifted in my seat, forcing myself to focus. This was just a class. He was just a professor.

I could handle this.

I could.

I just needed to stop thinking about how his sleeves were rolled up again, showing those same damn forearms.

Focus, Meredith. Focus.

The moment he dismissed us, I shot out of my seat so fast I nearly knocked over my laptop.

I needed to get out.

I shoved my stuff into my bag, avoiding eye contact, praying to every god in existence that he wouldn’t—

"Miss Keeler?"

I froze. Oh, no. I turned around slowly, my face burning.

He stood by his desk, arms crossed, watching me with the same expression he’d worn all class.

"Stay behind for a moment."

I nearly stopped breathing.

Around me, students filed out, chatting, laughing, completely oblivious to the internal meltdown I was having.

I took slow, reluctant steps toward him, my pulse pounding in my ears.

Earl—Professor Sherwood—leaned back slightly against the desk, watching me like I was an interesting sight.

"Your coding project you submitted with your application was impressive," he said casually.

I blinked. That’s what this is about?

I scrambled for words. "Oh...uh, thank you. I, um, I worked hard on it."

"I can tell." His voice was even, professional. Normal.

Meanwhile, I was still trying to process the fact that he was talking to me like we’d never met before.

Like last night hadn’t happened at all.

I gripped my bag tighter. What was I supposed to say?

"You have potential," he continued. "I expect you to keep up in my class."

And just like that, he turned back to his laptop, dismissing me like this was just another conversation with another student.

I nodded stiffly. "Yes, Professor."

Then I turned and practically sprinted out of the room.