“Okay,” I said, tapping the board. “Momentum. Not just mass times velocity—it’s how force and direction line up. Think of it like… a pool shot.”
Heads popped up. They always did when I mentioned pool.
“You’ve got a cue ball, you’ve got an angle. Hit too soft? Nothing. Too hard, wrong angle? Chaos. But if you hit it just right, with the right force—” I knocked the chalk against the board, “—you change the game.”
“Mr. Hale,” one of the girls grinned, “are you talking about pool or relationships?”
The room erupted. I smiled, shook my head. “Physics. Always physics.”
But inside, I was already guilty. I wasn’t thinking about equations. I was thinking about Rayna and the way I’d lined up, the way I’d hit, the way every angle I placed her in and every move felt like it carried consequence.
She’d been in my head all week. We talked every night—sometimes fifteen minutes, sometimes an hour. She sent me pictures of her boots caked in drywall dust, a video of her brother clowning with his boys, one blurry shot of herself late at night with her braid she wore for work slipping loose, her big brown eyes calling for me, and her face soft in lamplight. That one almost made me drop my phone.
She wasn’t wide open. She teased, she dodged, she flipped questions back on me instead of answering straight. Like about why she didn’t mention her mom. But sometimes she slipped into vulnerability—like when she admitted she liked how I said her name. Or when she whispered she kept thinking about my hands. Those slips kept me up long after we hung up, staring at the ceiling with my dick hard and my mind reckless. They made me want to show up bold, not careful.
“Sir?” Dante raised his hand. “So basically momentumis like… if you like somebody and don’t say nothing, nothing happens. But if you say something at the right time—boom.” He smacked his desk.
The class laughed again. I nodded. “Exactly. Physics explains a lot more than you think.”
The bell rang and they poured out, buzzing, rowdy with Friday energy. A couple slapped my hand on the way out. One girl lingered, said, “Thanks for not making it boring,” and I tucked that away like always. Physics was no easy subject, and if I could get through to them just a little, it made me happy.
When the hall thinned, I grabbed my jacket and slung my bag over my shoulder and started for the door.
“What up with your nights and weekends, Mr. Hale?”
I turned. Nia Coleman leaned in her doorway across the hall, heels biting tile, pencil skirt neat, blouse tucked in. Polished, always. Pretty in the way that drew notice.
“Grading, lesson plans, the usual,” I said, keeping it light.
Her mouth curved. “Don’t tell me you’re that boring. What are you really up to this weekend?”
I hesitated a beat—too long. She clocked it, because Nia always noticed.
“There’s a benefit tonight. Fundraiser at The Loupe.”
Her eyes flickered with interest. “I got an invite. Wasn’t going to bother—too many stuffy types in one room. But if you’ll be there…” She let it hang, smile slow. “Might be worth my while.”
Inwardly, I sighed. Nia had been circling for months, and I’d kept it polite but distant—even if I noticed how fine she was. It was a no and would always be a no. I didn’t play whereI worked. Attractive or not, I wasn’t about to make that mistake.
“Enjoy your weekend, Ms. Coleman,” I said, shifting my bag higher.
Her eyes narrowed for half a second before smoothing back into polite.
I brushed it off and headed down the hall. By the time I stepped outside into the cool air, my phone buzzed.
Malik: Tonight. Don’t flake.
Me: Wouldn’t.
Malik: She coming?
Me: She said yes.
Three flame emojis,two prayer hands, one smirk. Malik in a nutshell.
It took me back to earlier this week, when he’d called just to run his mouth.
“So,” he dragged the word out, “you finally smiling like a man who got more than lesson plans keeping him up at night.”
