An hour and fifteen minutes later, the class finally wraps up. Most professors let students out early during the first week, giving them a chance to ease into things and make a good impression. Not Henley. He used every single second of the period, driving home the significance of criminology and the subfields we’d be diving into this semester. He didn’t just touch on theory—he went deep, listing categories, cross-disciplines, and case types. Then came the semester-long research paper: choose a well-known case and analyze it through the lens of a criminological subgenre.
Lucky for me, I already know what I’m doing.
After dismissing us, Henley stays behind to field questions from a few eager students. I pack up my things slowly, half-listening to the background chatter as he gathers his materials, slips his laptop into a worn leather messenger bag, and exits quietly through the side door.
“Okay, be honest,” Khloe blurts, breaking the silence as we close our laptops and shove notebooks into our bags. “Did anyone else completely zone out every time Professor Henley spoke, or was that just me? Because…damn. That man is ridiculously hot.”
I raise an eyebrow as I zip my bag. “You were supposed to be paying attention, not imagining him shirtless.”
Khloe shrugs with zero shame. “I can multitask.”
Marlena giggles, nudging Austin with her elbow. “Yeah, he’s hot, I’ll give you that. But soooo not my type. Too serious. He looks like he drinks black coffee and judges your music taste.”
Austin smirks, sliding an arm around her waist. “Maybe, but I couldn’t help noticing he kept looking our way. More specifically, at Rae.”
I freeze mid-motion, my brows knitting together. “What? Me? Why would he be looking at me?”
“Youdidanswer his question like a total badass,” Marlena points out, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Confident, articulate—verymain characterenergy.”
“So what?” I scoff, but there’s a flush creeping up my neck that betrays me. “I just answered a question. It’s not that deep.”
Khloe smirks like a cat with a secret. “Or maybe he thoughtyouwere hot, too, Rae. Did you see the way he looked at you? Intense.”
“God, I highly doubt that,” I mutter before slipping my arms into the straps of my bag.
“You can’t tell me the idea of hot, forbidden sex with Professor Henley doesn’t do it for you,” Khloe teases as we step out into the sunlight. “I’ve seen your bookshelf. Iknowwhat you read.”
I shoot her a halfhearted glare. Okay—yes, I’ve read more than a few professor-student dark romances. But real life? Hell to the fucking no.
“No. Just—no,” I say firmly, shaking my head.
Khloe and Marlena burst into another fit of laughter as they skip down the steps, as if they didn’t have a care in the world. This time, Idoroll my eyes and let it happen.
We head across the quad, weaving between clusters of students taking back-to-school selfies, tabling campus ministries, and one guy aggressively handing out flyers for some back-to-school party.
Khloe loops her arm through mine as we head toward the quad. “So, if not Henley, whoisyour type? Don’t say fictional serial killers again.”
“I said morally gray men with knives. There’s a difference,” I deadpan.
“Not much of one,” Khloe teases.
Austin snorts behind us. “You know, most people go for, like… firefighters. Guys with dogs. Not ones with body counts.”
“Ilikecomplexity,” I say with a shrug, smirking. “And fictional is the key word. Real murderers are not hot. They’re just… murder-y.”
“God, please put that on a t-shirt,” Marlena laughs. “Not hot, just murder-y.”
Khloe pulls her sunglasses down dramatically. “Okay, but if Professor Henley asked you to stay after class to ‘discuss your paper’ and closed the door behind him… you’d stay.”
I pretend to think. “Yeah, and then I’d text you my location in case I went missing.”
“Hotandresponsible,” Austin quips. “You’re a catch, Rae.”
“Don’t encourage her,” I mutter, fighting a grin.
We reach the shaded area near the Student Union, and Khloe drops onto the concrete bench, sighing like she’s just run a marathon. Marlena joins her, pulling her phone out of her bra.
“So, Cactus Grill at one, right?” she double-checks.
