Archibald stood with the rest.
I watched as he slid his notebook into his bag and pushed his glasses higher on his nose. That loose strand of hair still brushed the frame near his temple. He tucked it back absently and turned toward the aisle as the students around him began to filter toward the doors.
He paused as he passed the podium, biting down on his lip. I stuffed my hands in my pockets to keep from pulling it free.
“I’ll see you in the office?”
His voice carried easily across the small distance between us—soft without being hesitant. It was the kind of tone that made people lean closer to hear the rest.
“Don’t forget your water bottle and make sure it’s full.”
His mouth curved in a quick, surprised smile. “Yes, Professor.”
Christ.
He turned and stepped into the aisle before I could say anything else.
The air he’d left behind shifted, clean and crisp with a faint sweetness beneath it.
Vanilla.
The smell hit me hard enough that my chest locked.
Some primitive part of my brain seemed convinced that if I stayed exactly where I was, the scent might linger long enough for me to keep it.
For one irrational second, I wanted to reach out, pull him back, bury my face in the warm space behind his ear, and inhale until the rest of the world disappeared.
I forced my hands to unclench and gathered the loose stack of notes from the podium. The lecture hall had emptied by the time I pushed through the doors and stepped into the corridor.
Archibald hadn’t made it far.
He stood about twenty feet down the hall with another man angled in front of him. At first glance, it might have looked like a casual conversation. The kind that happened a hundred times a day on campus.
I knew better.
Archie’s glasses had slipped slightly crooked on his nose, the left edge riding a little higher than the right. His thumb had found the cuff of his sleeve, rubbing the fabric slowly between his fingers.
Something’s wrong.
My reaction was immediate, physical enough that it felt like a knife sliding down my chest. Fuck. It was territorial,borderline barbaric, but still I fought back the instinct to wrap my hands around this man’s neck for just wandering into Archibald’s space—somewhere he had no fucking right to be.
I couldn’t see his face.
I didn’t know his name.
I hated him.
He was tall, blond, and broad-shouldered enough that he was able to place himself squarely in Archie’s path. His posture suggested patience, but the angle of his shoulders made the truth obvious.
He was cornering my rabbit.
The sound of my shoes striking the tile echoed harder than they should. Blood pulsed hot through my ears. My hands had already curled into fists, fingernails pressing half-moons into my palms by the time I closed the distance between us.
Archie noticed me first.
The tension around his mouth eased a fraction, the crease between his brows smoothing as recognition settled in.
Relief.
