When he turned, Jules found Connor still stood at the podium. He was looking at Jules with the same evaluating gaze he’d used at the club, except now it carried the weight of a title and an authority that was outside of just them.
“My office hours are Wednesday,” Connor stated plainly. “Ten to two.”
A pause. The room was empty now. Just the two of them and the late morning light cutting through the arched windows.
“Arrive at the end of that window.”
Connor looked down at his portfolio. Jules was being dismissed. Nothing more to tell him what to expect. Was he meant to read the professor’s mind?
Jules stood in the doorway for a half-second longer than necessary, processing. Then he turned and walked out. The corridor was bright and too loud after the standoff he’d just faced.
He stopped once he was far enough to qualify as out of range. Leaning against the wall, he let the back of his head connect with the cool stone.
Connor Thorne wanted to see him outside of class.
The instruction was precise. Not “come to office hours.” Not “I’d like to discuss your coursework.” He was told to arrive at the end of that time. When every other student had already come and gone. When they would be alone.
Connor Thorne had just moved a piece in their match.
Jules pushed off the wall. He was smiling, he realized. The joy he felt couldn’t be contained the way he usually managed.
His phone buzzed. A text from Davis: How was class? Or was it really a funeral and you lied?
Jules typed back: Alive and fine. I’ll see you at the house later. I need to take care of some things.
He pocketed his phone and walked toward his next class, already calculating the hours between then and when he could see the professor again.
The game was on.
CHAPTER 3
JULES
Jules changedhis shirt a dozen times before settling on the one he’d started with.
He decided not to look too closely at what this meant. He understood the value of presentation. It had been ingrained in him from a young age.
First impressions were currency, second impressions were credit, and a third impression, which this technically was, had to prove the first two weren’t flukes.
It was strategy. Good sense.
That was what he told himself, anyway, instead of admitting he’d stood in front of his mirror trying to figure out which shade of blue made him look best.
Davis had given him a hard stare on his way out. It saidI know you’re being weird you little shit and I expect details later. Jules appreciated that he’d held back. An interrogation before his plans would destroy his confidence.
The walk from his apartment to campus filled him with far too much time to overthink. Whatever the professor had planned, he needed to be on his A-game. This was a battle he wanted to win. He needed to.
Despite their age difference, Jules knew Connor was meant to be his. He knew it just as well as he knew his father would disown him the minute he found out. He’d accept the black mark on his life if it meant getting to keep his professor by his side.
Jules arrived about fifteen minutes before the end of Connor’s office hours window. Early enough to be punctual. Close enough to the deadline to follow instructions.
The office was on the third floor, down a hallway that was far too pristine. It looked as if no one ever came this way except the professors themselves. Honestly, it was a possibility. Most students would rather send an email than go in person to ask a question.
He was the exception. Especially since he didn’t want a paper trail for what he hoped to happen.
The nameplate on the door readProf. C. Thorne — Visiting Facultyin brass lettering that was too permanent for a man on a temporary contract. It further proved how much power this man had over others. Schools didn’t do this for everyone.
The solid wooden door was closed tight. Jules raised his hand to knock, paused, and listened. Nothing from inside. No voices, no typing, no sign that another student was finishing up.
