Good.He wanted Connor alone. And he suspected the professor wanted the same.
He knocked twice, impatience leading him before the set time.
“Come in.”
Jules’s pulse went haywire as he pushed the door open.
The office was small and neat. Dark wood desk, cleared of everything except a laptop, a single pen, and a short stack of papers aligned with the edge of the desk so precisely it sent a shiver down his spine.What he wouldn’t give for the professor to give him that level of attention.
Bookshelves lined the wall behind Connor, filled with titles Jules couldn’t read from the doorway but desperately wanted to investigate. More intel on this man was always a bonus. A single window let in the pale grey light of an overcast afternoon. While it may have seemed ominous to some, Jules viewed it as the perfect setting.
Connor sat behind the desk. He’d lost his suit jacket. The charcoal waistcoat remained, fitted close over a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to the forearm. The same forearms Jules had salivated over in that first club encounter. The same ones he’d thought about at once an hour while trying to pay attention in his other classes.
Connor looked up from his laptop. His expression gave away nothing. “Mr. Goode. Sit.”
Jules sat in the chair across from the desk. It was lower than Connor’s by a deliberate few inches. The difference was enough to force anyone sitting in it to look slightly upward. A power play baked into the furniture. Jules didn’t mind the position one bit. In fact, he’d love to be on his knees...
“You wanted to see me,” Jules said, pulling himself from the daydream.
“I gave you the information about my office hours. What you chose to do with that information was entirely up to you.” Connor closed his laptop, folding his hands on the desk. “You chose to be here.”
A reframe designed to put the weight of initiative back on Jules. As if Connor hadn’t specifically told him when to arrive. As if the instruction had been a suggestion instead of a forward command.
Two could play that game.
“I did,” Jules agreed. “I had questions about the syllabus.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
The honesty landed like a stone dropped into still water. Connor’s jaw tightened a fraction. It wasn’t annoyance in the move. It was understanding. Maybe even curiosity.
“Then why are you here, Mr. Goode?”
“Because you told me to be.” Jules held his gaze. “You didn’t tell me to come during office hours. You told me to come at the end, when everyone else would be gone. So, either you have something to say that requires privacy, or you wanted to see if I’d follow instruction.” He leaned back in the chair slightly. “Which is it, Professor?”
Connor studied him. The silence stretched long enough that Jules could hear the faint hum of fluorescent lighting and the distant thud of a door closing somewhere down the hallway.
“You’re bold,” Connor stated.
“You already knew that. One doesn’t approach you like I did without bravery.”
“I knew of your behavior in a setting where one can put on any mask they so choose. This is different.” Connor’s eyes moved over Jules’s face with that same assessing quality from Veil. He took apart what he saw, filing each piece into whatever mental notes he was making. “You’re in my office. In my department. And you’re sitting there telling me you didn’t come to discuss coursework despite that being what office hours are for.”
“Is that a problem?”
“It’s a risk.”
“For whom?”
The question sat between them. Connor didn’t answer it.
Jules let the quiet do its work. He’d learned the man communicated as much through silence as speech. Connor’s silences weren’t empty. They were structural. Load bearing. His lack of words gave more away than if he gave an entire seminar on his thoughts.
At that exact moment, Connor’s avoidance was loud enough to fill the room.
“You looked me up,” Jules said. “After the club. You found my last name, connected it to your class roster, and you still let me sit in the front row without saying a word until the room was empty.”
