Page 20 of Stranger to Love

As the crowd thinned, I noticed Miss Davies pausing by Alex’s desk. I was at the smart-board, logging off the terminal, but I watched them in the reflection of the glass. Billie didn't speak. Instead, she slipped a small, neatly folded piece of paper across the worn wood toward Alex, her cheeks flushing slightly before she turned and hurried out of the room with the last of the cohort.

Alex pocketed it instantly.

A dark, heavy coil of jealousy tightened in my stomach, hot and entirely unwelcome. I closed my eyes for a fraction of a second, forcing the feeling down. Discretion. Professionalism.

The heavy oak door clicked shut. The room was empty, save one student.

Alex didn't move at first, standing awkwardly by her desk. But then, as if remembering who she was, she marched up to the desk directly in front of mine. She leaned her hips back against the wood, crossing her arms in a posture that was openly curious, entirely defiant, and wildly inappropriate.

My jaw twitched. The sheer audacity of her.

I slowly closed my laptop, stood up, and walked to the front of my own desk, mirroring her posture. We stood less than two feet apart, the symmetry of our positions vibrating with a tension that made the air feel thick.

A smirk broke across her lips, turning into a full, provocative smile. “So, first you lock me in your car, and now you hold me back after class. If you want to spend time with me, Dr. Carter, you only had to say.”

My expression didn't move a fraction of a millimetre, though my heart did a strange, violent flip against my ribs. I took a deep, steadying breath, forcing my voice into a lower, more subdued territory.

“What happened to your face?”

Alex groaned internally—I could see it in the slight shift of her eyes—and opened her arms, gripping the edge of the table behind her. The movement pulled her shirt tight across her shoulders, emphasising the lean, athletic frame beneath it. She was looking at me with a gaze that practically dared me to look down, to notice her, to acknowledge the heavy, latent attraction forming between us.

I kept my eyes locked entirely on hers. I refused to break.

“A guy was being a sleaze toward Holly in the club on Friday,” she said, her tone casual, as if she were describing the weather. “Mia and I intercepted. He went to hit Mia, she dodged it, but I took it like a woman instead.”

The casual acceptance of the violence made a cold fury spark in my chest. “Who was the guy?”

She shrugged, her shoulders moving fluidly. “No idea. Security dealt with him, dragged him out by his ear. He didn’t try to come back when I worked Saturday.”

“Is there CCTV?” I asked, my eyes narrowing as my legal and institutional training automatically kicked in.

“There is,” she answered simply, a tiny, amused smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. She was amused by me. She thought this was a game—some chivalrous fantasy where I played the protector and she played the prize.

I stood up straight, taking a measured step forward, completely erasing the remaining distance between us. Alex instantly straightened to meet me, tilting her chin up. The height difference was significant—I loomed over her—but she didn't flinch. She was so entirely intense, so utterly unbroken by the world she lived in, and it drew me in like a gravity well.

“You should report the assault if you haven't already,” I said, my voice tight.

She rolled her eyes, a flash of working-class pride hardening her features. “It’s fine, trust me. I’ve dealt with a lot worse.”

The phrase I've dealt with a lot worse hit me like a physical blow. I pushed a sharp breath out through my nose, the professional distance I had spent a decade building threatening to crumble entirely.

“Alex,” I said. The name came out too soft, too heavy with the weight of what I was actually feeling. I clamped down on the emotion instantly, forcing my posture into something severe, something that brooked no argument. “Tell me if this happens again.”

“What?” She looked genuinely bewildered. “What exactly are you going to do, Dr. Carter? Swoop in in your Mercedes and rescue me from a drunk Fresher next time?”

The sheer, biting sarcasm of it caught me off guard. The corner of my mouth twitched—not a smile, but a dangerous, involuntary reaction to her wit. I stared at her for another highly charged second, the air between us practically humming, before I deliberately took a step back, breaking the physical proximity before I did something catastrophic.

“I am simply saying that violence is unacceptable,” I stated, my voice retreating into the safe, sterile confines of my professional persona, though the facade felt paper-thin. “Especially when you were clearly acting in defence of another student of this university.”

I folded my arms across my chest, anchoring myself. “This is a warning, Alex. Not a suggestion.”

She relaxed slightly, leaning casually back against the desk again, her blue eyes tracking my movements with a terrifying analytical precision. “And you expect me to text my lecturer in the middle of a rush if some knobhead tried to take a swing at my friend?”

“No,” I replied immediately, my gaze locking back onto hers, holding it with absolute finality. “But if the situation persists, or if you ever feel unsafe, you should inform someone you trust who has the capacity to intervene.” I paused, letting the silence stretch between us until she felt the full weight of it. “In this instance, that happens to be me.”

It was an absurd offer. It violated every boundary of the staff-student handbook. But as I looked at her—at the dark purple mark on her jaw, at the exhaustion lining her eyes, at the fierce, stubborn pride that kept her standing—I knew I would break every rule in the department to keep her safe. I felt a terrifying, unyielding pull to protect her, an obsession I couldn't name and refused to analyse.

She smirked, that brilliant, devastating expression returning to her face. “You’re worried about me, Dr. Carter?”