Page 25 of Stranger to Love

She scrolled through the rest, her critique thorough but fair. “Your structure is messy, but your referencing is meticulous. Where did you learn to reference so well?”

I shrugged. “I spent a week in the library learning the preferred style guide. Didn’t want to lose marks on formatting.”

A brief, undeniable flicker of approval crossed her eyes before she suppressed it. “You have an excellent conceptual grasp. Correct the tone, formalise the structure, and resubmit. You have two days.” She finally leaned back. “Any questions?”

“No, I think I’ve got it, thanks.”

“Then log out.”

I chuckled, logging off, and mockingly pulled out the chair for her, gesturing grandly for her to return to her throne. Dr. Carter narrowed her eyes, but I just grinned, walking back around the desk to grab my backpack.

Just because I was an arsehole, I reached out and slightly twisted a small ornament on the edge of her desk, intentionally messing up her immaculate alignment. I could practically feel the tension coil in her body.

She looked up, her voice slow and dangerously low. “If you touch my property again without permission, you’ll regret it.”

Okay, her threatening me should not have been attractive, but it absolutely was. “Understood,” I murmured, suppressing a smirk.

She folded her arms. “No more bruises?”

I wasn’t expecting the shift back to that. I shrugged. “Only to my ego.”

Her lips twitched—just a fraction—before she forced them neutral. “Threats?”

“Oh yeah, every Friday and Saturday night. Pretty sure it’s in the job description.”

“Do you walk home after your shift?”

“I do, most of the time, yeah.”

She hummed. “What time do you usually finish work?”

I smirked. “Offering me a lift home?”

She gave me a look that could kill, and I raised my hands in mock defence. “I usually finish at about half one.”

She nodded, satisfied, then abruptly returned to her laptop as if the personal detour had never happened. “I told you, it’s rude to stare,” she muttered without looking up.

“Thank you again for your help, Dr. Carter,” I said, walking out the door. Her quiet, responsive hum followed me down the corridor.

By the time I got to work at The Dam on Friday night, I felt an immense sense of pride. I’d absorbed all of her meticulous feedback, and the coursework was officially submitted.

***

The club was packed early. Mia picked up on my chirpy mood instantly, she bumped my hip as we moved between the beer taps and the ice machine.

“You can’t let your good mood tonight go to waste,” Mia whisper-shouted over the thumping bass. She unceremoniously gestured toward a corner of the room. “Look.”

I followed her gaze through the strobe lights. The woman she was pointing at was a bit older, wearing an open flannel shirt, ripped jeans, and Doc Martens. She had a side-shave, soft facial features, and a relaxed, confident laugh. Absolutely screaming lesbian.

I looked back at Mia and gave her a tentative shrug.

“Why are you so interested in my sex life, woman?” I groaned as we both grabbed bottles of spirits to fill the next order.

“Because I like it when you strut around with a massive ego,” Mia grinned. “But you get so picky towards Christmas, it's annoying.”

I mocked a gasp. “There is nothing wrong with being picky, you whore!”

She laughed as we filled up our glasses with mixers before passing them over and charging the drunks. I took the next order from a young girl in a tight pink dress that showed more cleavage than was possible to ignore. I forced myself to maintain eye contact as I leaned over the bar, but my eyes definitely flickered down as I backed away to make her drink. When I turned back, she was one hundred percent checking out my arse.