Page 33 of Stranger to Love

I noticed Holly was struggling again, her eyes glazing over as Dr. Carter explained how the price of an inelastic good shifts the supply curve. Holly leaned toward me, whispering a frantic, low-volume question. “Wait, wait. If demand is inelastic, why is the curve—”

I leaned in, keeping my voice barely audible, trying to quickly break down the subject for her alcohol-fuelled mind. “The lack of substitutes, Hol. They’ll pay anything, so the supply shift is steeper, see? Because—”

My explanation was cut abruptly by a sound that felt louder than the last-call drinks bell at The Dam: my name.

“Alex.”

The single word sliced through the classroom air, stopping all conversation cold. Every single head in the room swivelled to our table. The silence was immense, heavy, and immediate.

Dr. Carter was standing at the front, her tailored shoulders perfectly squared, her posture radiating controlled fury. She wasn’t looking at the board; her dark eyes were locked entirely onto me, burning with the same intense, lethal expression she had when she gripped that prick’s arm at the weekend.

I felt the familiar, sickening lurch of fear and fucking heat mix in my stomach.

“While I appreciate the need for collaborative learning,” she began, her voice tight, low, and utterly unforgiving, “this is not the time for private tutorials. If you have a question, you raise your hand. We are reviewing material for the entire class, not merely for those who were incapable of remaining focused this morning.”

The insult stung, not just for me, but for Holly, who sank down in her chair, utterly mortified. But the true weight of her command was reserved strictly for me. She stared me down, daring me to challenge her, daring me to offer one of my usual boundary-pushing retorts in front of everyone.

I swallowed hard, feeling the heat rise rapidly in my cheeks. I leaned back slightly in my chair, slowly nodding my head, giving her the exact obedience she demanded.

“Understood, Dr. Carter,” I replied, my voice quiet, offering absolutely no further apology.

Dr. Carter held my gaze for one more excruciating second, ensuring my silence was absolute, then she delivered the final, calculated blow.

“Good,” she said, her voice snapping back to its high-caliber academic register, though now edged with a deliberate, pointed scorn. “I would hate for anyone to waste the significant investment in their university education by disrupting my seminar.”

Well, fuck you then.

That jab hit harder than she probably meant it to. She had no fucking idea how much a comment like that burned under my skin, because she had no fucking idea how much I had to scrimp and save, how many disgusting nights at The Dam I’d pulled, just to be sat here right now.

The heat and attraction from the weekend evaporated instantly, replaced by a cold, furious resentment. She wasn’t a hot supervillain anymore; she was just someone with an inflated sense of importance and boundary issues. A rich prick. I could barely bring myself to look at her for the rest of the class.

As soon as class was over, I shoved everything into my bag and left without even glancing in her direction. I marched down the corridors, feeling the raw frustration tighten my body; my shoulders were rigid and my jaw was clenched. I stood outside in the cold, letting the wind whip up my now untucked shirt.

You’re spiralling, get a grip. I took a few centring breaths, running a harsh internal monologue: She doesn't know. You're taking it too personally. Don’t let that chip on your shoulder make you break down now.

I opened my eyes and realised I was standing right at the main business building. Maybe I could use this new pent-up energy to make a cute blonde blush? I could try and bruise my own ego back into shape so I didn’t fall into a pit of despair about being a poor loser. I straightened my shirt and jacket, gathered my focus, and headed into the building toward Blondie’s office.

When I got down the right hallway, it was deserted, as always. I checked my reflection quickly in the glass display case. My hair was slightly wavy that day—a few loose strands framing my face. My shirt was light blue striped, and my jeans were tight. I adjusted my jacket—a simple, black, warm one my dad had proudly given me—wiped away a rogue smudge of mascara, and gave myself a quick wink of confidence. I leaned against the wall next to Blondie’s office and knocked on her door, trying to portray an air of effortless nonchalance.

I heard some movement inside, and my stomach flipped in immediate anticipation.

Billie opened her door and instantly did a double-take when she saw me standing there. I smiled, casual and confident. “Hey.”

She looked down the empty hallway, as if assuming I’d knocked on the wrong door, and then back at me. “Hi?” she said, hesitant and intrigued.

“Can I come in?” I asked, letting my gaze drift momentarily past her into the office.

She returned my smile, now fully intrigued, and widened the door for me to slip in. I walked in with practiced ease and dropped my bag by her desk, looking around. Looked like she was grading some worksheets, her laptop open to the side of her desk.

I turned as she closed the door and took her in. She was wearing a soft dark green blouse, a button open at the top revealing the familiar gold pendant she wore the night we met, and a tight black pencil skirt. It hugged her figure in a way that should be illegal. Damn, she was hot.

“So, how can I help?” She asked, walking over to her desk. But she didn't walk around it; instead, she leaned back against the edge, crossed her arms, and fixed her gaze directly on me.

I smirked and held my ground, standing only an arm’s length away. I crossed my arms too. “Have you had a good morning so far?”

Her eyebrows raised. “You came to my office to ask me how my morning has been?”

I chuckled. “Well, have you?”