Author's Note- Edited.




My mind was no longer anywhere appropriate. Definitely not like it had been fifteen minutes before class had started. Where my thoughts should have been focused on the potential score of my recently taken midterm, they were elsewhere, causing my body to react in ways that were deemed unacceptable.

My brain trained my gaze as I stared at his hands. Such large, strong hands that made the idea of their rough touch send unpleasantly pleasant flutters through my stomach and shivers down my spine. My fingers clutched at each other tightly as I held my hands in my lap, afraid of what they would do if I left them untended. I caught a glimpse of the light, smooth exposed skin of his lower arm, just below the fabric of his sleeve he had rolled up past his elbows. I felt my cheeks and neck grow warm as he rolled his shoulders subconsciously. It seemed to be in a manner that attracted my curiosity to the idea that he may have been sore from working on those gloriously broad shoulders of his and the toned biceps that his shirt hugged just so. My legs bounced anxiously beneath my desk as he drew near and I blinked feverously to rid myself of the thoughts that willed- demanded- him to.

Finally, there he was. No longer striding idly around the classroom, but standing there before me, tempting me to meet his gaze though I refused to. Instead, I concentrated on the even lines of his strict jaw and the vibrantly dull shade of his short, jet black hair that teased the back of his thick, masculine neck. My eyes flickered to his plump lower lip as it parted from its other half, causing me to swallow hard and lose anything I tried desperately to recollect. Mind blanking, I pleaded to whatever higher power that I wasn't simply drooling.

"Chloe," He rumbled lowly. I felt my insides melt at the way my name sounded as it slipped off of his tongue. His tone was laced with deep texture, the sound similar to that of a purring, gentle motor. I resisted the urge to sigh contentedly and found myself breaking my own pact, gaze drawn by a luscious and hypnotizing color.

I met his jade eyes.

"Are you alright, Chloe? You look flushed." He murmured this quietly as if wary of anyone else hearing. I was so lost in a world of crisp and vivacious greens and a flurry of mixed and hidden emotions that I had lost my voice. I nodded shakily in response for fear of incoherent muck spilling from my mouth if I were to open it and attempt to verbally answer.

The storm in his emerald orbs seemed to settle at this and his aura changed so quickly that I wouldn't be surprised to find that I had whiplash later.

"Good. Then I need you to come see me after class."

My brain filtered through responses as he spoke. All were similar to, 'Yes, of course. I'd love to talk to you after class-' until they were interrupted by him placing a sheet of paper down on my desk. I followed his movement, curiously driven and instantly regretted it.

What I saw caused me to slouch in my seat as if I had been rocketed back to Earth from the moon, shattering my illicit fantasy and slamming me roughly back into reality where I was forced to remember where I was, who he was and exactly what was going on here.

I peeled my eyes away from the horrid, bold red F on my midterm test and found his disappointed stare. The naively nervous butterflies in my stomach shriveled and became an uncomfortable squirming sensation as I tried to find anything else to look at that wasn't that dissatisfied look that he was giving me. It made me feel sick and nauseous while the lump forming in my throat almost rendered me incapable of giving him a real- fairly deflated- response to his previously asked question.

Who was I kidding? What other reason would he have to meet with me after class? What disillusioned desire had I fallen into this time? Had I been hoping for a secret and fleeting rendezvous before the next class started? Or a confession that, though he knew as much as I did that it was wrong, he felt the same as I did, ever since our eyes clashed the first day of class?

How childish was I, really?

No. He just wanted to scold me for failing his Second Year Calculus midterm.

"Yes, Professor Souza."