Chapter 3: Temptation and Trouble
1047 Words
"Professor Wolfe! Wait!"
Lexie’s heels clicked wildly against the marble hallway floor as she chased after him, her shopping bags still in hand from earlier. Her tight tube top had begun to ride up again, and the bounce of her hips was doing her no favors when trying to seem serious.
Roman Wolfe didn’t stop walking. He moved with purpose, tall and unshakable, his black button-up stretched across his broad shoulders as he stalked toward his office.
"Professor Wolfe!"
This time, he paused at the door, glancing over his shoulder. His gray eyes, as cold as stone, narrowed at her.
"Miss Monroe, the lecture is over."
She caught up to him, slightly breathless. "You can’t give me an F. I’ll do anything. Seriously. Anything. But not an F."
He turned fully now, looming over her in that intimidating way. "You don’t need to do anything, Miss Monroe. Except learn how Media Ethics works. That’s the only thing that will help you."
Lexie placed her palm on his chest, feeling the firm muscle under his shirt. "Come on, Professor. We can make a deal. You help me pass... and I help you relax."
Roman’s jaw tightened. He gently removed her hand from his chest.
"That’s not going to work."
Lexie stepped in closer, eyes gleaming with challenge. "Why not? Don’t act like you’re not tempted."
He opened the office door and stepped inside. "Because I don’t make deals with students like you."
Lexie tried to follow him in, but he turned sharply, blocking her with his arm. "Go home, Miss Monroe."
The door closed in her face with a heavy click.
By the time cheer practice rolled around, Lexie was exhausted—mentally, emotionally, and, worse, sexually frustrated. Her tube top was damp with sweat, her thighs sore, and her hair a frizzy mess.
On the field, Tiffany twirled a pom-pom in each hand like she was auditioning for a reality show.
"Sooo," she sang, "how’s Operation Professor Wolfe coming along? Did he bend you over the desk yet?"
Lexie flopped onto the grass beside her. "He shut the door in my face."
"Kinky."
"No, like literally. I tried to seduce him. He said no. Just flat-out no"
Tiffany's mouth fell open. "Ouch. Rude."
"It was humiliating. I’ve never been turned down before, Tiff. Especially not by someone with tattoos."
Tiffany tossed a pom-pom in the air. "He’s playing hard to get. You just have to push harder."
Lexie groaned. "I’m also dealing with the fact that my boyfriend—knocked up some other girl. So I’m basically getting rejected by everyone."
Tiffany crawled next to her and laid on the grass too, chewing gum like her jaw was broken. "You’re going through a breakup-s***h-professor denial spiral. That’s intense."
Lexie looked at the clouds. "Maybe I should become a nun. Or transfer to a fashion school. Or fake my own death."
"Okay, dramatic."
Before Lexie could answer, a voice called out from behind them.
"Lexie. Can we talk?"
Brayden.
Lexie sat up slowly. Tiffany stayed lying down, muttering, "This should be good."
Brayden looked rough—messy hair, wrinkled shirt, and eyes that flickered with guilt. He held his hands up like a guy caught cheating in HD.
"Look, what you saw earlier... it wasn’t what it looked like."
Lexie laughed bitterly. "Oh? So she’s not pregnant? She just likes to say she’s carrying other guy’s babies for fun?"
"She’s crazy, Lex. She’s blackmailing me. I didn’t even know she was gonna be there. She ambushed me."
"Did you sleep with her?"
Silence.
Lexie folded her arms. "That’s what I thought."
Brayden stepped forward. "Lex, come on. We’re good together. Don’t let some psycho ruin what we have."
"What we had," she corrected. "Past tense."
"You don’t mean that."
Lexie’s voice cracked, soft and honest. "I don’t know what I mean right now. I just... need time."
Brayden nodded, jaw clenched. He glanced at Tiffany. "You got anything to say?"
Tiffany gave him a bored look. "Just that you're the reason condoms were invented."
Brayden cursed under his breath and stormed off.
Lexie let out a long breath and collapsed back onto the grass.
Tiffany turned her head toward her. "So... when are we buying wine and pretending none of this ever happened?"
Lexie laughed weakly. "Soon. But first, I have to write a 5,000-word essay... and figure out how to get Roman Wolfe to even look at me like I exist."
Tiffany nodded solemnly
Later that evening, after a much-needed bubble bath and two episodes of trashy reality TV, Lexie found herself lying on her bed scrolling through her phone. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Professor Wolfe—his voice, the way he moved, the way he looked at her like she was an insect under a microscope.
He was mysterious. Cold. Totally unreadable. And that made her want him even more.
She opened the group chat she shared with some of the girls in the sorority. Most of the messages were about lip gloss or who got fingered behind the frat house last night, but one message caught her eye:
"Y'all know Professor Wolfe lives in that big black-bricked house near the old chapel right? My roommate said he saw him getting off a motorcycle there. Super-hot and moody."
Lexie sat up, heart thudding.
He lived on campus?
Of course he did.
Five minutes later, Lexie was sneaking through the west side of campus under the glow of amber streetlights, dressed in leggings, a zip-up hoodie, and her hair in a messy bun. She wasn’t exactly proud of what she was doing—but she needed to know more about him. Maybe he was secretly married. Or had a dungeon. Or had a collection of murdered Barbie dolls in his garage. She needed leverage. Or at least some insight.
The black-bricked house came into view, tucked behind the chapel and half-hidden by ivy. It was surprisingly elegant and private, with no visible lights but a soft glow coming from the upstairs window.
Lexie tiptoed toward the walkway, her pulse racing with excitement and nerves.
She was just about to climb the steps to peek through a window when she felt it.
A hand—large and firm—grabbing her arm.
Lexie gasped, spinning around.
- Writer
