Professor Hale
Chapter 01
The first thing I noticed about Professor Hale was his hands.
Not his sharp jawline or the storm-gray eyes that could cut through steel—though those were hard to miss—but his hands. Long fingers, precise, controlled. They never trembled when he wrote on the board, never faltered when he tapped his pen against his notebook. Every movement screamed restraint.
And I wanted to break it.
The lecture hall buzzed with low chatter, students sliding into their seats, but Hale didn’t look up once. He stood at the front, back straight, suit jacket stretched over broad shoulders, scribbling equations in perfect, merciless strokes.
“You’re staring again,” whispered Jessie, my seatmate and best friend.
I smirked, resting my chin on my palm. “I’m appreciating.”
“Apprecia
