Wright:
The universe clearly has a sense of humor.
Because the second I step into my office—still exhausted, still half-hard just from thinking about her—Alex is leaning in my doorway like he’s the final boss of humiliation.
He doesn’t even say hello.
He just smirks.
And that isn’t good. Alex’s smirk means danger. It means disaster. It means he found out something he should never have had access to.
“So,” he drawls, crossing his arms, “how’s your day, Professor Wright?”
My pulse stalls.
I know that tone. That tone means he knows too much and is about to make my life a special brand of hell.
“I—fine,” I lie, setting my papers down. “Busy.”
“Mmm.” He nods thoughtfully. “Busy is good. Productive. Cleansing.” Then: “Would that productivity have anything to do with the… sounds I heard
