5
934 Words
Jasmine
Something about Professor Jackson had been bothering me for the entire lecture.
It wasn’t just that he was attractive. That much was obvious.
It was the strange sense of familiarity that kept tugging at me whenever he spoke.
Every time his voice rolled through the lecture hall, something in the back of my mind stirred, as if I were reaching for a memory that refused to come into focus.
It was ridiculous.
I had never met this man before—I was sure of it.
A face like his wasn’t forgettable. Still, whenever his gaze swept across the room, my pulse would trip over itself before settling again.
By the time class ended, I had convinced myself it was nothing more than a coincidence.
Then he looked directly at me.
“Miss Buston.”
My head snapped up. The hall was already beginning to empty.
“Yes, Professor?”
His expression remained unreadable.
“To my office, please.”
My stomach dropped.
Around me, students continued filing toward the exits. Ari shot me a sympathetic look that immediately made things worse.
Great.
Now, even she thought I was in trouble.
I gathered my books slowly, trying to figure out what I could have done wrong on the first day of class.
Had I missed something?
Was I already in trouble for being late?
The questions chased each other through my head until the last student disappeared and silence settled over the room.
Professor Jackson closed the register and looked up.
“Come with me.”
My throat tightened.
I followed him toward his office. The entire walk felt longer than it should have. When we finally stepped inside, I remained standing near the door.
“Professor, if this is about being late, I can explain—”
He looked genuinely surprised.
“Being late?”
I blinked.
“You asked to see me after class,” I said, “so I figured I might have done something?”
The corner of his mouth twitched.
“No, Miss Buston. You’re not in trouble.”
Some of the tension eased from my shoulders, though not nearly enough. He continued watching me with an intensity that made it difficult to sit still. There was nothing inappropriate about it, yet I found myself suddenly aware of every movement I made, every breath I took.
After a moment, he leaned back slightly in his chair.
“Tell me something.”
My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag.
“What?”
His gaze never left mine.
“Does the phrase ‘the worst kind of betrayal comes from the people you trust most’ mean anything to you?”
For a second, I simply stared at him.
I knew those words. Not because I’d heard them somewhere before, but because I’d said them.
The memory hit me without warning—a crowded bar, a half-empty glass in my hand, anger sitting like poison in my chest. Jason’s face flashed through my mind, followed by the humiliation of finding him with someone else.
I had said those words… to a stranger.
My heart stumbled.
Professor Jackson was still watching me, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes now. Recognition. Amusement. A certainty that made my stomach twist.
“No?” he asked softly.
Then a slow smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.
“Does that ring a bell, Miss Buston? Or do I need to get more intricate?”
The room suddenly felt too small.
My mind scrambled through scattered pieces of memory I hadn’t been able to make sense of all morning. A deep voice. Broad shoulders. A dark hotel room. Strong hands. The faint scent of cedar and expensive cologne.
And those eyes, those impossible blue eyes.
My grip on the bag tightened painfully.
“Oh my goodness.”
His smile widened slightly.
“There she is.”
Everything clicked into place at once. Not every detail, but just enough.
Enough to know exactly who had been standing beside me at that bar.
Horror crawled slowly down my spine as I stared at the man behind the desk.
I took a stumbling step backward.
“You—”
“I was beginning to think you’d erased me completely,” he said, sounding almost offended.
I opened my mouth, then closed it again.
“I was drunk.”
“Clearly.”
Heat rushed into my face so fast that I looked away before he noticed.
“I spent half the morning wondering whether you remembered anything from last night,” he continued. “Now I have my answer.”
Of all the men I could have met, I just had to meet my professor.
My chest tightened.
“You can’t tell anyone,” I said quietly. “If people find out about this, it’ll ruin everything. You don’t understand.”
“Then help me understand.”
I swallowed hard. “I worked too hard to get here.” My jaw tightened. “I can’t lose this.”
My scholarship. My records, everything I’d worked for.
The Christian foundation sponsoring my education barely tolerated girls being seen drinking at parties. If anyone found out I’d spent the night with a lecturer, I could lose the scholarship.
For a long moment, he simply watched me.
Then he leaned back in his chair.
“Look,” he said evenly. “You don’t have to worry. This can stay between us.”
Relief hit me so hard my knees nearly buckled.
Then he smiled.
“But it comes with a proposition.”
My stomach dropped.
What proposition?
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