Page 1 of Deviant Obsession

Chapter 1

Rhea

“Nat,seriously! Can you move your butt, please? Wecannotbe late to this class!”

“Say ‘ass’and maybe I’ll find the will to walk faster.”

“You’re the worst,” I mutter, though I know full well she can hear the smirk in my voice as she trails behind me. We hurry across campus, a thin sheen of sweat starting to dampen my forehead beneath the sun.

"Sorry, I totally get why you’re in a hurry to be in the same room as the famous Lloyd Shaw," Nat says, picking up the pace so that she can bump her shoulder into mine. "Have you seen his score onRateMyProfessor? Girls are so damn thirsty out here." My best friend lets out a giggle, wiggling her eyebrows at me.

I groan, feeling heat creep up my neck that has nothing to do with the Southern California weather. "Oh jeez, don't start. I spent my summer reading his research start to finish, not ogling his headshot. It’s not like that for me."

Nat throws her head back with a full-on cackle this time as she links her arm through mine. "Of course you have, you adorable little nerd. And while I’mthrilledthat you get to take a class with your Psych hero, I'm just here for the eye candy. Itislike that for me."

"Nat!" I hiss, glancing around frantically to make sure no one heard. "He's our professor!"

"Doesn't mean I can't appreciate the view," she winks.

“Carry on like this and I’m gonna act like I don’t know you when we get in there,” I grumble, returning her playful shove from before. “You’re going to embarrass me. I can feel it coming.”

Gasping dramatically enough to be mistaken for a theater major, Nat, also known as Natalie, places her other hand flat against her chest. “Would Ieverhumiliate my best friend in front of her all-time favorite, academic dream candy man crush?”

“Yes,” I deadpan as I pull open the door to lecture hall. “Maybe not intentionally, but it’s definitely in your wheelhouse.” We both try and fail to stifle a fit of giggles, walking into the lecture hall where, mercifully, no professor is currently waiting.

I head straight for seats in the middle, halfway up the tiered levels—a perfect view without looking too overzealous near the front. I take my seat, my heart pulsing in my ears.It’s just a psych class. He’s no different than any other professor on this campus.

“You okay there, Rhea?” Nat snorts, waving her hand in front of my face and drawing me from my inner pep talk. “You’re staring at the door like a million dollars is about to burst through it.”

I open my mouth to tell her to give it a rest, but the words die on my lips as the door swings open and the one and only Professor Shaw walks in. The room falls silent, and I swear everyone can hear my own heartbeat.

"Holy shit," Nat whispers, leaning close. "He's even hotter in person."

I can only nod, not trusting myself to form a coherent sentence.Are my palms sweating?I wipe them surreptitiously on my jeans.

Professor Shaw clears his throat, bright hazel eyes scanning the room as the last waves of chatter in the room fade away. "Good morning, everyone. I'm Professor Shaw, and this is Psychology 401: Generational Trauma and Epigenetics."

His voice is so deep and smooth, I can almost feel it stroking down my spine as I unconsciously lean forward in my seat. There’s a very real danger I may start drooling any minute—me and maybe twenty other girls in this room—which only worsens when the Professor shrugs out of his blazer and tosses it onto the chair behind the desk up front. The moment he begins rolling up his shirt sleeves, exposing the sun-kissed skin of his lean forearms, I think my brain shuts down completely.

"Before we dive in, I'd like to go over the syllabus and my expectations for this course," he continues, leaning over the desk to pull up a PowerPoint presentation on the projector screen. When he looks up again, he raises his hand to rake back a stray lock of chestnut hair that’s fallen onto his forehead.

Holy hell, it should be illegal to be so effortlessly sexy.

This man belongs in a Hugo Boss campaign—crisp white shirt with the top two buttons undone, no tie, the subtle flex of a rock-solid bicep beneath the thin fabric.

As he talks, I find myself hanging on every word. It's not just his looks that get me, it’s the passion in his voice as he discusses the course material. This isn't just a job for him; it's a calling. If anyone has ever fallen asleep in one of his classes, I’d have to wonder if they’d recently undergone a lobotomy.

Nat leans over, muttering to me behind her hand, "I think I'm in love. Do you think he'd notice if I just stared at him for the entire semester?"

I giggle, trying to muffle the sound with my own hand. "Stop it, he might actually hear us.”

But it's too late. Professor Shaw pauses his speech, one eyebrow raised in what could either be vague amusement or reproach. I feel my face heat up and duck my head, pretending to be very interested in my blank notebook page.

"Now," he presses on, his voice carrying a hint of sharpness beneath the silk, "I understand this material can be challenging, even disturbing at times, but I expect full engagement from all of you. This isn't a course you can coast through."

He surveys the room again while leaning back against his desk, and I force myself to look up. For a moment, barely a heartbeat, our gazes lock. I regret raising my eyes at all. It’s like being seen by him is to know without a doubt that I’ll never have him. I would have been happier going all my life looking at him on a screen and letting him stay a fantasy.

In this room, he’s all too real. And completely untouchable.

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