Page 19 of Deviant Obsession

"Amen," I giggle, raising my severely depleted glass in mock salute.

Nat glances at the clock and sighs. "Break's almost over but listen. Forget Dean exists. He's not even in the same league as Professor Shaw, and neither of them are worth getting twisted up over if it’s all getting you too up in your head."

She slides off her stool, stretching and cracking her neck side to side. "Although...if something did happen with the Professor..."

"Nothing's going to happen."

"But if it did..." She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. "You'd tell me every dirty detail, right?"

"Get back to work," I laugh, shooing her away. "Before you get fired for neglecting your actual paying customers."

"This conversation isn't over," she calls over her shoulder as she returns to her post behind the bar.

I shake my head, smiling into the last dregs of my wine. Trust Nat to turn my academic crisis into fodder for her overactive imagination. Still...I can't quite shake the memory of Professor Shaw's eyes on me across his desk, that hint of something darker lurking behind his professional facade.

The night air is a welcome relief as I step out of O'Malley's stifling warmth, but it does little to clear the wine-induced hazeclouding my brain. My boots thud against the pavement in an uneven rhythm. I'm not drunk, exactly, but there's a pleasant buzz humming through my veins that makes everything feel slightly dreamlike.

The streets are quiet this time of night, save for the distant thrum of bass from the string of clubs along Mason Street. Each storefront I pass throws different colored lights across the sidewalk—green from the Irish pub, blue from the sports bar, and then...purple.

The neon sign forDeviantbleeds across the concrete like spilled wine, and I find my steps slowing without conscious thought. I've walked this route home dozens of times, always averting my eyes from the infamous club's entrance, pretending not to notice the people slipping in and out dressed in leather and lace.

But tonight, something catches my attention. There, in the private lot beside the building, sits a sleek black Audi, its pristine paint job gleaming under the streetlights. I know that car. I've watched Professor Shaw climb out of it on more occasions that I’d care to admit out loud.

Maybe Dean’s not the only one behaving like he deserves a restraining order…

"You’re insane, Rhea," I whisper to myself, even as my feet carry me closer. The rational part of my brain is screaming that there must be dozens of black Audis in the city, that I'm jumping to wild conclusions, and that I need to turn around and go home right now.

But Nat's words from earlier echo in my head:live a little.And maybe it's the wine, or maybe it's the way Professor Shaw looked at me today like he could see right through me, but I find myself drawn toward the club's entrance like a moth to flame.

The heavy black door looms before me, gothic letters spelling out "DEVIANT" in wrought iron above. Music pulses from within, so low and deep I can feel it in my chest…

Or maybe that's just my heart threatening to burst from my ribcage.

A couple emerges, the woman's collar glinting in the neon lights, her partner's hand possessively braced at the small of her back. They barely spare me a glance as they pass, but I feel exposed, transparent. Surely anyone can see I don't belong here.

"This is crazy," I mumble to myself again, but my hand is already reaching for the door handle. "Completely insane."

The metal is cool against my palm, and for a moment I stand frozen, balanced on the knife edge of indecision. If I turn around now, I can go home, crawl into bed, and pretend this moment of madness never happened. I can face Professor Shaw in class tomorrow without knowing for certain whether that was his car, whether he spends his evenings in this den of secrets and darkness.

Or...

I could push open this door. I could step inside. I could know.

My pulse thunders in my ears, drowning out even the bass-heavy music. One small push, that's all it would take. One tiny movement to cross a line I never thought I'd go anywhere near.

This is a sex club. With a bad reputation…

But I think of Professor Shaw's voice today, the way it dropped low and intimate as he leaned across his desk.‘When was the last time you did something purely because it felt good?’

Was this what he meant? Had he been testing me, probing to see if I had the courage to step into this world?

The door handle seems to burn against my palm now, daring me to find out.

One deep breath. Two. Three.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I push.

The door swings open with surprising ease, revealing a dark hallway stretching ahead like an invitation. The music swells, wrapping around me like a physical embrace, and I feel my heart stutter—and maybe even stop altogether—as I take that first, trembling step forward.

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