Page 3 of Deviant Obsession

"I was asking if you could expand on your earlier point about intervention strategies," he says, his voice neutral but his stare maddeningly intense. "Given your apparent familiarity with the subject."

I swallow hard. "Oh…uh, of course… Effective intervention strategies often involve a multi-faceted approach. This can include individual therapy for both the abuser and the victim, family counseling, and community support programs." The words tumble from my lips in a stilted stream that takes on a life of its own. I don’t know how much he wants from me, but I could recite the whole textbook if he asked me to. And if he doesn’t stop me, I just might.

"Additionally," I continue, "education plays a crucial role. By teaching children about healthy relationships and coping mechanisms from an early age, we can potentially break the cycle before it begins."

"That’ll do, Miss Foster, thank you,” he finally cuts me off. “I'm impressed by your grasp of the material. Carry on much longer and you’ll put me out of a job."

Pride swells in my chest, mingling with the butterflies already fluttering there. I duck my head, trying to hide my pleased grin. As he goes on with the lecture, Professor Shawincorporates some of my points into his discussion. Each time he says my name, I feel a little thrill run through me. I could listen to it slip from his lips a thousand times over and it would never be enough.

The rest of the hour passes in what feels like mere minutes. Professor Shaw wraps up with a brief overview of what we'll be covering in the next class.

"And don't forget," he says, seemingly pinning everyone in the room with that penetrating gaze one by one, "your first paper is due in two weeks. You’re all seniors, there’s no easing into it this year. I expect thorough research and original insights. Class dismissed."

There's a flurry of movement as students begin packing up their things. I linger, taking my time to pack my bag, stealing glances at Professor Shaw as he gathers his own materials.

"Take your time, Rhea," Nat teases. "Our next class is across campus."

I nod reluctantly, shouldering my backpack. As we make our way to the door, I can't resist one last look back. To my surprise, the professor is looking right at me. Our eyes lock and I feel that same jolt of electricity I felt earlier, searing my skin like an invisible brand. He smirks, like he knows exactly the effect he’s having on my already-frayed nerves.

Then Nat is pulling me through the door, and the moment is broken.

"Girl, the way he looked at you!" My best friend exclaims as soon as we're halfway across the quad. "I swear I saw actual sparks fly."

“It wasn’t like that at all,” I snort, not daring to let myself believe that she’s onto something. “He was just asking me questions because literally nobody else spoke the entire class."

She rolls her eyes. "Sure, keep telling yourself that. I saw you blushing bright pink every time he so much as glanced in your direction."

"I was not!" I protest, but it sounds weak even to my own ears.

"Uh-huh," Nat smirks, clearly unconvinced. "And I'm the Queen of England. Face it, babe, you've got it bad for Professor Hottie."

I groan, swiping my hand down my face as if I can wipe away the burning heat. "Is it that obvious?"

Nat laughs, linking her arm through mine again as we walk. "Only to anyone with eyes. But don't worry, your secret's safe with me...and every other girl in that room who’s crushing just as hard."

“Great,” I mutter before chewing on my bottom lip. “If he keeps singling me out, they’re all gonna hate me in no time.”

“Ah, who gives a fuck? Do you care more about being friends with everyone or getting up close and personal with the professor of your dreams?” She wiggles her eyebrows at me with all the subtlety of a circus mime.

“I hate you,” I giggle. “I mean, I love you. So much. But also, I hate you.”

“Don’t I know it, sweet cheeks.” She pulls me in to plant a sloppy kiss on my forehead, just as we reach the building for our next class.

Thankfully, this one is taught by a woman in her late seventies. There’s no chance in hell of any distracting eye-candy in here, but I still can’t shake Dr. Shaw, my mind swirling with so many thoughts…

And none that I can say out loud.

Chapter 2

Rhea

"You knowwhat happens to good girls who never let loose?" Nat calls, her voice a little muffled as she wades through every piece of clothing I own. "They snap one day and end up on the evening news."

I lean against the doorframe of my bedroom, arms crossed over my chest as I watch Hurricane Natalie tear through my closet. Our tiny apartment feels even smaller with most of my wardrobe strewn across every available surface.

"That's not helping your case," I point out with a bemused chuckle. "If anything, you're giving me more reasons to stay home and study."

"Oh please." She emerges from the depths of my closet dangling a powder blue cardigan off the end of her finger like it personally offends her. "When did you even buy this? 1952?"

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