Page 9 of Misconducts & Temptation

His eyes widened slightly in surprise, then he chuckled, the sound low and rough like gravel. "Unhygienic, huh? You'd be surprised what you'd do knowing how good it'd feel." He leaned forward slightly. "Is that something you know?"

My heart pounded in my chest as I met his gaze, mortification creeping up my spine. "Are you asking me if I'm a virgin?" The words spilled out before I could filter them.

His smirk turned into a full grin. "You are, aren't you?"

I tightened my grip on the towels, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. "That's none of your business."

He shrugged casually but kept his eyes on me, an amused glint in them. "Touchy subject?"

"Just inappropriate," I snapped back, trying to regain some semblance of control over the situation. "You don't even know me."

"Fair enough," he said with a lazy shrug. "Didn't mean to offend your delicate sensibilities." His tone dripped with sarcasm.

I stood up straighter, forcing myself to hold his gaze despite the flush creeping up my neck. "Well, you did."

For a moment, he just stared at me, his expression unreadable. Then he pushed off the wall and walked past me towards the exit. He paused at the door and looked back over his shoulder.

"See you around, Elodie," he said with a wink before disappearing into the hallway.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I'd been holding and quickly gathered the rest of my things.

My heart still pounded as I gathered the scattered towels, my hands shaking slightly. The embarrassment from the encounter with that boy—whoever he was—clung to me like a second skin. I forced myself to focus on the task at hand, wiping down benches and mopping up stray puddles of water. My mind kept replaying the conversation, his smirk, and that infuriating wink.

The locker room seemed to close in around me, the walls pressing in as I hurried to finish. I moved quickly, my eyes darting to the door every few seconds. The last thing I needed was for him to come back and catch me still here. I could practically feel his gaze on me even though he was gone.

The meticulous attention to detail I usually prided myself on was absent today; all I wanted was to get out of there. My hands fumbled with the spray bottle as I wiped down the last sink, my thoughts still tangled with images of his mocking grin.

Despite my best efforts, I couldn't stop thinking about him. Who was he? Why had he been so amused by our encounter? And why did his presence affect me so much? The questions buzzed in my mind like persistent gnats, refusing to be swatted away.

I threw the last of the dirty towels into the laundry bin and wiped my hands on my apron. Taking a deep breath, I surveyed the room one last time. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do. My nerves were too frayed to care about perfection right now.

I grabbed my cleaning supplies and hurried out of the locker room, not stopping until I reached the relative safety of the hallway. Leaning against the cool tile wall, I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths, willing myself to calm down.

His face flashed in my mind again—the lazy smirk, the challenging eyes—and an inexplicable warmth spread through me. It annoyed me how easily he had gotten under my skin. He had no right to make me feel this way.

Shaking off the lingering thoughts, I pushed myself away from the wall and started walking towards my next task. There was no time for distractions or mysterious boys with infuriating grins. I had work to do and a scholarship to maintain.

But as much as I tried to push him from my mind, his image lingered stubbornly in the back of my thoughts, refusing to be ignored.

I rushedinto the classroom just as class began, feeling a mixture of relief and anxiety. The faint smell of sweat clung to me, a reminder of my rushed morning. There had been no time for a shower after my locker room duties, and I worried that it might be noticeable.

The sociology classroom was spacious, with rows of desks arranged in a semi-circle facing the front where Professor Turner stood. Posters about various social movements and historical events decorated the walls, adding color to the otherwise plain room. Large windows along one side let in plenty of natural light, giving the space a warm and inviting atmosphere.

I quickly found my usual seat next to Peter. He had a boyish charm, with soft features. His dark hair was always slightly tousled, and his blue eyes sparkled with a quiet intelligence.

As I slid into my seat, I couldn't help but blush. My heart fluttered nervously as I hoped I looked decent enough despite my disheveled state. Peter was already absorbed in his notes, his pen moving swiftly across the page. I admired his dedication and often found myself wishing I could muster the same level of focus.

"Hey, Elodie," he greeted without looking up from his notebook.

"Hey, Peter," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.

I opened my own notebook and pretended to be engrossed in it, but my mind kept wandering back to him. His presence always made me feel both excited and anxious—a strange mix of emotions that left me feeling off-balance.

Professor Turner began the lecture, diving into the topic of social stratification. Her voice was clear and authoritative as she explained the different theories and perspectives on how societies are structured. I tried to concentrate on her words, but my thoughts kept drifting back to Peter sitting next to me.

I stole glances at him out of the corner of my eye, hoping he wouldn't notice. His focused expression only made him more endearing, and I found myself captivated by the way he absorbed information so effortlessly.

As Professor Turner continued her lecture, I did my best to take notes and keep up with the discussion. But no matter how hard I tried to focus on sociology, Peter's presence was a constant distraction—a pleasant yet frustrating reminder of my unspoken feelings for him.

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