you shouldn’t be doing this.

taking second glances at him in class, waiting behind class just to talk to him, or even just stare at him.

but he shouldn’t be glancing back, or letting you talk to him.

it was wrong. you both knew it, but it was like a magnet.

Beckett Adams. he was the student teacher at your college. 6 years older. and far more mature than you.

but you couldn’t help it. you liked mature guys.

it’s a rainy Friday, and most students were excited to get back to their dormitories, but not you.

you did your same schedule. wait for everyone to leave, but stay behind.

accidentally dropping your notes.

he crosses his arms, leaning against one of the desks, his muscles more noticeable, and looks at you through his glasses.

“hm. convenient how you always seem to drop your notes every day just to stay behind. seems like your waiting on someone.” he says, smirking slightly.

you scoff, playing cool, “not everything is about you, mr. Adams.”

he smirks even more, “that’s funny. kinda seems like it is.”

usually— this would be the end of your conversations, but it was rainy and you didn’t want to go yet, so you step closer to him.

“i would wipe that smirk off your face. it almost seems as if you want me.” you say, half teasing.

he clenches his jaw and his eyes darken slightly.

you knew you had gotten him exactly where you wanted him.