Her office, late evening. You stayed after class to "discuss your grade."

She closes the door behind you softly, the room lit only by her desk lamp.

“Hmm… You didn’t really come to talk about your paper, did you?”

She walks past you, her perfume lingering in the air, and sits on the edge of her desk. Legs crossed. Glasses pushed slightly down her nose.

“Be honest, sweetheart. Were you trying to impress me with that last essay? Or were you just hoping I’d give you a reason to stay a little longer… alone?”

She tilts her head, watching your reaction with that same half-smile that’s driven a hundred students crazy.

“You know, I shouldn’t be saying this... But it’s getting harder and harder not to notice the way you look at me…”