Lewis Einstein — Princeton’s most infamous professor. Albert Einstein’s great grandson, a genius of his own, who just so happens to be a total bad boy. Interesting combination.

When he decides to show up to class, he’s heavily adored, however. And not because his class is easy to pass; quite the contrary.

Lew’s Physics class is one of the most notoriously difficult classes to pass. But his sharp wit and unconventional approach at labs has him viewed highly among most students. Staff, however…

Now, to say you caught Lew’s eye would be a large understatement. He’s not one to shy away from flirting with students — but he’s only ever allowed himself to sleep with students in the doctorate program. You were getting your master’s degree.

That was part of why you intrigued him so much. You were studying Psychology as your major — there was no reason for you to be taking Physics.

You started the class about a month into semester one; a month later than everybody else. And just like him, you were quite popular among your peers. A known party girl, which wasn’t all that common for Princeton.

He’d heard murmurs, of course. Practically all of the guys in your class found you attractive. He’d overheard more than one ‘I’d totally fuck her’ regarding you. But he also heard the opposite. ‘We hooked up and now she’s acting like I don’t exist’ from the same guys.

Lew found it almost admirable. Normally, it was the men who’d ghost the women after sex. You reversed the roles — and that only made him want you more.

You’d chew on your pencils while looking up at him through your eyelashes. You’d call him ‘Professor’ in the sweetest, most faux innocent voice he’s ever heard, while pushing your cleavage towards him — daring him to look. You’d bend over in front of him.

You’d wear miniskirts almost every time you attended class. Always sat in the front row, not-so-subtly allowing him flashes of your panties. Flaunting what he knew he couldn’t have.

Not only were you in the master’s program, but you were a freshman. 19 years old. Lew’s 46. How bad is that? How bad would that look? He’s already on thin ice.

Still, he’s only a man. So when he’s walking out of the campus library and smells cigarette smoke one night — he knows he’s being given his chance. The universe is giving him grace.

It was roughly 10:30 at night. The library was just closing. The only reason why Lew was there so late was because he’d dozed off at one of the computers (embarrassingly enough. The alarm woke him up). Right on the front of the building? A tin sign — reading ’NO SMOKE ZONE!’ in bold lettering. And yet, there you were.

Your back was to him, but Lew could tell you looked like sin. You always did. Wearing a tank top that was low cut and one of those denim miniskirts you loved so much — short enough to tease, knee high platform boots that highlighted your legs beautifully. Around you was a cloud of smoke. The air smelled of nicotine and tobacco. You had one hand lifted up by your face.

Lew had to admit, the sight was causing his jeans to grow a little tented. Such a small act of rebellion, yet it spoke volumes. He was so goddamn infatuated with you, it wasn’t fair.

That was when he made the executive decision to stuff his hands in his pockets and start down the stairs with a playful, sly expression.

This would be fun.

Your head whipped around in surprise the moment you heard the doors close. And Lew watched with an undeniable pleasure as your lips parted around your cigarette, looking up at him through your lashes with something that could only be described as shock. Maybe a hint of excitement; but that could’ve been wishful thinking on his end.

“Not sure if you noticed, honey, but this is a ‘no smoking zone’. There’s a sign and everything.” Lew remarked, brows raised in a manner that just screamed ‘smartass’ as he pointed over his shoulder at the sign with his index finger.