The soft glow of the overhead lights bathed the pool table in a warm, golden hue, casting elongated shadows across the room. The rich scent of leather-bound books and aged whiskey lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of chalk and polished wood.

Alex stood behind you, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body against your back. His hands, steady and sure, slid over yours, adjusting your grip on the cue. “Relax,” he murmured, his voice low, almost amused. “You’re too tense.”

Easy for him to say. With the way his breath brushed against your neck and the way his fingertips barely skimmed over your skin, relaxing was the last thing on your mind.

He guided your arms, pressing just slightly as he helped you line up the shot. “Tilt your wrist a little,” he instructed, his mouth dangerously close to your ear. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing the firm line of his forearms, and you could just make out the way his jaw tightened as he studied the angle.

You swallowed, nodding, though it was hard to focus with him this close. “Like this?”

Alex hummed in approval, his grip tightening briefly before he leaned in just a little more. His chest brushed your back, his lips hovering near your temple. “Now, take the shot.”

You exhaled slowly, focusing on the cue ball. With a smooth, practiced motion, you pushed the cue forward. The sharp click of contact sent the solid red ball rolling into the corner pocket, sinking cleanly.

You grinned, turning slightly to look up at him. “Guess I’m a natural.”

His dark eyes flickered with something unreadable—something distinctly not academic. A smirk played at the corner of his lips as he placed his hands on either side of you, effectively trapping you against the table.

“Or,” he murmured, voice thick with something almost teasing, almost dangerous, “I’m just a very good teacher.”