Students start filling up the lecture hall one by one, chatting, laughing, dragging their chairs like it's any other normal morning. But not for me.
For me, this morning feels… electric.
I can barely hide my enthusiasm. My pen keeps tapping against my notebook, my leg bouncing under the desk. I try to look calm, but my brain's basically screaming.
Because any second now, he'll walk in.
Mr. MacLean.
Just thinking his name makes my stomach twist in that weird, fluttery way.
Some part of me still thinks it's a dream, that maybe I'll wake up soon, drooling on my pillow, realizing that my perfect, fictional man isn't real. That I just imagined him like I always do.
But then the door opens.
And he walks in.
Hair slightly messy— the good kind of messy like he ran his hands through it a few times before giving up.
Fitted white shirt that hugs his body just right, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, veins showing, muscles flexing with every movement.
And I swear...I swear... the world goes silent for a second.
It's like he's the only person in the room.
I'm just… gone. My brain has exited the chat.
I blink, trying to breathe, but my lungs don't cooperate.
"Mmm… Rachel, why the fuck are you standing?" Bree whisper-shouts beside me.
It's only then I realize...I'm on my feet.
Just… standing there.
Like some lovesick idiot ready to applaud his entrance.
My face goes hot. I drop back into my seat so fast it squeaks against the floor. A few heads turn. Bree's already trying not to laugh.
I want to disappear.
I curse myself repeatedly under my breath, face buried in my notebook.
"Good morning, everyone." Oh..God, that voice. Way too smooth for my sanity.
I lift my head, watching him smiling faintly as he sets his notes on the desk.
"Today," he says, rolling up his sleeves a little (which should be illegal, by the way), "we'll be learning about cognitive bias in decision-making. Can anyone tell me what they understand by that?"
My heart starts hammering again.
This is it. My moment. My chance to impress him. Before I can overthink it, my hand shoots up.
I swear he notices immediately.
"Yes… Miss Miller," he says, his attention locking on me.
Oh God. He said my name again. I can't breathe.
I manage to sit a little straighter. "It's the tendency for people to make decisions based on personal beliefs or emotions rather than objective reasoning," I say, praying my voice doesn't shake.
He nods slowly. "That's one way of interpreting it."
My lips twitch into a nervous smile. "Would you disagree… sir?"
The word slips out softer than I mean it to, and I swear his eyes darken just a bit.
Then he smiles. "No. I wouldn't disagree with her highness — the Chess Princess."
And just like that, my whole mood dies a painful death.
The class chuckles. I sink lower in my seat, heat flooding my cheeks.
Ugh. Why did my face have to be on those stupid posters? Why did I have to be that Rachel Miller?
I sit back, pouting, wishing I could disappear into the floor, or at least crawl into a chessboard and hide behind a pawn forever.
I'm still pouting, trying not to die of embarrassment, when Mr. MacLean clears his throat again.
"Alright," he says, leaning casually against the edge of the desk. "Next question—if we apply the same principle in a real world scenario, how might that look?"
My hand shoots up again before my brain can stop me.
But so does another.
I glance to the right... and instantly regret it.
A girl. She's gorgeous. Like, unfairly gorgeous. With long blonde waves, perfect eyeliner, and that effortless I-woke-up-like-this look that makes everyone else seem like background characters.
"Go ahead," he says, nodding at her.
She smiles slowly revealing perfect teeth. "Sophie. My name is Sophie Blue."
No one asked but, even her name sounds seductive. Like she belongs in a perfume commercial instead of a classroom.
I sink lower in my seat, suddenly aware that my ponytail looks like it survived a hurricane.
Sophie crosses her legs, voice smooth as silk. "Well, sir… if we consider it through a behavioral lens, the outcome depends on intent. Or lack of it." She pauses, smiling at him in a way that's definitely not academic. "Sometimes, it's not about logic. It's about instinct."
He nods thoughtfully, completely professional, but I swear I catch the faintest flicker of surprise in his eyes.
And just like that, I realize I'm not the only one in this room trying to impress him.
I look around. Half the girls are practically drooling. Even Bree's chin is propped on her palm, eyes glazed in dreamy admiration.
Great. Perfect. Just what I needed — competition.
"Mind if I stand in front of the class and demonstrate, sir?" Sophie asks, and her voice is so soft and seductive I almost choke on air.
He hesitates. "That's not really—"
But she's already standing, all confidence and perfect hair, walking to the front of the class like she's on a runway.
Bree leans in. "She's so extra."
"No kidding," I whisper back, crossing my arms.
Sophie starts explaining something about human decision patterns, waving her hands dramatically like she's teaching a TED Talk. But then, mid-sentence—
She sways.
"Oh—oh my!" she gasps, and before anyone can react, she falls.
Straight. Into. His. Arms.
The entire room gasps.
"What the fuck" I whisper, almost loud enough to draw attention.
Mr. MacLean steadies her, concern written all over his face. "Are you alright, Miss Blue?"
Her lashes flutter like she's auditioning for a telenovela. "I—I think I just got lightheaded."
Oh, give me a break.
"She's faking," Bree mutters beside me.
"Obviously," I hiss.
But no one else seems to notice — or care. Half the class is watching in awe, and the other half (mostly the guys) are just enjoying the show.
He helps her sit down at the front, and I swear she milks it, leaning on him just a little too long, smiling up at him like he's her personal hero.
My blood boils.
I clutch my pen so tightly I almost snap it.
Bree glances at me and smirks. "Jealous much?"
"I'm not jealous," I say. Too fast. Too defensive.
"Sure, Chess Princess," she teases. "You're just mad someone else stole your spotlight."
I glare at her, but she's not wrong.
Because when he looks at Sophie, just for a second, checking if she's okay, I feel this stupid, hot twist in my chest.
And for the first time, I realize I might have seriously underestimated how hard it was going to be to get Mr. MacLean's attention.