Noah's GPS led him through the maze of narrow streets and past old Victorian houses that had been chopped up into cheap apartments. Jasmine's place was actually decent. A red brick building with real parking spots and security doors that looked like they actually worked. Not bad for someone living on ramen and coffee.
He sat in his car for three minutes before knocking.
This was a mistake. He knew it with the same certainty he felt about most of his worst decisions. Like when he'd slept with Alexa the first time, knowing it would change everything. But knowing and stopping were different things entirely.
When he knocked on her unit door, it opened almost immediately.
"Holy shit, you actually came," Jasmine said, standing in the open doorway. She'd changed since the last time he had seen her. Gone was the carefully curated alt-goth-rocker girl look from campus. Now she wore a simple black tank top and blue leggings. Her dyed blond hair had begun to curl naturally, falling in bouncy waves around her shoulders. "I was starting to think you'd chicken out."
"Sorry, did I keep you waiting?" Noah stepped inside, noting the faint scent of vanilla candles and something else, maybe sage? His mind catalogued details, a habit he couldn't seem to break even as he tried not to. "Traffic was worse than I expected."
"Nah, you're good. I've been grading papers for Dr. Martinez all day anyway." She gestured toward her coffee table, which was completely covered in essays marked up with red ink. "I know I shouldn't be the one to talk, but theatre kids taking Intro Psych is... an experience. You should see what they think Freud was really talking about."
The apartment caught him off guard. He'd expected something darker, more dramatic. Instead, it was warm and sophisticated. Cream walls, a couch that looked like it had some miles on it but was still comfortable, and bookshelves that held actual books that looked well-worn and read. The only hints of her edgier personality were vintage posters of Malcom X, Huey Newton, and what looked like a little altar thing by the window with a cross and dried herbs.
"This is really nice," Noah said, meaning it. "Not what I was picturing."
"Not what you were expecting?" Jasmine smirked as she closed the door. "What, you thought I'd have black walls, posters of rock bands, and pentagrams everywhere? " She padded barefoot toward the kitchen.
"No, it's not that. It's…" He caught himself reaching for flattery, the automatic charm. He pulled back. "It's nicer than I pictured."
Jasmine smiled as she moved through the apartment's open floor plan. "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm from Camden, so I like to save my rebellious energy for more important shit. Want some wine?"
"Sure, that sounds good."
Noah watched her move around the small kitchen. She knew where everything was, totally comfortable in her own space. There was something relatable and attractive about seeing her like this. Without all the performances they put on in public.
"You're grading for Martinez?" he asked.
"Yeah, intro Psych," she called over her shoulder while she worked the corkscrew, "But anyways, I gotta ask, do you always visit students at their apartments, or am I special?"
There it is. The question carried weight beneath its teasing surface. Noah recognized the probing; she was mapping the terrain of whatever this was. He could lie smoothly. He'd done it a thousand times.
"Honestly? This is a first," he said instead, which was true, and therefore worse. Noah settled onto the couch, noting how the cushions had been broken in just right. "Usually, office hours cover whatever academic stuff needs covering."
"Is that so?" Jasmine called from the kitchen, "Well, in that case, I should probably mention that project I've been working on." The cork popped free. "It's about applying psychological case studies to famous literary figures to create mental profiles for them."
"That sounds ambitious," Noah said, watching her pour wine into two glasses. "What got you thinking along those lines?"
"Well, I was reading some of your books." She returned with the wine, settling beside him on the couch. "The way you write your stories and the complex character psychology in them... it made me wonder if we could reverse-engineer the process." She handed him a glass, their fingers brushing briefly. "If so, then maybe I could associate them with different kinds of damaged people in the real world, and how we could help them heal."
He had to stop himself from laughing out loud at the irony of the situation. Here she was, unknowingly describing the position that he found himself in. He was basically a character study in psychological damage, searching for his own path toward healing.
Noah accepted the wine, noting its quality, better than he'd expected a student to keep on hand. "That's a sophisticated approach." He took a sip, letting the warmth settle. "Though I imagine that would be difficult."
"Exactly!" Her eyes lit up as she tucked one leg beneath her. "That's what I wanted to talk through with you. The ethical considerations alone are complex, but the potential applications..." She paused, wine glass halfway to her lips. "I probably sound like a total nerd right now."
"Not at all." Noah shifted slightly, his knee coming to rest near hers. "Passion for your work is attractive." The words slipped out before he could reconsider them, hanging in the air between casual and intentional.
Jasmine's smile shifted, becoming more knowing. "Is it now?"
He held her gaze, noting the subtle change in her posture. "Intelligence is always attractive." Another careful step forward, still plausibly professional. "Especially when combined with original thinking."
"Mm." She set down her wine glass and shifted slightly closer.. "And here I thought you came over to discuss my academic research."
"I did," Noah said, his voice lower now. "Though I'm finding the researcher herself equally...engaging."
"So, you're not only interested in my project?" She smiled, and he recognized the moment she made a decision. She raised her glass toward his. "To... collaboration. And, whatever the hell else this is."
Noah clinked his glass against hers, taking a sip. "Excellent wine."
"Thanks. I may be a senior, but I'm not some twenty-one-year-old who drinks anything just to get drunk." She took a longer sip, her eyes studying him over the rim. "I worked in sales for a few years before deciding to go back to school. I had to get out of the city to figure out what I actually wanted to do with my life."
That explains a lot. The confidence, the nice apartment, the way she carries herself. She wasn't some starry-eyed kid. She was twenty-four and from a rough city. She had some real-life experience. And because of that, she thinks she knows what she was doing.
At that moment, Jasmine's smile turned almost predatory. "So, Professor. Are we really going to keep pretending, or are you going to tell me why you really came here tonight?"
Her directness caught him off guard. He'd been expecting more buildup, more dancing around the obvious tension. Instead, she was cutting straight through to the heart of it.
"I'm here because you invited me," he said carefully. "And because I'm interested in what you have to say."
"Mm-hmm." She shifted closer, her knee brushing his. "Which part interests you more? My brilliant insights, or my... other qualities?"
There it is. The game was beginning in earnest now, and they both knew it.
"Why don't you tell me what you think?" He leaned back a little, not retreating, but not leaning into whatever move she was making either. "You seem to have me all figured out already."
She laughed, this rich sound that seemed to come from deep in her chest. "You wanna know what I think? I think you're way more complicated than you let on in class. All that calm, controlled, professional energy you've got going on. That has to come from somewhere." She paused, her dark eyes searching his face. "I think you're interesting precisely because you're not as stable as you pretend to be. And I also think you're curious about where someone like me might take you."
"Someone like you?"
"Someone who isn't scared to bend the rules. Someone who sees through the whole academic propriety bullshit." She set down her wine glass and turned to face him completely. "I've been watching you in class, Professor. The way you talk about literature, about human emotions. There's real passion there. But it's all locked up, controlled."
Well… She's not wrong. But he wasn't about to admit that so easily. Noah took another sip of wine, buying himself time.
"And you think you can... what? Set that passion free?"
"I think," she said, reaching out to trace a finger along his forearm, "that you're tired of always being the responsible one. I think you want to stop thinking so much and just... feel something."
The touch sent electricity through him, but he kept his face neutral. "That's quite an analysis. Are you planning to use this as part of your thesis?"
She grinned at his deflection. "You're good at this. The clever banter, I mean. But you're not fooling me." She moved closer, her hand still resting on his arm. "I can see it in your eyes. You're interested. The question is, what are you going to do about it?"
The apartment felt suddenly smaller, the vanilla candles and soft lighting creating an intimate cocoon. He could hear the faint hum of traffic outside, the whisper of the heating system. But more prevalent was the soft sound of her breathing.
"You know," Noah said, his voice dropping lower, "you remind me of an old proverb that I once heard about spiders."
"Spiders?" She raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that particular turn.
"Mm-hmm. Smart, strategic creatures. They spin their webs in exactly the right places, wait patiently for the right moment, then strike when their prey is most vulnerable."
Jasmine's eyes lit up with understanding and amusement. "Are you calling me a spider, Professor?"
"I'm saying you're very good at what you do. The setup, the invitation, even the way you're sitting right now. It's all calculated to achieve a specific response."
She moved closer instead of pulling away. "And, if that's true, how do you feel about it?"
"I guess I'd be curious what you expected," he said, "when you invited a professor to your apartment?"
Instead of being offended, she seemed delighted. "And here I thought I was being subtle. So, in your proverb, if I'm the spider, what does that make you? My poor unsuspecting victim?"
Noah set down his wine glass and turned to face her fully, his hand moving to rest casually on the couch behind her back. The contact made her eyes widen slightly.
He gave a wolfish grin, "Good question. But that's where our lesson comes in," he said, pulling her closer until there was barely any space between them. "You see, a spider is only dangerous to creatures smaller than itself. Or, when their prey doesn't recognize the game being played. But what happens when something bigger wanders into the web? Something that not only sees the web, but decides to walk through it anyway?"
Her breath caught, and he could see her pulse quickening at the base of her throat.
"What happens," Noah continued, his voice barely above a whisper, "is that the spider realizes it's not the predator after all. It's been caught in its own web, and now it's being carried wherever the real predator wants to go."
For a moment, the confident mask slipped, and he saw something vulnerable and excited in her eyes. Then she recovered, her smile returning with full force.
"Well then, Professor," she said, her hands moving to rest on his chest, "I guess the question is, where do you want to take me?"
Noah leaned in, pressing his lips to hers, feeling her melt into his embrace before she pulled back, her eyes blazing with hunger that matched his own.
"Mmm, Professor," she murmured, her hands exploring his chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath his shirt. "You certainly know how to make a point. I'm impressed. But don't forget, even the strongest predators need to be careful. After all, sometimes the spider knows exactly what she's doing."
She captured his lips again, her tongue dancing with his as she pressed her body against him. The room filled with the sound of their passionate kisses, the wine forgotten on the coffee table. All boundaries disappeared, along with the space between their bodies.