Chapter 172
**Sara**
I pulled up the case study document, squinting at the tiny text. Financial ratios and market analysis swam before my eyes, and the words "comprehensive valuation" mocked me from the screen.
"Focus, Sara. You got this." My fingers flew across the keyboard, typing out the analysis. The sooner I finished, the sooner I could sleep.
My phone buzzed. Tom's name lit up the screen. I flipped the phone face-down. Nope. Not getting distracted again.
The case study wasn't that difficult—it was a straightforward company valuation. My brain automatically filled in the formulas I'd practically memorized. Thank God for muscle memory because my mind wandered to very unprofessional places.
I typed faster, determined to power through. The financial statements revealed a clear pattern of growth. Easy. The competitive analysis practically wrote itself. My fingers cramped from typing, but I pushed on.
Finally, I typed the last sentence after what felt like hours but was only forty-five minutes. The conclusion was rushed, but it hit all the key points.
I saved the document, submitted it to the portal, and slammed my laptop shut with more force than necessary.
"Done!" I flopped back onto my pillows, stretching my cramped fingers. "Take that, Professor Thick Dick."
I immediately regretted letting Jessica's nickname get stuck in my head. Now, every time I thought about Tom, that ridiculous moniker popped up like an inappropriate jack-in-the-box.
"Professor... nope. Not going there." I pressed my palms against my eyes to scrub the mental image away.
Jessica's voice echoed in my head. "Catching feelings, are we?"
"Shut up, imaginary Jessica," I muttered, pulling my blanket to my chin. I wasn't catching feelings. I was just... enjoying myself. Having fun. Living out a fantasy.
A really hot, complicated, potentially career-destroying fantasy that had me squirming in my seat every time he walked past my desk. God, what was wrong with me? I'd never been this... preoccupied with someone before.
"Stop thinking about his dick," I whispered to myself, then immediately thought about his dick. "Dammit."
I rolled over, burying my face in my pillow. This was getting ridiculous. I was a grown woman, not some hormone-crazed teenager. I had an MBA to finish and a career to build. I couldn't spend every waking moment thinking about Tom's hands, or his mouth, or the way he'd looked at me across that fancy restaurant table like he wanted to devour me...
"Fuck." Heat pooled between my legs.
Was Jessica right? Was I catching feelings? The thought made my stomach twist in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant.
No. Absolutely not. This was just... physical attraction. Really intense, mind-blowing physical attraction. With a dash of forbidden romance thrown in because, apparently, my libido had decided to live out every teacher-student fantasy ever written.
"Oh shit." I sat up suddenly, remembering Tom's message from earlier. I'd gotten so caught up in Jessica's call and that damn case study that I hadn't even checked it.
I grabbed my phone, fingers trembling slightly as I opened his message.
Tom: Sweet dreams, gorgeous. Do not dream about me too much - you need your rest for class tomorrow.
My heart did a little flip in my chest. It was just a simple goodnight text, but it made me feel warm and special.
"Oh no." I flopped back onto my pillows. "No, no, no. This is bad."
Because that flutter in my chest? That wasn't just lust. That wasn't just physical attraction.
That felt dangerously close to feelings.
I stared at my phone, thumb hovering over the keyboard. What was the appropriate response to your professor-slash-fake-husband-slash-incredible-lay wishing you sweet dreams?
I typed and deleted three different responses before settling on the following:
Me: Sweet dreams to you, too. Try not to miss your fake wife too much.
I hit send before I could overthink it further. The message showed as delivered, but no typing bubbles appeared.
"And now we wait." I rolled onto my back, phone held above my face. "Not that I'm waiting. Because I'm not. That would be pathetic."
Five minutes passed.
"He's probably asleep," I told my ceiling. "Like a normal person. Unlike some lovesick idiots who keep staring at their phones."
My mind helpfully supplied an image of Tom sprawled across his bed, sheets tangled around his hips, his chest rising and falling in peaceful sleep. Those strong arms that had held me against the wall just yesterday were now relaxed.
"Stop imagining him sleeping!" I smacked my forehead with my phone. "Ow."
Great. Now, I had both inappropriate thoughts AND a bruised forehead.
Ten minutes.
"He's definitely asleep." I nodded firmly. "Yep. Sound asleep. Not ignoring me. Just sleeping. Like I should be."
I set my phone on my nightstand and immediately picked it up to check if he responded.
"This is ridiculous." I flopped face-first into my pillow. "I am not some teenager waiting for a text back. I am a grown-ass woman who... is totally acting like a teenager waiting for a text back."
My pillow muffled my groan of frustration. The same pillow still smelled faintly of his cologne from when he'd...
"Nope!" I flipped the pillow over. "No sexy flashbacks. Sleep time."
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