Extra Credit
Sophia never thought she’d step foot in her old university again.
But when the department invited her to speak to current students about her career, she said yes before she could think better of it.
Now, standing in the familiar lecture hall, she wondered why the air suddenly felt too warm.
Or maybe it was because he walked in.
Eli Carter.
He wasn’t a professor back when she was here—just a teaching assistant in her toughest course.
She remembered him as the guy who challenged every argument she made.
The guy who pushed her harder than anyone else.
The guy with the quick wit and unfairly calm eyes.
And now…
Now he was definitely not the same.
“Ms. Rivera?” he asked, stepping closer. His voice had deepened since she last heard it. “It is you.”
She swallowed. “Just Sophia is fine.”
He gave a small smile—warm, slow, almost dangerous.
“Right. Sophia.”
The way he said her name tugged at something low in her stomach.
“I didn’t know you worked here now,” she said.
“Associate professor,” he replied casually. “Just got tenure last year.”
She blinked. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” His eyes skimmed her face, gentle but thorough. “You look… like you’re doing well.”
Her heart gave a traitorous flutter.
Why was she nervous? This was ridiculous.
She was a grown woman.
A successful one.
She had no reason to react like this to a former TA.
Except she did.
Because Eli Carter had always gotten under her skin in ways she didn’t like admitting.
Students began filing into the lecture hall. Eli stepped aside, his shoulder brushing hers—barely a touch, but enough to ground her pulse in the moment.
“I’m moderating the Q&A,” he said.
“Thought I’d give you a friendly face.”
Friendly.
Right.
He sat in the chair beside the podium while she spoke, listening closely.
Too closely.
Every time she glanced his way, he was already looking at her—attentive, thoughtful, eyes darkened by something… else.
When the Q&A ended, students gathered around her, excited and chatty.
But Eli stayed in his seat, watching quietly, almost… protectively.
After the last student left, he stood and approached her.
“You were incredible,” he said softly.
“Thank you.”
“You always were.”
Heat bloomed in her chest—not from the words, but from the way he said them.
Like he’d been waiting years to tell her.
He glanced at her notes.
“You planning to head out?”
“Yeah. I should.”
“Before you go…” He hesitated, then said, “Could I show you something?”
Her eyebrows lifted. “What?”
“My office. It’s right upstairs. It’s where I keep some of the old student projects. Yours included.”
“My—what?”
Her stomach dropped. “You kept something of mine?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking suddenly… shy.
“I, uh… thought it was brilliant. I didn’t want to let it go.”
Something in her chest tightened.
Eli Carter did not get flustered.
Yet here he was, stumbling over his words because of her.
She exhaled slowly. “Show me.”
He nodded once—controlled, but with a spark behind the eyes.
⸻
His Office
The hallway was quiet as they walked.
Only the soft echo of their footsteps and the faint hum of campus lights overhead.
Eli unlocked the door and stepped aside for her to enter first.
His office was surprisingly warm—books lining every wall, soft lamplight illuminating the space, a single framed photo on his desk of him at some mountain overlook.
Sophia turned.
Eli was watching her, expression unreadable.
“It hasn’t changed much,” he said. “Still looks like it did when I was the TA.”
“You kept things exactly the same?”
“Not everything.”
His gaze lingered on her.
Then on her mouth.
Then back to her eyes.
Her heart slammed once.
Hard.
“You said you kept one of my projects?” she asked, needing something to break the silence.
Eli reached into a drawer and pulled out a thick, well-worn file.
He held it in both hands like something delicate.
“I didn’t just keep it,” he said softly.
“I reread it every year.”
Sophia froze.
“Why?” she whispered.
“Because,” he said, taking one slow step closer, “I never forgot the way your mind worked.”
Another step.
“Or the way you argued.”
Another.
“Or the way you looked at me like you wanted to beat me and impress me at the same time.”
Her breath stuttered.
“And now?” she whispered. “What do you see?”
Eli stopped right in front of her.
“Now?”
He exhaled slowly, voice dropping.
“Now I see the woman I didn’t let myself want back then.”
Her pulse went wild.
“But I’m not your student anymore,” she said.
“No.”
His eyes softened, darkened.
“You’re not.”
His hand brushed the edge of her sleeve. Barely a touch. Barely contact.
But it was enough to break something open in her.
Sophia didn’t step back.
Maybe she should have.
Maybe she should’ve created space, made a joke, changed the subject, anything to diffuse the tension thickening between them like warm honey.
But instead, she stood very still… and let him close that last inch of distance.
Eli’s fingers brushed her sleeve again, deliberate this time — the faintest drag of touch down her arm before he pulled in a quiet breath, as if steadying himself.
“You shouldn’t say things like that,” she whispered.
“Why not?” he murmured.
“Because it sounds like you mean them.”
His eyes flicked to her lips. “I do.”
Her chest tightened.
He gently placed the old project folder on his desk, as though removing it cleared space for the truth between them. When he turned back to her, his expression shifted — no longer hesitant, no longer conflicted.
Present.
Intentional.
Unmistakably drawn to her.
“Sophia,” he said softly, “I spent years wondering if you ever thought of me after you left.”
“I didn’t,” she lied.
It came out too quickly.
His eyebrow lifted. “Try again.”
She exhaled shakily. “I tried not to.”
Eli’s jaw tensed — not with anger, but something closer to relief. Like he wasn’t alone in this, after all.
He stepped close enough that her back lightly met the edge of his desk.
Not trapping her.
Just anchoring her.
“Tell me,” he said quietly, “why you came up here.”
She swallowed. “Because you asked.”
“That can’t be the only reason.”
Her pulse thrummed. “Maybe… I wanted to see what hadn’t changed.”
Eli leaned in just enough that she felt his breath warm against her cheek.
“And what did you find?”
Sophia met his eyes — and for the first time all evening, didn’t look away.
“That you’re still impossible to ignore.”
A slow, restrained breath left him. “Good.”
He raised a hand, hesitating for the briefest moment before letting his fingers trail down the curve of her arm, the touch featherlight but full of meaning. She felt it everywhere.
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he said. “You never did.”
“That was the problem,” she whispered. “You saw too much.”
“And you think I stopped?”
His voice dipped — warm, low, dangerously sincere.
“I see you even clearer now.”
Sophia’s breath caught. “Eli—”
He shook his head gently. “You don’t have to call me Professor Carter. Not tonight.”
The air stilled.
“Eli,” she corrected softly.
His eyes closed briefly, as if savoring it.
When they opened again, something in them had sharpened — not aggressive, but undeniably certain.
He wasn’t unsure anymore.
He wasn’t the flustered TA or the too-polite professor.
He was a man who had spent years thinking about a moment that never happened.
“Let me show you something else,” he said.
He moved to the bookshelf, pulled a worn leather journal free, and placed it in her hands.
“What is this?” she asked.
“A record of ideas. Thoughts. Notes about students who changed the way I teach.”
His gaze held hers.
“Your name is on the first page.”
Her breath tangled. “Eli…”
“You challenged me,” he said. “Pushed me. Made me think differently. I haven’t forgotten any of it.”
“Why tell me now?”
He took a step closer again — slow, deliberate — until his hands rested lightly on the desk on either side of her hips.
A quiet cage.
A soft cornering.
A question wrapped in heat.
“Because you’re not my student anymore,” he said, voice low. “And because I’m tired of pretending I don’t want to know who you’ve become.”
Sophia felt the weight of the moment — warm, heavy, impossible to step away from.
“And what if,” she whispered, “I want to know who you’ve become too?”
A slow, dangerous smile touched his mouth.
“Then,” he murmured, “we’re finally on the same page.”
He didn’t kiss her.
He didn’t need to.
The moment held more charge than contact ever could — two people standing inches apart, breath mixing, tension humming through the air like a live wire.
Outside, the hallway lights flickered on their timers.
Inside, the office grew warmer, smaller, impossibly intimate.
Eli’s voice dropped to a whisper meant only for her.
“Stay a little longer.”
Sophia didn’t have to think.
She stayed.