Page 18 of The Naughty Professor

Chapter Sixteen

Felix

By the time I stumbled onto campus the next morning, the sun was already high in the sky, my brain felt like it was being wrung out like a dishrag, and I was praying—literally praying—that Juniper had opened the lab and started setup without me.

Not only did I feel like hell, I couldn’t find my glasses this morning, and could barely see anything.

I clutched my travel mug of coffee like a lifeline, though every swallow turned my stomach. My head throbbed in that special way that said I’d either been hit by a bus or done something catastrophically stupid.

Spoiler: it was the second one.

Bits of the night before kept slipping back through the fog—heat, sweat, laughter, men crowding close. I remembered flashes of faces, hungry eyes, hands on me.

No, not on me. On him. Jax.

God, I’d been unstoppable. A walking chemical reaction. I could still feel the confidence like a ghost under my skin—how people had looked at me, how he had looked at me.

Thorne.

That thought hit like a defibrillator. My chest tightened.

Thorne Carr—handsome, brilliant, maddeningly composed Thorne—had looked at me like I was something out of his wildest, most forbidden fantasy.

And if he ever found out what I’d done—what I was—he’d never forgive me. Not for creating a lie. Not for drugging myself into a different person.

I pushed open the lab door, trying to shove all that down, and found Juniper bent over the counter, setting out flasks and pipettes.

She glanced up the second she heard me. Her heavy eyeliner framed eyes that could wither steel.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up,” she said. “You look like you’ve been hit by a bus full of drag queens.”

“Morning to you too,” I croaked, hanging my jacket on the hook.

Her eyebrows rose sharply. “Uh-huh.” Then she pointed at my neck. “Where the hell did you get that?”

“Get what?”

She grinned like a cat with a cornered mouse. “That hickey, Dr. Sterling. Big one. Looks like someone tried to suck your soul out through your jugular.”

I slapped a hand over my throat so fast I nearly dropped my mug. My fingers brushed something tender and hot.

Juniper’s grin widened. “Oh my God, you did hook up! Who was he?”

“I—what—no,” I stammered, trying to will my face not to turn the color of bromothymol blue in acid solution.

She wasn’t listening. She was looking around the room now, frowning. “Also, the lab was a disaster zone this morning.”

My stomach sank. “Define ‘disaster.’”

“Define?” she snapped. “There were broken beakers, two shattered test tubes, your glasses, and—” she held up a small plastic evidence bag containing a syringe “—this.”

“Give me my glasses,” I mumbled.

She stomped toward me, boots thudding. “Don’t you dare tell me you made that fucking serum.” She pulled my glasses from the bag and handed them to me.

“I can explain,” I blurted, which, of course, was the same as saying, Yes, I made the serum.

Her eyes widened, then narrowed into death lasers. “You made the serum? The one I told you not to make? The one that gave that Syrian woman permanent brain damage?”

I backed up until the counter pressed into my spine. “It wasn’t the same formula! I adjusted the ratios—”

“—and you tested it on yourself? Are you insane? You could’ve died! Or melted your frontal lobe!”

“I’m fine!” I lied. My hands were shaking. “Mostly fine.”

She threw her arms up. “You’re unbelievable. I’ve seen undergrads do smarter shit during pledge week!”

I sank onto a stool, face in my hands. “It’s worse than you think.”

“Oh, it’s worse than I think?” she said. “What’s worse than creating a potentially lethal chemical and shooting it up?”

“I didn’t—” I sighed. “Please stop talking.”

Juniper muttered a few expletives that would’ve made a sailor blush. Then her voice went quiet, thoughtful. “Is that… glitter in your hair?”

I froze.

She stepped closer, squinting. “Jesus Christ, it is.”

I tried to brush it away, which only made it shimmer more under the fluorescent lights.

“Jesus, Dr. Sterling,” she said slowly, “what did you do last night?”

Before I could answer, the lab door flew open hard enough to rattle the glassware.

“Jax!” a voice trilled.

No. No, no, no.

Professor Lorna Hernandez swept into the room like a peacock on espresso—scarlet dress, rhinestone earrings, hair the color of an emergency flare. She was glowing. Radiant. Possibly still drunk.

She marched right up to me, threw her arms around my neck, and sighed dramatically. “Oh, Jax! Last night was magical!”

Juniper’s jaw dropped so fast it might’ve dislocated.

“Uh,” she said after a long pause, “I’m sorry—what? You banged Professor Hernandez? And who the hell is Jax?”

Lorna threw her head back and laughed like she’d just heard the world’s filthiest joke. “Oh, sweetie, no! Though that wouldn’t have been so bad…” She gave me a wink that could’ve melted lab glass.

Juniper blinked. “We’re talking about Dr. Sterling, right? The same Dr. Sterling who has a panic attack if you move his test-tube racks from their special place?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Lorna purred. “Apparently our shy little Felix has been hiding quite a secret side to himself. Watching him—well, watching Jax dance on that stage at Badlands last night was practically a religious experience.”

Juniper turned to me slowly, one eyebrow raised so high it nearly vanished into her bangs. “You. Were. Dancing. At Badlands?”

“Define dancing,” I muttered.

Lorna clutched her chest theatrically. “He was magnificent! Glitter everywhere, the entire club was screaming for him! I almost fainted when he made out with Professor Carr.”

“What?!” Juniper put her hand on her chest like she was having a cardiac event.

“I mean, who knew Dr. Sterling was built like that?” Lorna said dreamily.

“I’m not!” I snapped.

Juniper’s grin came slow and evil. “Oh, my God. You really did make the serum.”

“Juniper—”

She perched on the stool beside me, eyes sparkling like she’d just discovered the Philosopher’s Stone.

“The shit didn’t kill you, so it can’t be that bad.

You realize this stuff could make us rich, right?

Whatever you cooked up—instant charisma, sex appeal, stamina—hell, this makes Ecstasy look like Flintstone’s chewable vitamins. ”

“I’m not selling my personal biochemical humiliation,” I muttered.

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t bottle this?” she teased. “’Cause if you can turn into Magic Mike with a PhD, imagine what it could do for the rest of us mere mortals.”

Lorna was still smiling dreamily at the memory. “Mmm. Jax. What a man!”

“Please stop saying that name,” I begged.

Juniper nudged me with her elbow. “I’m just saying, Dr. Sterling—if you ever make another batch, you better save a dose for me.”

“I am never making that serum again.”

She smirked. “Yeah, that’s what every addict says.”

“Juniper—”

The lab door opened again, and the first wave of students poured in—fresh-faced nineteen-year-olds, chatting, laughing, completely unaware that their professor had just been outed as a part-time erotic dancer with a double identity and residual glitter in his hair.

Juniper straightened up, trying—and failing—to smother her grin. Lorna gave me a parting pat on the cheek. “Don’t be such a stranger, Jax.”

* * *

The rhythmic clink of glassware was the only sound in the lab—like a chorus of caffeinated crickets. For once, I was grateful for the noise. It drowned out my brain.

The caffeine and adrenaline had finally done their job; I wasn’t quite as hungover, and my stomach had stopped threatening mutiny. I moved between lab tables, pretending to supervise while my students measured out chemicals. “Careful with that titration, Mr. O’Neill.”

Juniper was in the back of the room, leaning over the desk of one of my older students—mid-twenties maybe, stubble, broad shoulders, the kind of guy who looked more like a bartender than a biochemistry major.

His name was Ron, I thought. They were whispering to each other, but every few seconds I caught little bursts of laughter.

Each time I glanced over, they straightened up and pretended to be terribly focused on their glassware, which was never a good sign.

I tried to focus on the nearest group’s experiment. “What color change are we expecting?” I asked two freshmen while keeping my eyes on Juniper.

“Uh… pink?” one guessed.

“Good,” I said. “Go with that. Pink’s nice.”

Another burst of laughter erupted from the back of the room. My shoulders tensed. Juniper and Ron were hunched over his workstation, whispering like teenagers. Ron’s face was red from trying not to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” I called.

Juniper waved a dismissive hand. “Nothing, Dr. Sterling! Just, uh, discussing reaction rates.”

They dissolved into another round of muffled snickers.

I started walking toward them slowly, because nothing terrifies students quite like a professor approaching at one mile per hour with the dead eyes of someone who hasn’t slept.

“Everything okay back here?” I asked.

Juniper’s shoulders were shaking. Ron shoved something under his notebook so fast he nearly knocked over a beaker.

“Perfectly fine,” Juniper said, voice too high. “Just… catalyzing some laughter. You know. Chemistry jokes.”

“Uh-huh.”

Ron looked like a man caught with contraband plutonium.

“Care to share what’s so hilarious?”

He swallowed. “It’s, uh… not important.”

“Then you won’t mind showing me.”

Juniper started wheezing, covering her mouth like she was going to choke.

Ron hesitated, then sighed in defeat. “You might as well see it, Dr. Sterling.” He slid his phone out from under his notebook.

My stomach did a slow, graceful somersault.

On the screen, neon lights flashed. The video was shaky—someone screaming with laughter behind the camera—but unmistakable.

There I was.

Or rather, he was.

Jax.

Dancing onstage like sin had a PhD, wearing nothing but a glittery red thong. My hips were moving like I’d been born to scandalize Puritans, and the crowd was absolutely losing its collective mind.

Ron looked both proud and apologetic. “I didn’t know you were, uh… moonlighting, Dr. Sterling. You were on fire last night!”

My mouth opened and closed a few times, like a dying goldfish. “That’s… not… uh—” I took a deep breath. “I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t show that to anyone.”

He grimaced. “Oh. Um. About that…”

“No,” I said. “No ‘about that.’ Just delete it.”

Juniper was openly laughing now, leaning on the counter for support.

Ron winced. “I already posted it.”

“You what?”

He cringed. “To Instagram. And TikTok. It’s kinda blowing up.”

“How much is ‘blowing up’?”

He glanced at the screen. “Twenty-three thousand views.”

“Twenty-three thousand?!” My voice cracked on the last syllable like I was going through puberty again.

“Twenty-four thousand now.”

“Stop looking!” I hissed. “Put that away!”

Half the class had stopped working, staring at us like they were watching the world’s most awkward Netflix special.

I turned in a slow circle and snapped, “Everyone—back to work!”

The command cracked through the air like a whip. Beakers clinked, chairs scraped, conversations died.

Juniper wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. “Dr. Sterling, I didn’t know you could move like that. When you said you were into reaction kinetics, I didn’t think you meant—”

“Juniper!”

She pressed her lips together, trying—and failing—to suppress a grin. “Sorry. Sorry. My bad.”

I sank onto the nearest stool, rubbing my temples.

Ron mumbled, “It’s really a great video, though. You should be proud.”

“I’d rather be vaporized.”

Juniper leaned over. “You know what’s funny? Half this class couldn’t balance a chemical equation, but they can all find your video on TikTok in under five seconds.”

“Juniper, please.”

She smirked. “Hashtag Dr. Thirsty’s trending, by the way,” she giggled. “Oh, lighten up, Dr. Sterling. Think of the publicity! You could make science sexy again.”

Across the room, I heard someone’s phone buzz, and another student stifled a laugh.

I wanted to crawl into the chemical waste bin and dissolve quietly.

“Alright,” I said, standing. “Enough. Experiments should be finished in fifteen minutes. Record your data. No phones. If I see a single screen, I’m confiscating it and possibly setting it on fire.”

* * *

By the time the last student filed out and the lab door clicked shut, the silence felt deafening. I slumped forward on my desk, face buried in my hands. My stomach twisted. I’d spent years building a reputation for being careful, competent, professional—and in one night I’d undone all of it.

I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to crawl under the desk, or maybe drop out of humanity entirely. My mind felt too full—like static, or boiling water that had nowhere to go.

That’s when I thought of my grandmother.

She’d always been the calm center of every storm—able to make disasters feel like funny stories that just hadn’t reached their punchline yet. When I was a kid and I’d burn something in the kitchen or fail a test, she’d just pat my hand and say, “Nothing’s ruined until you decide it is.”