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Chapter 16

We are going around in circles. I cannot believe this. "He did not!" I exclaim, eyes wide, chopsticks suspended in mid-air. The takeout noodles I was halfway to devouring suddenly feel like lead.

Niall shrugs, completely unfazed, while popping another dumpling in his mouth like this is just another casual Tuesday revelation.

"He did, actually."

I blink. "Enrolled. In my class?"

"Yep," he confirms, chewing happily. "Now that we're finally taking a break, he said he has time. Psychology's always interested him. Thinks it'll help with song writing or whatever... tapping into emotion and all that."

Beside me, Liz mouths a silent I had no idea, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Are you sure, Niall?" I press, clinging to a shred of hope that this is all some elaborate Irish prank.

"He literally said you were 'a brilliant professor.' And, I quote—'gifted.'" He grins, clearly enjoying the drama. "His words, not mine."

In any other circumstance, being called a gifted professor would've sent me floating three inches off the floor. But right now, it lands like a brick in my gut.

"Oh my God..." I mutter, finally setting the noodles down. I realize I haven't blinked in five minutes.

"What? What's wrong?" Niall looks genuinely perplexed, like he hasn't just lit a match and dropped it into a barrel of emotional TNT.

"Don't do anything stupid," Liz warns, eyes narrowing at me like she can already see the impending disaster forming in my brain.

"I have to notify the dean," I mutter, standing up and reaching for my phone like it's a lifeline. "There's no way. I can't teach that class."

"Why?" Niall asks, furrowing his brow.

"Because I've slept with one of my students!" I hiss.

"And?" he repeats, still not seeing the issue.

"Niall. Shut up." Liz snatches the phone out of my hand like a mother confiscating a bottle of tequila from a tipsy bridesmaid.

"Liz!" I protest.

"What are you even thinking?" she practically yells. "You're going to call the dean and say, 'Hi, I accidentally banged one of my students, please excuse me from teaching Psychology 101'?"

"Well, it is unprofessional—"

"FUCK unprofessional," she barks. "You're going to throw your career out the window over one night?!"

"And one morning," Niall adds helpfully.

"Not. Helping," Liz and I say in unison.

"But Liz—"

"No buts. You're not going to confess to anything, you're not going to self-destruct, and you're certainly not going to hand in your resignation over Harry Styles. For God's sake, you're a psychologist. Psychoanalyze your way through this."

"I don't have the hots for him," I mumble.

"You could have fooled me," Niall mutters.

"And he's not my student!"

"Not yet," Niall singsongs.

"Shut. Up. Niall!" we both shout, and he lifts his hands in mock surrender.

"I feel extremely unappreciated right now," he sulks.

"Niall, so help me God," Liz snaps, "if you don't zip it this instant, I'm not blowing you for a week."