Part 2: The Hot Untouchable Lecturer I

THE sharp, shrill sound of the whistle cut through the air one final time before fading into the background hum of voices and movement. Sneakers squeaked against the polished floor as the team loosened up, some laughing, others groaning as they stretched sore muscles. Practice break. Yeah, that was practice break. The energy shifted instantly. Shifting from discipline to chaos. Ms. Lesley stepped into the corridor just outside the court, a file tucked neatly against her chest. She wasn’t meant to be anywhere near the athletes’ wing at this hour, but she had been looking for the coach. A quick conversation, nothing more. At least, that had been the plan. She walked briskly, her heels clicking in a steady rhythm, her expression composed, professional— untouchable. The kind of woman students whispered about. Strict. Elegant. Unreachable… and very hot. Until she passed the dressing room. The door wasn’t fully closed, just slightly ajar. And in that small, careless gap, she saw him. Zayne. He stood with his back half-turned, fingers gripping the hem of his damp shirt. In one fluid motion, he pulled it over his head, tossing it aside without a second thought. The movement was effortless and unguarded. And for a second, she stopped breathing. It wasn’t just his physique— though that alone was enough to unsettle her. It was the rawness of the moment. The absence of awareness. The way his body moved like he had never been taught to be watched… and yet was impossible not to. Her fingers tightened slightly around the file in her hand. ‘What are you doing?’ The thought hit her like a warning bell. She turned her head sharply, forcing her gaze forward as if she had seen nothing at all. Her steps resumed steady and measured, but something had shifted. Something she couldn’t quite ignore. Because even as she walked away, her mind stayed behind. On him. On that moment. On the quiet, dangerous pull she didn’t want to name. She exhaled slowly, almost irritated with herself. This was ridiculous. He was a student. *** Inside the dressing room, Zayne ran a hand through his slightly damp hair, reaching into his locker for a clean shirt. His focus was already drifting towards practice, fatigue, the upcoming games— but the creak of the door pulled him back. “Zayne.” He glanced over his shoulder. One of the game masters stepped in, posture stiff, expression unreadable. Zayne sighed inwardly. That tone already said enough. “What’s up?” he asked, casual, though he could already feel the weight of whatever was coming. The man stepped closer, clipboard tucked under his arm. “Your grades.” Of course. Zayne leaned back against the locker, jaw tightening slightly. “What about them?” “They are dropping. Fast.” The man’s voice was firm, leaving no room for negotiation. “And you already know the rules. Academic performance is not optional.” Zayne scoffed lightly, but there was no humor in it. “I have got it under control.” “Do you?” The man held his gaze. “Because from where I’m standing, you don’t.” Silence stretched between them. “If this continues,” the game master added, “you will be withdrawn from the team.” That landed. Hard. Zayne straightened, the casual edge slipping just a little. “That is not happening.” “Then fix it,” the man replied simply. “You have talent. Don’t let carelessness take it away from you.” Before Zayne could respond, the door opened again. “Yo.” Connor stepped in, relaxed as ever, glancing between the two of them. He gave a small nod of acknowledgment to the game master, who returned it briefly before stepping out. The door shut. Connor raised a brow, leaning against the locker beside Zayne. “That looked serious.” Zayne exhaled, grabbing his towel and wiping the back of his neck. “Same old talk. Grades are slipping. If I don’t fix it, I’m off the team.” Connor let out a low whistle. “Damn. They are not playing with you.” “No, they are not.” Zayne tossed the towel aside. “I’m thinking of transferring departments. Something less intense. I just need to stay eligible.” Connor considered that for a second, then shrugged. “That could work… but it sounds like running.” Zayne shot him a look. “Call it strategy.” “Or,” Connor continued, unfazed, “you could just get help.” Zayne paused. “Help?” “A tutor,” Connor said simply. “Someone who knows what they are doing. Save yourself the stress of switching everything.” Zayne leaned back slightly, thinking it over. It wasn’t a bad idea. “You know anyone?” he asked. Connor’s lips curved slowly into a knowing grin. “Yeah. I do.” Zayne caught that look. “Why do I feel like there is a catch?” “There is no catch,” Connor said, chuckling. “Just trust me.” Zayne shook his head slightly but smirked. “Alright. Set it up.” “Done.” A brief silence followed before Connor nudged him lightly, his tone shifting. “So… your girl.” Zayne groaned softly. “Don’t start.” Connor laughed. “I’m just asking. Things still dry?” Zayne huffed a quiet laugh, grabbing his jersey. “Man… she is so predictable. Same routine, same energy. It’s like she is afraid to try anything new.” Connor winced playfully. “That bad?” “Let’s just say…” Zayne shrugged, pulling on his shirt, “I need something with a little more spark.” Connor shook his head, laughing. “You are actually terrible.” “I’m honest,” Zayne corrected. “She still doesn't know how to properly suck a d**k to c*m, and always giving me the ‘mummy amd daddy style’ all the time,” he added. Connor couldn't help but laugh. He laughed so hard that tears treaked out the corner of his left eye. Zayne saw it and scoffed. He didn't blame him at all, he blamed his girlfriend. “Are you serious?” He finally asked, still laughing. “Very. Or do I need to talk about how rude and a chaos she is? She's so chaotic, always loud. No peace moment with her.” Before Connor could fire back, the sharp whistle echoed from outside again. “Break is over! Back on the court!” Zayne’s expression shifted instantly— focused, locked in. He grabbed his things without hesitation. “Later,” he said, heading for the door. Connor followed, still chuckling under his breath. But neither of them noticed, that down the corridor, Ms. Lesley hadn’t gone far. She had stopped, just for a moment longer than she should have. Her gaze unfocused, her thoughts… elsewhere. Because somehow, despite everything she knew, everything she stood for, her mind drifted back to him again. Zayne. And that single, careless glimpse she wasn’t supposed to have. She straightened, adjusting the file in her hands, her expression returning to its usual calm authority. But something beneath it had quietly and dangerously shifted.