Chapter 2 Raelynn #2
Returning to the podium, he clicks the next slide and raises his eyebrows slightly. “Can I get a volunteer to tell me, in your own words, why criminology is important in criminal justice?”
Several hands go up—including mine.
His gaze lands on me, and he gestures. “Yes—you.”
“Criminology is important in criminal justice because it helps us understand the underlying causes of criminal behavior, not just the behavior itself,” I say, sitting a little straighter.
“It gives us a framework to analyze patterns, social influences, and systemic issues that contribute to crime. By studying criminology, we can develop more effective prevention strategies, enhance rehabilitation approaches, and create evidence-based policies that extend beyond punishment. It connects theory to practice in a way that’s essential for meaningful change. ”
There’s a pause before he nods. “Perfect. Thank you…?”
“Raelynn Carson, sir.”
“Thank you, Raelynn,” he says, his eyes lingering just for a brief moment before turning back to the screen and resuming the lecture.
An hour and fifteen minutes later, the class finally wraps up.
Most professors let students out early during the first week, giving them a chance to ease into things and make a good impression.
Not Henley. He used every single second of the period, driving home the significance of criminology and the subfields we’d be diving into this semester.
He didn’t just touch on theory—he went deep, listing categories, cross-disciplines, and case types.
Then came the semester-long research paper: choose a well-known case and analyze it through the lens of a criminological subgenre.
Lucky for me, I already know what I’m doing.
After dismissing us, Henley stays behind to field questions from a few eager students. I pack up my things slowly, half-listening to the background chatter as he gathers his materials, slips his laptop into a worn leather messenger bag, and exits quietly through the side door.
“Okay, be honest,” Khloe blurts, breaking the silence as we close our laptops and shove notebooks into our bags. “Did anyone else completely zone out every time Professor Henley spoke, or was that just me? Because… damn. That man is ridiculously hot.”
I raise an eyebrow as I zip my bag. “You were supposed to be paying attention, not imagining him shirtless.”
Khloe shrugs with zero shame. “I can multitask.”
Marlena giggles, nudging Austin with her elbow. “Yeah, he’s hot, I’ll give you that. But soooo not my type. Too serious. He looks like he drinks black coffee and judges your music taste.”
Austin smirks, sliding an arm around her waist. “Maybe, but I couldn’t help noticing he kept looking our way. More specifically, at Rae.”
I freeze mid-motion, my brows knitting together. “What? Me? Why would he be looking at me?”
“You did answer his question like a total badass,” Marlena points out, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Confident, articulate—very main character energy.”
“So what?” I scoff, but there’s a flush creeping up my neck that betrays me. “I just answered a question. It’s not that deep.”
Khloe smirks like a cat with a secret. “Or maybe he thought you were hot, too, Rae. Did you see the way he looked at you? Intense.”
“God, I highly doubt that,” I mutter before slipping my arms into the straps of my bag.
“You can’t tell me the idea of hot, forbidden sex with Professor Henley doesn’t do it for you,” Khloe teases as we step out into the sunlight. “I’ve seen your bookshelf. I know what you read.”
I shoot her a halfhearted glare. Okay—yes, I’ve read more than a few professor-student dark romances. But real life? Hell to the fucking no.
“No. Just—no,” I say firmly, shaking my head.
Khloe and Marlena burst into another fit of laughter as they skip down the steps, as if they didn’t have a care in the world. This time, I do roll my eyes and let it happen.
We head across the quad, weaving between clusters of students taking back-to-school selfies, tabling campus ministries, and one guy aggressively handing out flyers for some back-to-school party.
Khloe loops her arm through mine as we head toward the quad. “So, if not Henley, who is your type? Don’t say fictional serial killers again.”
“I said morally gray men with knives. There’s a difference,” I deadpan.
“Not much of one,” Khloe teases.
Austin snorts behind us. “You know, most people go for, like… firefighters. Guys with dogs. Not ones with body counts.”
“I like complexity,” I say with a shrug, smirking. “And fictional is the key word. Real murderers are not hot. They’re just… murder-y.”
“God, please put that on a t-shirt,” Marlena laughs. “Not hot, just murder-y.”
Khloe pulls her sunglasses down dramatically. “Okay, but if Professor Henley asked you to stay after class to ‘discuss your paper’ and closed the door behind him… you’d stay.”
I pretend to think. “Yeah, and then I’d text you my location in case I went missing.”
“Hot and responsible,” Austin quips. “You’re a catch, Rae.”
“Don’t encourage her,” I mutter, fighting a grin.
We reach the shaded area near the Student Union, and Khloe drops onto the concrete bench, sighing like she’s just run a marathon. Marlena joins her, pulling her phone out of her bra.
“So, Cactus Grill at one, right?” she double-checks.
I nod as I tug my phone from my waistband and glance at the time. “Yup. Tessa should be out of her art history class by then. She said she’d meet us there and that she’ll try to grab us a booth.”
There’s still about half an hour before my next class—just enough time to mentally prepare myself for the hour and fifteen minutes of boredom that is Public Finance. At least the day ends on a better note with Forensic Psychology.
“Ugh, I’m starving already,” Khloe groans, clutching her stomach like she’s on the verge of collapse. “If I don’t get food soon, I might literally pass out and die in the middle of the Union. And when that happens, Rae, it’ll be your fault.”
I roll my eyes and slip my phone back into my waistband. “Please. If you die, it’ll be because you tried flirting with Henley or some other guy you thought was hot and forgot to breathe.”
That earns a round of laughter and a playful smack on my arm from Khloe. “Woman, I am not that thirsty.”
“Khloe,” I deadpan. “You are the queen of thirsty. You love to comment on my reading habits, but I’ve seen your Instagram. Every other reel is a thirst trap from some tattooed biker with greasy hair and a growl.”
She gasps, dramatically offended. “Bitch, you’re one to talk!”
“Okay, fair,” I say, throwing my hands up in mock surrender, laughing. I built my algorithm brick by brick, and I’m not ashamed. Masked men with knives, leather-clad bikers—some of them overlap, and those videos? Chef’s kiss. Definitely guilty pleasure and droolworthy.
“I hate to break up this charming roast session,” Austin cuts in with a lopsided grin, slinging his backpack over one shoulder, “but unfortunately, I’ve got class.”
Marlena lets out a dramatic little whine and wraps her arms around his waist like it will prevent him from leaving. “Already?” she pouts, nuzzling into his chest.
“You’ll survive, baby,” he teases, his arms wrapping around her in an awkward but endearing hug.
“I was about to take off, too,” I chime in, reaching down to adjust the strap on my bag as he absentmindedly twirls one of Marlena’s pigtails between his fingers. “See y’all at one?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Austin says, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Marlena’s forehead. “Behave,” he adds with a mischievous smirk before giving her a gentle swat on the butt.
She lets out a playful squeak and swats him back. “No promises,” she calls as he starts to walk off.
We all watch him disappear into the crowd of students. I glance at the time again and sigh, forcing myself to stand and brush off my leggings. “I should get going too,” I mutter. “Gotta mentally prepare myself for Public Finance.”
“Let us know if this next professor is as hot as Henley, okay?” Khloe says with a devilish grin, stretching her arms above her head.
I roll my eyes but can’t suppress the laugh that bubbles up. “Don’t hold your breath,” I call over my shoulder as I start toward the Chemistry Building. Their voices and laughter fade behind me, replaced by the low hum of campus chatter and the occasional skateboard clack on pavement.