Digging Deep for Dr. Hanson

The glow of Justine’s laptop screen was the only light in her cluttered dorm room, casting long shadows over the chaos of textbooks, crumpled notes, and a graveyard of empty coffee cups on her desk. The clock on the wall ticked past 1 a.m., but sleep was a distant dream. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, hammering out the final paragraphs of her research paper on dinosaur mating rituals for her Paleontology class. Theropod courtship displays—fascinating, sure, but hardly the kind of thing to keep a girl up at night. And yet, here she was, wired on caffeine and something far more primal.

Justine, a sharp-witted 19-year-old with a cascade of dark brunette hair currently tied up in a messy bun, leaned back in her creaky desk chair, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Come on, Justine,” she muttered to herself, her voice dripping with self-mockery. “Focus. Dinosaurs. Big, scaly, extinct lizards. Not... chiseled jawlines. Not piercing blue eyes that could fossilize a girl’s common sense in half a second. Nope. Not that.”

But it was no use. Her mind had already wandered off the Jurassic path and straight into the forbidden territory of Dr. Eric Hanson, her distractingly hot 32-year-old professor. The man was a walking contradiction—brilliant enough to lecture on ancient ecosystems without a single note, yet somehow managing to look like he’d just stepped out of a rugged cologne ad. Every time he adjusted his glasses or rolled up his sleeves during a lecture, Justine swore half the class collectively forgot how to breathe. And she was no exception.

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting her imagination take the wheel. In her mind, she wasn’t in her messy dorm room surrounded by the detritus of a college student’s life. No, she was in Dr. Hanson’s office during one of those mythical “office hours” she’d never dared to attend. The room smelled of old books and his subtle, woodsy cologne. She could almost hear the low timbre of his voice as he leaned over her paper, his breath warm against her ear. “Miss Carter,” he’d say, his tone a mix of authority and something dangerously close to desire, “your analysis of mating behaviors is... provocative.”

“Provocative,” she echoed aloud in her empty room, then snorted. “Yeah, right. The only thing provocative about me is the fact that I’ve got three days’ worth of unwashed hoodies piled on my bed.” She shook her head, trying to snap out of it. “Get it together, woman. He probably grades papers in his sleep and dreams of sedimentary rock. Not... whatever depraved lecture hall fantasy I’m cooking up.”

Still, the fantasy persisted. In her daydream, she’d look up at him with a sly smile, her voice dripping with confidence she didn’t possess in real life. “Dr. Hanson, are you saying my work needs... deeper exploration?” She’d lean closer, her fingers brushing against his as she pointed to a line on her paper. His eyes would darken, his professional facade cracking just enough to let her know she’d gotten under his skin. “Careful, Justine,” he’d warn, his voice a low growl. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” she’d purr back, because apparently, Dream Justine was a femme fatale who didn’t trip over her own feet or accidentally call her professor “Dad” during a class discussion. (True story. Mortifying. Never again.)

A sharp buzz from her phone yanked her out of her steamy reverie. The screen lit up with a text from Mia, her best friend and resident tormentor. Justine groaned, already knowing what was coming as she swiped to read the message.

**Mia:** Yo, nerd queen, why the hell are you still awake? Don’t tell me you’re still obsessing over Dr. Dreamboat. I can smell the thirst from my dorm.

Justine rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a grin as she typed back.

**Justine:** First of all, rude. Second, I’m finishing my paper on dino sex. It’s very academic. Very professional. No thirst here.

**Mia:** Bullshit. I bet you’ve got a whole mental porno starring Professor Hottie. What’s the scene this time? Banging in the bone lab? Or are you riding him on top of a T. rex skeleton?

Justine barked out a laugh, her fingers flying over the screen.

**Justine:** Mia, I swear, your brain is filthier than a Cretaceous swamp. I’m just writing about courtship displays. Feathers. Dancing. Not... boning on bones.

**Mia:** Uh-huh. Sure. Look, I’m not judging. I’d climb that man like a velociraptor scaling a cliff if I were in your shoes. But for real, why don’t you just make a move? Flash him those big brown eyes, bat your lashes, and boom—he’s grading your curves instead of your essays.

**Justine:** You’re disgusting. And also, no. He’s my professor. There are rules. Ethics. You know, boring stuff like that.

**Mia:** Rules are for people who don’t know how to break them. Come on, Justine. You’ve got the brains, the sass, and—let’s be real—a rack that could stop traffic. Use your powers for evil just this once. Seduce the man. Live a little.

Justine bit her lip, her cheeks flushing despite herself. Mia was relentless, always pushing her out of her comfort zone with that razor-sharp tongue of hers. And damn it, she wasn’t entirely wrong. Justine had spent her whole first year of college playing it safe—studying hard, keeping her head down, being the “good girl.” But every time she caught Dr. Hanson’s gaze lingering on her in class, or heard the way his voice seemed to soften when he called on her, a little voice in her head whispered, *What if?*

**Justine:** Fine, you win. I’ve got a crush the size of a brontosaurus. Happy now? But I’m not doing anything about it. I’ll just... pine quietly. Like a respectable pervert.

**Mia:** Respectable pervert, my ass. You’re gonna crack one day, babe. And when you do, I want all the dirty details. Now go to bed before you start humping your laptop.

**Justine:** You’re the worst. Night, skank.

**Mia:** Love you too, dork.

Justine tossed her phone onto the desk, a smirk tugging at her lips. Mia was a menace, but she had a point. Maybe pining wasn’t enough. Maybe it was time to stop fantasizing and start strategizing. Dr. Hanson might be off-limits, but Justine Carter wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. If there was even a sliver of a chance to turn her fossilized fantasies into something real, she was damn well going to take it.

She leaned forward, her smirk widening as she muttered to herself, “Game on, Professor. Let’s see if you can handle a little... deeper exploration.”