by Kelly Myers
So, I have to face the music: sex with David was better than sex with Logan ever was. Way better.
On the one hand, I guess I’m glad. If I’m going to have to cringe at the memory of hooking up with a student’s parent for the rest of my life, then it’s good that at least I compromised my morals for excellent sex. But on the other hand, I’m angry. I spent three years thinking I was having the best sex of my life, and now I realize that myabe I was missing out.
Not that sex with Logan was bad. Never bad. Just vanilla. I figured that was normal when you were in a long term and committed relationship. But even when Logan and I first started sleeping together, when the sparks were new and dazzling, even then it wasn’t as good as with David last night.
David just seemed to know what he was doing at all moments. And he seemed so enthused at getting me to reach my pleasure.
I’m not saying Logan was some sort of masochistic pig in the bedroom. He was just young I guess.
I suddenly have a whole new understanding as to why Marianne raves about her older men all the time.
When I get to my classroom, I throw my purse into the chair and then dash off to the teacher’s lounge to grab a cup of coffee. This day definitely calls for caffeine.
Once I’m settled behind my desk with my cup of coffee clenched in my hands, I try to calm down. Kids are more perspective than you think. If I exude manic energy while I teach, they pick up on it. And then they get rowdy and unsettled as well.
I tell myself that everything is going to be fine. I’m probably never going to see David again. I have to see Amy, but her class is in the afternoon, so I have a few hours to prepare for that task. At least she doesn’t really look like her dad.
She must look like her mom. Her dead mom. I close my eyes. I slept with a widower. Not only is he the parent of a student, he has a dead wife, and he probably could never even commit to a real relationship after such a tragedy, he just hooks up every now and then. That’s for sure how he operates.
Which would be totally fine if I was the type of woman who liked casual hook-ups, but I’m not. This is my first one-night stand. And, it has to be my last. I’m not cut out for this, no matter how good the sex is.
Because that’s one point in Logan’s favor: I always felt safe with him. I was never this stressed or jumpy the morning after, even when Logan and I were new. I knew where I stood with him. Or at least I did for a long time. I was safe until he pulled the rug out from under my feet.
I want that again. I want to feel comfortable. I don’t want to spend mornings like this one, where I go over and over all my mistakes from the day before.
The first mistake being, of course, to agree to a dinner in the first place. And, then listening to Marianne. I should have cancelled. I could have done it in a polite way. I could have said I had a migraine. He’s a doctor, he probably knows how debilitating migraines can be.
Then once he said it was a date, I should have shut that down right away. It would have been awkward, but I could have stated my piece: I don’t date the parents of my students.
I furrow my brow. Why didn’t I shut it down right then and there, as soon as the “word” date fell out of David’s mouth? I cast my mind back to the moment. He even apologized and said we could call it off, but I was the one who said we could continue.
He just looked so handsome, and if I’m being honest, I was flattered. It felt good to have someone like David be interested.
I’ve never been the type to crave attention or compliments. In fact, I’m the opposite. I don’t like attention, and when someone pays me too many compliments, I get uncomfortable and start to not trust that person.
But, knowing that David was attracted to me only made me feel good.
I scoff and shake my head. He somehow got me to take my guard down last night.
The biggest mistake was inviting him up to my apartment. I can’t blame him for that tone. That was all me.
The thing is, I was so sure I would have control of the situation. We would have the date, but I would know exactly when and how to call it.
I’ve never let emotions or hormones or lust take over. I’m the rational one in my friend group. The one who thinks before she jumps.
Last night, I didn’t think before jumping in bed with David. I didn’t even look.
I glance up as the first bell rings. The school day is officially starting, and I head to my door to open it up so my homeroom students can walk to their seats. I smooth my expression into the most professional mask I can muster at the moment.
As the students chatter amongst themselves and settle into their seats, I decide that it’s no use crying over spilt milk.
What’s done is done. Now I know: David Russo is my weak spot. Something about him drowns out my rational instincts and deactivates my impulse control. That’s fine. Moving forward, I’ll be prepared.
At least one good thing came from all this: I’ve finally taken a small step in getting over Logan. It doesn’t really feel like I’m getting over him since I’m still comparing every man, including David, to Logan, but my friends will be happy at least.
They might even stop pestering me to try dating apps.
I wonder how I should tell them about last night. I know they will badger me with questions about David. And, they will want to know why I can’t continue to see him. Zoe at least will understand how unprofessional it is to sleep with a student’s parent, but Marianne will brush it off as a non-issue. She might even argue that it’s a perk because it makes the affair more exciting. And, Beatrice will say that as long as I don’t get caught, what’s the big deal?
My classroom is full, so I shake off my worries and walk to the front of the desk so I can start taking attendance.
I manage to get through homeroom and my first period without having a total mental breakdown. It helps that the books we read and discuss have no romance whatsoever. I do this on purpose.
Yes, I’m a sucker for a good romantic plotline, but I know that kids and teenagers are bombarded with TV shows featuring love triangles, many of them unrealistic depictions of high school dating. I want to show them that literature is about so much more than just romantic love. So we read Romeo and Juliet in the winter, but that’s about it.
During my lunch, I start to stress again. Only this time, it’s not so much about David, and more about Amy.
I don’t know how I’m going to look her in the eye. There’s no way she knows that I slept with her dad last night. David would never tell his child such a thing, of that I’m certain. But it’s possible that she knows he had a date.
My cheeks burn red just thinking about looking at her little face. If she ever found out that I slept with her dad, she would feel betrayed by the both of us. She would feel betrayed by me since I’m her favorite teacher, and she might feel like her dad is betraying the memory of her mom.
I mean, the kid is already in therapy, her dad hooking up with her English teacher is the kind of thing that would add a whole extra ten years to her mental recovery process.
I scarf down my lunch without really enjoying it, and start to prep myself for Amy’s class. I’m just going to act natural. That’s it. I can do that.
Amy is a twelve-year-old, she’s not a CIA agent. She won’t be able to read my mind or find out that I’m hiding something just by looking at me.
All I have to do is act like the competent and in-control teacher that I am, and never meet up with David again. Easy.
He probably won’t even want to reach out again. We had sex, it was nice (better than nice), end of story.
By the time Amy and her classmates walk into the room, I am totally composed. I get through the class without casting any panicked glances towards Amy, and I don’t even wince when she raises her hand to answer a question.
It really is a blessing that she has blonde hair and brown eyes. I don’t know what I would do if I had to be reminded of David’s intense green eyes every time I looked at her.
Everyo
ne makes mistakes. Everyone, especially a woman who is still reeling from a rough breakup, suffers after an impulsive decision. I’m not going to beat myself up, and I’m not going to obsess over the details.
I’m just going to move on.
Chapter Eleven
The school day is over, and I’m getting ready to head to the biweekly English department meeting, when my desk phone rings.
It’s the strangest thing, but I know it’s David. My desk phone doesn’t have a caller ID, but I just know it’s him before I pick up.
And, I also know I could just let it ring. I don’t want to have this conversation, whatever he has to say. If he’s calling to ask me out again, I don’t want to deal with rejecting him. If he’s calling so he can awkwardly say he had a nice time, but he is uninterested in anything serious, that conversation doesn’t have an appeal either.
Either way, I need to bite the bullet. I squeeze my eyes shut once and pick up. I tell myself that it might not even be David. Maybe it’s just the principal calling to verify something. Maybe it’s some other parent.
With that vain hope, I try for a semblance of professionalism as I hold the phone to my ear. “Hello, this is Miss Ramirez.”
“Hi.”
It’s David.
“Hi,” I say. I immediately grimace. I sound like a lame high-schooler.
David just chuckles, and the sound of his mirth sucks the air out of my lungs. “I should probably get your cell number, it’s weird to call you on your school phone, huh?”
“I guess.” I sit up straight and prepare myself to focus. “Although I don’t know if you need my cell.”
That sounded harsh, but I figure I don’t exactly have the experience in this kind of thing so I have an excuse. I’m no expert on letting guys down gently. I don’t know all the tricks to making sure there is no second date.
And, there can’t be a second date. I run through all the reasons why once more. He’s Amy’s parent. I’m not even trying to date right now. I’m still getting over Logan. And he’s not my type.
“What do you mean?” A note of wariness has crept into David’s voice. “It will be easier for us to plan another date if I have your cell.”
He’s slick, that’s for sure. He knows I’m trying to dissuade him, but he’s trying to circumvent my objections. I roll my eyes, but there’s a small flurry of satisfaction in the pit of my stomach.
Because he does want a second date. It’s more flattery, but I know I can’t make decisions based on my ego.
“David, I don’t think we should see each other again.” My voice is prim and clear and a pure school teacher kind. That should send the right message.
David pauses before responding. His words are slow and measured. “I had a good time last night, I thought you did too.”
I flush as I recall how obvious it was that I enjoyed the night before. Even now, I feel myself pressing my cheek against he phone, desperate to get close to him again.
Last night was wonderful. And the fact that he’s calling now, the day after, just makes me more attracted to him. He’s an adult. He doesn’t play games or make a girl wait three days before he calls.
“I did have a good time, but it can’t happen again,” I say. “You and me – we’re not a good idea.”
“Why not?” David’s tone is hard and stubborn.
“You know why.” My patience is starting to wear thin. I want this horrible conversation over with. “It’s inappropriate.”
“You didn’t mention that last night.” There’s a hint of teasing in his voice, and I press my lips together. How dare he make me into the no-fun naysayer?
“Well, last night I thought it was a one-time thing,” I snap. “I thought that was obvious, and I didn’t even really expect you to call me today.”
He’s silent. I wonder if my words hit a sensitive spot. I feel bad as soon as I say them, especially since I’m not even telling the truth. Yes, we had sex on a first date, but nothing about it felt like a one-time thing. And, I’m not the type of woman who hooks up like that. But if I need to make David think that I’m the one making him stop pursuing me, then so be it.
“David, I’m sorry, but it just doesn’t sit well with me to be dating the parent of a student,” I say. “I should have made that clear last night, but I guess I got carried away.”
“Elena, do you think I don’t realize how awkward it is for me to date my daughter’s teacher?” David asks. “I feel guilty as hell, but I don’t care.”
“You should care.” My words come out thick, and I suddenly start to worry that I’m going to start crying, right there on the phone. “You should feel as bad as I do.”
It’s a harsh thing to say. And I know David isn’t happy to hear it. I can practically sense him recoiling from the phone.
“I’m sorry you feel so bad.” David’s voice is stiff. “I didn’t mean to manipulate you into doing something you didn’t want.”
“You didn’t.” I lean forward and prop my elbows on my desk, desperate to rewind this entire exchange. “That came out wrong – I was just trying to say that things are too complicated. I’m Amy’s teacher, and I’m still getting over a break-up, and you’re a widower, and I’m probably too young for you.”
I clamp my mouth shut to stop my babbling. Surely David understands that as good as the sex was, there’s a whole laundry list of reasons we shouldn’t continue to see each other.
“Maybe it’s complicated.” His tone is low and intense. “But I still want to see you again. I haven’t wanted anyone as much as I want you in a very, very long time.”
My mouth goes completely dry. My eyes widen, and I can’t speak. I can’t even find the words to respond to that. What does he mean? What is a long time for him? Since his wife died?
But I don’t want that kind of pressure. I never asked for his attention.
Yet, I have it. And I’m sitting here trying to banish him. Am I crazy? I know, without shadow of a doubt, that if he were here in the room with me, my resolve would crumble into a million pieces.
I send up a silent prayer of thanks for the telephone. Over the phone, I can keep my distance. I don’t have to meet his earnest green eyes. I can’t be tempted to throw myself into his arms.
“David,” I whisper. “That doesn’t change things. It’s inappropriate.”
I feel old. Even though I just told David that I was too young for him, I feel like I’m a dried-up spinster, turning up my nose and declaring any show of feeling to be completely vulgar.
If this is what it takes, though, I’ll do it. I’m done feeling shaken up by David Russo.
“Got it.” Apparently he’s done too. “I won’t bother you again.”
“Thank you.” I mutter the words, but my polite instincts won’t let me not say them. “Have a good afternoon.”
“You too, Elena.” There’s no malice behind the words. It actually seems like he means them. He just sounds weary.
With a click, he hangs up. I drop the phone back into its holder, a little harder than necessary.
Then I groan and bury my face in my hands. That was about as awful as I thought it would be.
But it’s over now. That was the hard part, and I’ve taken care of it.
As he said himself, David Russo won’t be bothering me anymore. In fact, he probably despises me.
For the rest of the evening, I remind myself that the result is exactly what I intended.
Chapter Twelve
The next day is Saturday, and to my relief, my friends plan an impromptu hang-out at Zoe’s apartment. Sometimes we like to get together and order in and just chat for hours before watching some stupid TV show.
I need my friends, all of them, after the agony of that phone call with David.
I am the last one to reach Zoe’s apartment, thanks to a chatty parent who cornered me near the playground. When Zoe opens the door, I see Marianne, practically bouncing with excitement.
“You had a date?” Zoe shrieks. “And you only t
old Marianne?”
I roll my eyes and give Marianne a mocking look. “Thanks for staying lowkey.”
“I had to tell them,” Marianne says. “You were so cryptic, it was driving me crazy.”
I sigh and flop down on Zoe’s couch.
“Well.” Beatrice is curled up in an armchair across from me. “What happened on this mysterious date?”
“It wasn’t mysterious.” I purse my lips as I consider how to tell them about the strange yet dangerous attraction between me and David.
“Marianne said he’s like 50,” Zoe says.
“Ok, he’s 38.” I flash Marianne a stern look and she has the grace to look slightly bashful.
“That’s a good age.” Beatrice smirks. “Definitely a change from your usual man-child type.”
“You guys, I’m telling you, it’s not going anywhere.” I look down and pick at my thumb nail. “I already nipped it in the bud yesterday.”
“Not even a second date?” Marianne looks aghast, as if I’ve just drowned a litter of puppies, not politely declined a date with a totally inappropriate man.
I sigh. My friends don’t understand. They’re just excited that I’m “getting back out there.” They’re probably hoping that at last I might stop moping over Logan. I need to explain the situation to them.
So I decide to start at the beginning. “He’s the parent of my student. Do you guys get how awkward that is? We met at a Parent-Teacher conference?”
“It is weird.” Zoe leans forward and pats my hand.
“Oh come on, these things happen,” Marianne says. “You met in a weird way, but tell us about the date.”
“Marianne, don’t brush it aside,” Bea jokes. “You’re the type of person who would throw a years-long hissy fit if one of your teachers dated your parents.”
Marianne’s parents are divorced, and while she has a pretty good relationship with her dad, she has always been totally critical of all the women he dates. All of us agree that we’re a bit glad we never had to deal with the angst-fest that Marianne was in high school.
