by Autumn Grey
At the same time, Bennett asks, “Your shoulder, huh?”
What the fuck, Ben? What happened to the bro-code? It’s like he cannot understand the look I’m giving him, you know, the look that lets him know we’ll talk about this later. Or he’s so blinded by his love for my sister he can’t see straight.
Pussy-whipped fucker.
“I’m good.” I fire another warning look at Bennett. He seems to take the hint this time.
Matthew starts jumping up and down, impatient to leave. Makayla frames my face in her tiny hands and kisses my cheek repeatedly.
Bennett turns Izzy around to face him, looks into her eyes as if she is his entire universe and says, “Why don’t you get the snacks I made for the kids from the kitchen while your brother and I finish getting the kids dressed?”
She nods, smiling, and pecks him on his lips, then trudges toward me. “Thanks for taking the kids, Nate,” she says, smiling through the tiredness heavy in her eyes that I hadn’t noticed before now.
I shift my niece in one arm and pull Izzy close with my other hand, then kiss her forehead. I meet her drained gaze. “I’m making up for lost time. Sucked that I couldn’t spend time with them while living in Chicago.”
“Can we go now?” Matthew asks, tugging at the leg of my jeans.
“Yeah, Uncle Nate. Can we go now?” Makayla yells.
“Hey, Matt, buddy. Do me a favor? Can you go upstairs and fetch Lily for your sister, please?” Bennett says to his son, referring to Makayla’s cuddle bear.
Matthew props his hands on his hip and says, “Dad! They’re going to close the zoo before we get there.”
“No, they won’t. Just run upstairs and get it for her, will you?”
He scowls and stamps his foot, then scampers toward the stairs.
As soon as he’s out of sight and Izzy goes to grab the snacks for the kids, I shoot Bennett a glare. “Why the hell does my sister look like shit?”
He runs both hands through his hair and sighs. “Low iron count. She’s taking all kinds of supplements the doctor prescribed for her to bring it up to the normal level.” He waves at me to follow him as he turns and walks toward the front door. He grabs Makayla’s jacket and hands it over to me. “So, who’s the girl?”
I set Makayla on the floor and proceed to dress her with my back facing Bennett. “What girl?”
“The cello player last night.”
“Just some girl.” My tone of voice should warn him not to push it.
Apparently, he ignores the proverbial red flag and says, “Huh. Some girl? Must be one lucky girl because you were staring at her like she was some kind of miracle-delivering goddess or something.”
I don’t even attempt to dignify that with an answer. When I’m done zipping up the jacket, I grab the red boots with yellow daisies on them—her favorite—and slip them on her socked feet. I straighten only to find Bennett staring at me through narrowed eyes.
“Drop it, Ben,” I say firmly, sending him a glare.
He lifts his hands in surrender and says, “Fine. Can I give you a piece of advice, though?”
“No,” I growl, making little Makayla’s head snap up in shock.
He ignores me and forges on. “I’m just going to rip off this Band-Aid. If you focus on the past, you’ll never find a reason to move forward. I saw the way you looked at that girl. Follow this—” he thumps the left side of his chest, “instead of this—” his index finger taps his temple. “Your ass is too good-looking to go to waste.”
“Thanks.”
“My pleasure, darlin’,” he says in a teasing voice. “Now get your fine ass out of here. Time for me to spoil my wife.”
With Makayla’s tiny hand in mine, we step out to the porch and wait for Izzy and Matthew to return. Bennett’s unwanted advice rings through my head, and as much as I’d like to ignore it, I can’t. But at the same time, I’m not ready to move on from the past. I seek absolution in everyday life. I look for signs to show me that I deserve to move on.
Maybe someday soon I’ll be able to do that, but for today, for now, I’m going to spend the weekend with my family and fucking spoil them. Life is unpredictable, a lesson I learned cruelly.
BY MONDAY MORNING, I HAVE managed to convince myself the almost-kiss was a mistake, and the reason why I couldn’t breathe properly whenever Elon is near, or whenever I think of her, was just my lungs playing tricks on me.
Until she walks through the door, her nose buried in a different book from the one she was reading last week, earbuds stuck inside her ears. She doesn’t even look up as she climbs the stairs to the third row and shuffles to her seat without stumbling or checking where she is going. My heart does this little dance in my chest, and there’s this awful thrill in my stomach.
It’s so pathetic the way I’m staring at her right now. If Bennett were here, he’d be laughing his ass off at my expense.
One thing is for sure. Nothing about Elon is a mistake, and my lungs aren’t playing tricks on me. It’s simple. She takes my breath away without even trying.
The bell rings, and the most torturous class I’ve ever taught begins, launching an internal battle of staring versus not staring at Miss Blake. I lean my ass on the table behind me and wait until everyone is seated before picking up the sheet music next to me and turning to face twenty pairs of eyes in front of me. My eyes momentarily hold Elon’s wistful gaze—looking a little dreamy probably from whatever she was reading—before moving to the rest of the students.
“If you haven’t submitted your assignment yet, you have until two o’clock this afternoon to bring it to my office. Any paper delivered after that time will be disqualified.” Disgruntled murmurs sweep across the room. I lift my hand and hold it up, effectively stopping the noise, then sharpen my gaze. “You had two weeks to finish your work,” I say, leaving no room for discussion.
“Before we move on to the next chapter, who amongst you brought their instruments with them today?”
A few hands go up, including Miss Blake’s. And because I’m a sucker for pain, I call her name along with Amber and Joseph, a black-haired kid who plays the oboe, and motion with a slight nod for them to come down to the podium. I point to the three chairs I set up when I got here, then pass the music sheets to the three players, making sure to brush my fingers on Elon’s. She jolts in her seat with a gasp. Heads turn in her direction, and she fakes a cough to cover her reaction. I’m an ass for doing that to her, but I can’t help it. She brings out the best and worst in me.
Shiiiiit.
What the hell is he doing? One wrong move and rumors will spread like wildfire.
Inhaling deeply, I watch my professor as he explains the exercise to the class, then turns and instructs Amber, Joseph and me to take ten minutes to study the sheet music he gave us. The sleeves of his pristine, white shirt are rolled up to his elbows, exposing his strong forearms. I zone out a little, mesmerized by the lines of veins that run down the back of his hands. The dark hair scattered down his forearms, the cute purple bracelet on his wrist—
“Miss Blake!”
And I jump again in my seat, my cheeks and ears on fire because ohmygod I totally want to lick his strong wrists.
I focus on Professor Rowe. He’s wearing his signature closed smirk, as if he knows I was ogling him. “Are we keeping you from anything important?”
I straighten, try not to die in my seat, and attempt to pretend I’m not this close to having an orgasm just thinking about those veins. He knows exactly the effect he has on me.
Jackass. “No, sir.”
“Good.” His impressive chest expands as he takes in a deep breath. “You have ten minutes to go over the fugue. After that, decide who plays first, then who joins after that. Then present this piece to the class.”
We nod, and I drop my gaze to my sheet music, but not before catching a glimpse of his tight butt in those fitting grey pants.
When the time is up, I reposition the instrument between my jean-clad thighs, my bo
w posed above the strings ready to play.
Damn it, my palms are sweating hard, and the bow keeps slipping from my fingers. I’ve never been this nervous in my life, not even when I auditioned for Rushmore. That was a cake-walk compared to this: playing a four-minute fugue while Professor Rowe’s unnerving gaze is on me.
I search for the culprit, find him sitting in my seat, his long legs parted in a casual pose. One arm rests along the back of the vacant chair next to him, while his free hand taps idle staccato beats on his thigh.
His head moves in a curt nod, a sign for us to continue. I glance at Amber, then Joseph, and they return the look. Amber nudges me with her elbow, her eyebrows raised in question. We agreed I’ll be the first to play, but my muscles aren’t cooperating.
“Any day now, Miss Blake,” Professor Rowe says in an almost bored voice. I inhale deeply, ready to play, but he speaks up again. “Imagine I’m the judge and you just have one chance to impress me. Play for me. Enthrall me. Seduce me. Win me.”
How am I supposed to regain control when all I can think about is seducing him?
“Play for me.” His eyes move from Amber, then Joseph, and lastly to me, lingering longer than would be deemed appropriate. I swear the way he stresses those words, his eyes pinning me where I’m sitting, it’s like he’s speaking to me. When I look at Amber, she doesn’t seem as affected as I am.
Taking a deep breath, I pose, ready to play, my eyes fixed on his. He wants a show, I will give him one. The urge to shock him flows through me. I drop my gaze to the sheet music.
I let the notes flow from my fingers to the bow. I break eye contact and sink into the music. I’m in the zone where nothing matters, where music is the only thing that exists. No pain or suffering. No anxiety. Just me and the notes. I’m completely engrossed in the music, the depth of the notes.
After the little performance and a round of applause, we return to our seats, adrenaline rushing through my veins.
Holy shit. That felt good.
When the bell rings to signal the end of the lesson, I tell Amber and Alex I’ll catch up with them shortly, that I want to discuss some last-minute details with Professor Rowe regarding some work in the office. As soon as the class clears, I sling my cello over my shoulder, grab my bag, then descend down the stairs.
“Great performance, Miss Blake,” he says without looking in my direction.
Was his voice like this before?
I wait for him to stop packing his things inside his bag, to look at me at least.
When he doesn’t, I march forward until I feel the heat coming off his body wrap around mine. His head snaps up to look at me, then his eyes do a quick sweep around the class before focusing on me again.
We are so close, I can see the gold flecks in his grey eyes. He really does have beautiful eyes. I bet they’d be more noticeable if he didn’t scowl so much.
“You touched me,” I whisper, tossing a quick scan toward the door to make sure we are alone.
His brow goes up, his eyes studying me for several seconds. “I did.”
“Why?” I’m trying to keep my cool, but— “What the frigging hell?”
His eyes narrow to slits. “Watch your tone, Miss Blake,” he sharply scolds under his breath.
I take a deep breath and bite my cheek to collect my scattered thoughts, but his scent overwhelms me and I feel myself being drawn to him like I’m Earth and he’s my axis. I’m spinning and spinning, tethering him to me, and him touching me will be my undoing and— “You can’t touch me like that.” My thoughts spill out of my mouth.
“Stop,” he growls, sending my heart somersaulting inside my chest.
“What?” I breathe.
“One sweet little lie, Elon.”
A lie. Is he serious right now? He wants to play this game when I feel so nervous I’m about to puke all over his well-fitting pants?
And the smirk is back, challenging me, spurring me on. Teasing me.
My hands flex, fighting the stupid nerves. “I don’t like the way I feel when you are close to me. Or when you touch me.”
He snaps his bag shut and within seconds, his face is right there in front of mine, eyes dark, his jaw clenched as if he’s barely holding onto his control. “Run, Little Wolf. Run before I ruin you. God, how I want to ruin you.”
At first, I don’t move. I just stand there, my brain yelling, “Ruin me!” As if he can read my thoughts, his head moves down an inch and I push myself up on my toes, my chest slightly pressed against his, our breathing ragged. His nose brushes the length of my neck, and I swear I feel his tongue skim the vein pulsing there.
“Leave. Please.” He sounds pained, his grip on control barely there. His voice snaps me from the trance I’m in, reminding me where we are and that anyone could walk in and find us in this standoff.
I’ve been following rules and always do my best to stay out of trouble, which is why this big shift inside me, this rebelliousness so alien and exhilarating and scary, is giving me a thrill and before I know what I’m doing, I’m blurting out my phone number in a rush.
“What?” And now he’s staring at me as if I’m crazy.
Adrenaline courses through me, injecting boldness into my blood. “Call me if you want to. . .um. . . kiss. Do more than kiss—”
Shut up, Elon.
I see the second the shock wears off. His eyes turn dark, his body locks as if he’s ready to pounce and mine uncoils ready to flee.
One. Two. Two and a half.
It only takes two and a half seconds, then he’s moving forward and I’m stumbling back, back, back until the cello hits a wall and he’s standing in front of me, his large frame blocking my view. He unhooks the straps of the cello case and sets it aside, taking my backpack along with it. Then his chest is pushing against mine, his left palm braced flat on the wall on the side of my head. He’s touching me everywhere without really touching me, and I’m melting, dying, breaking, tasting pandemonium. His mouth hovers above mine, his breath fanning my lips. I’m a star, burning through the sky. I’m falling, plummeting to Earth faster than gravity. I’m smiling now because this feels like being adored, appreciated. Wanted. Something I’ve never experienced before. My eyes fall shut as his lips brush my brow, cheek, jaw, whispering words that mean nothing and everything, and I’m no longer dropping. I’m flying, breaking gravity.
Suddenly the heat of his body on mine disappears, and a harsh “Fuck!” leaves his mouth. It’s like someone dumped cold water down the back of my shirt. My eyes fly open and find Nathaniel pacing a tight line between his desk and the lectern, running his fingers through his hair. He stops and turns to face me, his face unreadable.
And I hate it.
“Elon—”
“Don’t ruin it,” I beg quietly, cutting him off.
He moves closer, his steps faltering a few feet away from me as if he’s terrified of being close to me. “I ache to do so much more than kiss you, Elon. It’s driving me fucking insane. If we—” He stops talking and rubs his neck with his left hand, and declares in a rough voice, “I crave you.”
Well, knock me over with a feather and color me speechless!
The world could disintegrate beneath my feet, and I wouldn’t even feel it.
Laughter drifts from the hall just before the bell sounds. I jolt upright, pushing away from the wall where I’m stuck trying to catch my breath and cool the fire raging down under. I reach for my cello and bag where Nathaniel set them against the wall and swing them both over my shoulder, then head for the door. On my way out, I quickly turn around and repeat my phone number because now I know. Now I know he aches to do more than just kiss me, too.
Take a chance, Nathaniel. Take a chance on me.
Amber and Alex are long gone when I finally emerge from the lecture hall.
For once since school started, Professor Rowe doesn’t show up in the office that day. I try not to be too disappointed, justifying this might be the right way to handle this.
Once my lu
nch break is over, I head to my next class. I’m nervous as hell, and I find myself walking around with my nose buried in a book just to avoid making eye contact with anyone, afraid they will easily see the guilt, excitement, fear, and lightness exploding inside me.
The thing is, I don’t regret my feelings for Nathaniel. Maybe a little trepidation, given my history with men, but remorse?
None.
The worst thing is I want more.
More of him, more of the way his eyes light up when he looks at me.
More of the way my heart misses several rhythms before it picks up a million beats, trying to catch up with my breaths.
More of the way he makes me feel so good, wanted.
By the time I get home that evening, I’m dizzy from the emotional rollercoaster I’ve been on since morning. Thank God Amber is staying over at Alex’s place three floors up.
Tonight I need to relish this feeling and carefully plan my next move.
Professor Nathaniel won’t know what hit him. I just discovered my favorite drug, and I need more.
WEDNESDAY ARRIVES AND I’M STANDING in front of my class, watching as the students shuffle in.
Subtly, I shake a pill from each of the two bottles in my bag and throw them inside my mouth to stop the minor tremor and pain already building in my upper extremities. I grimace as the bitter taste spreads across my tongue before swallowing them dry. Then I turn my attention to the class again.
After that little standoff with Miss Blake a few days ago, I made sure our paths didn’t cross. I’ve resulted to going to the office after four o’clock in the afternoon. Not that I’m afraid of her.
I’m terrified of myself, scared of what I might do to her if we’re alone in the same room again. I can’t look at her without wanting to kiss her, to touch her. I’ve stayed away to keep her safe from me, knowing full well if given the opportunity, I’d end up destroying her with this volatile need I have coursing through my veins. Case in point, she probably has a boyfriend—Mr. New York. Plus, she’s my student, something I’ve told myself over and over to convince this stupid heart. I’m starting to sound like a broken record.
