Come on, Wilson, it's the first day, 179 more to go. I chastised myself.
He turned and noticed I was still there, just standing outside the door. His emerald eyes twinkled with every breath he took, his lips shaped round enough to catch between his pearly white teeth with his heart-stopping smirk. He smiled, and the eyes couldn't help but follow suit.
“Well, Miss Mooney, are you going to join us?” he asked as he leaned in my direction lifting his body off his desk. His hair tumbled across his perfect forehead before he swished it out of the way. Laughter busted out, filling the room with snide-ass remarks and whoops.
My breath caught in my throat when I tried to speak. He didn't give me a chance to answer before he slipped past me, went out into the hall and pulled the beige metal door closed. The scent of Crew for Men found its way into my nose as his sweater brushed across my exposed skin, inducing a shiver to radiate down my spine. Right at that moment, nobody else was in the class with us. Whether he knew it or not, this guy was hot. Purely physical, I know, but when he came up behind me, just close enough for me to feel his energy, and told me to find a seat, I must have turned every shade of red. All the nerves on the surface of my skin exploded with goose bumps. I struggled to convince myself for the next fifty-five minutes to focus.
Focus, focus, focus, damn, the only seat left … front row, right in front of his desk. Focus, focus, focus, Wilson.
Tangled in a bundle of nerves, I lowered down into the seat and dropped my backpack next to my leg. I folded my hands and fiddled with a pencil someone left from the other class. Finally finding my groove, I tapped the eraser against the desk.
“Well hello, ladies. This is twelfth-grade government. It's a required class to graduate.” Mr. Goldstein paced back and forth while he spoke, pushing both hands through his onyx black hair every once in a while. “If you are not a senior you are in the wrong place.” He stood waiting for a moment, expecting someone-anyone-to get up and walk out. Nobody did. “Alright, that's that. I would like to introduce myself and tell you a little about who I am before we go around the room and do introductions.” He stopped and leaned against the front of his desk, which happened to be right in front of me. His long white sleeves were folded and pushed up past his elbows. I noticed no rings on his fingers. Score one for me. When I looked up his eyes met mine and gave me a panty-melting smile. My face rushed crimson.
“I'm Mr. Goldstein. This is my first year teaching on my own. Last year I student taught under Mr. Faust, in this very room. I grew up in Colorado, earned my degree from Michigan, and decided to come out west to set roots in Northern California.”
“Are you married?” a voice interrupted from the back of the room.
Mr. Goldstein leaned forward with a chuckle, shifting his weight onto the balls of his feet before rocking back against the desk again. His cuffed shirt sleeves wedged up past his elbows were now loose around his forearms. His eye gleamed with embarrassment and his lips strained to a formidable smile.
“Ahhh, no, I am not married. But I am excited about this class.” He pushed his fingers through his sharp black hair, pulling it away from his sea-green eyes.
“How about a girlfriend?” another voice from the back interjected.
“No, I don't have a girlfriend either.”
His complexion flushed a shade of red. He shifted and in a commanding motion pushed his sleeves back up above his elbows. A couple of girls vocalized their excitement while the rest of us silently swooned over the fact that we actually believed we had a chance with this exquisite gift God put before us. Everyone could feel the shift in the room-a shift that he had to hear and we embraced.
“How about we focus on this class, government, and talk about some of the expectations I have for this year. Government doesn't have to be boring or rote. I plan to make it exciting once again. But first, how about we go around the room, say your name, and one thing you are excited about this year.”
Voices became murmurs that tainted my ears as I watched him look interested in what every other girl had to say, telling him their name, plus some hollow ideas they thought he'd want to hear, hoping to impress him with the idiotic, self-centered plans they made for when they'd leave high school. Every girl tried to one-up the next, everyone trying to impress him with sentences strung together with bullshit stories of acceptance letters expected from Stanford, Harvard, and Yale. Their voices dripped with entitlement; egotistical, self-absorbed ideas that they had what the Ivy League schools wanted. Unfortunately, most of those girls really would be accepted to those schools. It wasn't what was in their head the schools were after but the fatty checks their rich daddies funneled to their programs, building new wings, science and research centers, even libraries and social halls. Let's face it: I was nothing more than a charity case, a means to the end of making Wesley Academy for Girls look good on paper. I was nothing more than a prop that made them look like they gave a shit about the average person receiving a proper education.
“Thank you, Hilary, for sharing. Alright, next,” Mr. Goldstein said.
I didn't realize it was my turn to talk about myself. Mr. Goldstein waved his hands in front of my face, taking notice that I was somewhere else. He actually leaned down trying to make eye contact with me. Oh, my God, I felt so stupid! Dissolving from my pot of self pity, it wasn't until I heard my name being screeched from Jacky Burlington, that I realized everyone was waiting for me to say my name and where I wanted to go to college next year.
“Wilson, earth to Wilson, it's your turn! Geesh, wake up already. You won't hack it in Harvard if you keep spacing out.”
The room burst into laughter and snarky remarks. Embarrassed to every shade of red, blood pooled and settled in my cheeks. It was Joanie Emerson, my best friend who stuck up for me.
“Shut up, Jacky. At least Wilson will get in to Harvard on her grades, not her daddy's promises.”
Jacky huffed before she turned to Cindy Browler and mumbled something under her breath.
“Ladies, please, when you walk through my door, we are to treat each other with respect. Alright, let's continue.” Max thrust his hand out toward me, waiting for me to drone out the same drivel that every girl before me delivered.
“My name is Wilson Mooney, and I-” the bell broke my words. Whew, saved.
Chairs scraped across the floor, voices cackling and murmuring, as everyone began to shuffle out of the room.
“Um, Miss Burlington and Miss Emerson, don't leave. I want to talk to you. The rest of you, we will finish up tomorrow. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
I took my time collecting my backpack. I wanted to hear what he had to say, hoping beyond all hope he was going to ream Jacky for being such a bitch. He watched me as I messed with some zippers. Jacky waited next to his desk, huffing and pouting every couple of seconds because Mr. Goldstein was waiting for Joanie to join them.
“Ladies, it's the first day of school. Let's not start out on the wrong foot. We have a long year, and I will not tolerate disrespect in my class. Do you both understand me?”
They both nodded. Jacky, with her smarmy attitude, let out a sharp “tsk” under her breath before asking if she could leave.
“Yeah, I'm sorry Mr. Goldstein,” Joanie answered quickly before she tossed her backpack over one shoulder and left without looking back at Jacky.
I glanced at Mr. Goldstein and his eyes met mine, filled with apologetic sympathy. I looked down at the floor before hurrying to catch up to Joanie.
Great, what did that look mean? I have to go to his classroom after school today and clean his whiteboards. The last thing I needed from him was a courtesy look flooded with pity.
~ Max ~
I was totally sideswiped by Wilson. I didn't expect to be so affected by her. I shouldn't be enamored with one of my students, ever, let alone on the first day of school. I'd been around beautiful women all my life, women with way more life experience than this girl. But there was something about Wilson; something that got to me. When
her scent floated in the air, I fought to inhale every particle. When she spoke, I strained to listen, and when she moved I ached to touch her.
I lost my train of thought as her aroma pulled and tugged at me below my belt. Jacky cleared her throat, pulling me from the trance Wilson put me under. Damn. It was the first day of school and I was already longing to keep her smell permanently planted in my nose.
What in the hell are you doing? You can't get all caught up in her. This isn't who you are. Damn it, Max, you need to stay professional. Pull your shit together. You're her teacher. She's your student, for fuck's sake.
The bell rang and the next class began to shuffle in, a perfect excuse to keep my mind busy and preoccupied with teaching. So why couldn't I stop counting the minutes until she'd come back into my classroom and clean my whiteboards?
I can't be here when she comes back. I'll have to preoccupy myself with things I need to get done. That's it! I'll save all my prep work until after school. I'll do my copying, grading, and correlating while Wilson's in my room. It will be so much better that way.
I never looked at my watch once or chased the clock on the wall. So when the bell rang, the twenty students from my sixth period class got up and randomly began to shuffle out into the hall, racing to get to their next class. I had it all worked out in my head, I would make myself busy and unavailable when Wilson came into my room after seventh period. I was pretty sure I was strong enough to handle anything she could throw my way. Besides, I had a whole fifty minutes to prepare. Maybe it was a request that Mr. Faust set up with Dean McCallous, seeing he was about to retire in a year or two; whatever the reason, I didn't have to teach a seventh period. Thank you, Mr. Faust.
I decided to call my brother, Cal, who was still “stuck” in Aspen. I knew calling him would give him the opportunity to remind me, again, that he was still willing to deliver my Z4 out to California … no charge. I let out a slight chuckle before I dialed his number, tapped the speaker button, and propped my phone on the desk next to me. I pulled out the next day's work to determine what I was going to assign as class work and homework. Yep, that's me, the second day of school and I was the asshole who gave out homework.
By the third ring, Cal picked up.
“Hey, bro, what's up?”
“Hi, Cal. Nothin' much, just checking in,” I answered.
“How was the first day teaching on your own?” Calvin asked.
“Not too bad. A couple little glitches, but other than that, pretty good.” I wasn't about to admit the glitch had to do with a girl named Wilson, and the feelings she stirred in my gut. “When I called Dad yesterday, he mentioned something about you starting a new job tomorrow?”
“Yeah, he talked to the head guy over at Syncorp or Sycorp, something like that. I guess they need someone to reprogram their warning system.”
“Warning system? What, like for a fire and natural disaster?” I asked.
“No, Max, hackers, thugs, and cyber-thieves.”
“That sounds like a pretty cool gig,” I added.
“Yeah, if you like building code and working with html all day. Come on, Max, you know me, I'm happiest outside, not poured into a suit and tie.”
“I hear you. Hey, how's that girl you were dating? Clara?” I clipped, hoping to change the subject.
“You mean Clarisse. Yeah, I guess she's fine,” Calvin answered matter-of-factly.
“What happened? I thought you were all into her?”
“Yeah, well, I guess half the male population in Aspen was into her too. Turns out she's a slut and I don't play cleanup.”
“Only sloppy seconds,” I joked.
“No, bro, I'm not even one for sloppy seconds-”
“So your new quest is … what? Deflowering virgins?”
“Not necessarily, but I'm getting a little choosier lately. No chicks coming off breakups. That used to work for me, but not anymore.”
“That's funny coming from you, my brother the man-whore.”
“Really? Man-whore? Look, I'm just not interested in investing in these heartbroken, little 'hos anymore.”
“Whoa, Cal. Come on, man.”
“Come on nothing, I'll respect a girl who doesn't spread her legs for every Tom, Dick, and Harry.”
I heard my classroom door slam shut then. When I looked up, I saw Wilson. She'd come early to clean my whiteboards.
Heat collected in my cheeks. The idea that she could have heard any part of Cal's and my conversation worried me.
“I can come back,” Wilson mouthed as she shuffled backward toward the door, her arms folded across her midsection.
“No, you're fine, please come in,” I whispered as I snatched my iPhone off the desk and took it off speaker phone. “Hey, Cal, listen, I need to call you back. A student just came in.”
He didn't argue, just gave me a grunt and hung up.
“I'll come back and do your boards later, if you need time,” she said as she hung her thumbs on the edges of her pockets and raised her shoulders just enough to indicate she felt bad.
“No, I'm done. It was my brother. We were just talking about … nothing really,” I professed.
She stood there and stared at me. Her smile curved to a slight frown and her clear-as-spring blue eyes constricted as she scrunched up her nose.
“I kinda need to get right there … to clear the whiteboards,” she hinted as she pointed at me.
“Oh, okay, let me get out of your way,” I asserted, trying not to stammer my words.
The muscles in her jaw tensed. She tossed a slight smile my way before she danced her fingers along the edge of the aluminum pen tray that held my dry-erase markers and a huge eraser.
I wanted to just watch her erase.
Damn, this is so, totally wrong.
I forced myself to drop my eyes down to my desk and look at my grade book that sat wide open.
That's it, I'll just act like I have stuff I need to do. I could write due dates on assignments for the next week. Yeah, that's what I'll do; anything to keep from watching her drag my erasers across the whiteboards.
I pulled out my chair, sat down, and started searching for a pen or pencil, anything that worked.
“Umm, excuse me, Mr. Goldstein, I'm not sure what you want me to erase and what you want to keep.” Her voice was shaky.
Wilson caught her bottom lip between her perfectly white teeth before jutting out her hip enough to make her upper body sway back and forth, tapping the eraser against her thigh. Her mannerisms mimicked those of someone who was confident in her abilities but uncomfortable in having to wait for me to make my choices.
Everything in my body started popping off. My head was fuzzy, my heart hustled to a quickened pace, even my hands were part of this siege, pushing perspiration across my palms. My skin glowed hot, and every exposed part of my flesh grew sensitive to the air she exhaled.
Damn, I have to get out of here.
I pulled in a breath and let it out slowly. It's quite possible I sounded and looked like I was irritated.
“Erase everything,” I spat as I gestured to both whiteboards, snatched my worksheet from my desk, and left.
“I'll be back, I need to make copies,” I snapped as I walked out the door without looking back.
In my head I hoped that when I got back, she'd be gone. That she'd just erase both whiteboards and be on her way to another classroom. But in my heart, I wanted her to be waiting for me. I wish making copies would have taken longer, but it didn't. It took a whole ten minutes. Ten minutes of twisted fucked-up thoughts about how I was ever going to survive nine months of seeing her five days a week. Scenarios flashed in my head-ignoring her as she came into my classroom, moments where I was able to swallow my raw and totally ridiculous desire to be close to her. Maybe she'd spare me the torture and transfer out of the school. Truthfully, I didn't want her to go; I just really liked my job. I was just going to have to find a way to deal with it.
By the time I got back to my classroom, Wilson had alr
eady left. My heart plummeted into my stomach, every excuse and lame-ass story of why I shouldn't feel this way about a student swam through my head. It sucked being torn between guilt and desire. I tossed the stack of copied and collated pages onto my desk, turned around, and walked out. Damn. I didn't even look to see if she'd finished cleaning my whiteboards.
It'd been eight weeks and two days since Wilson sauntered into my classroom, the longest, hardest, and yet most exhilarating couple of months I'd had in a long time-quite possibly in my entire life. She'd smile at the perfect times and frown when called for. She was something different, something unique apart from the same old worn out idea that money and power was the answer to everything. Watching her interact with other girls in the class was like experiencing the first rain in spring.
Every Monday through Friday, I couldn't wait for fifth period. The bell would ring and, without fail, my eyes would dart to the door. My blood would speed and I'd realize I was holding my breath until she crossed the threshold. There was calm before the storm raging throughout my body.
I even kept a secret language I hoped she'd decipher one day-the brush of my fingers across the back of her chair, the times I'd call on her to answer, the moments she'd ask for help and I'd lean in close enough to inhale her scent, feel her energy.
I was completely aware that my feelings were inappropriate. I knew if society had the powers to dive into my mind, they'd find themselves swimming amongst buried desires of a guy who wanted to be something more to his student then her teacher. They'd see a guy who tried to fight these feelings every day, battling the desire to make her see me as something more than a potential opportunity. I desperately wanted people to see, I wasn't a creepy guy who wanted to take advantage of her, but a boy who simply was starting to fall for a girl.
Unfortunately, I was becoming nothing more than a worried man barreling down a road toward a destination I couldn't come back from. What if Wilson's actions were nothing more than her normal energy she has with every guy? Or worse, what if I finally took a step in the direction of letting my feelings known and she didn't feel the same way? Risking my career for an improbable chance with her seemed irresponsible, even stupid. I was in too deep. I was fully aware that I needed to reign in the feelings I was having and put a cap on the attention I was paying her. But on the flip side, what if she did … feel something for me? What if she'd been fighting back the same feelings burning deep in her belly?
The Wilson Mooney Box Set Page 84
