Pushing the Limits: A Student/Teacher Romance

by Brooke Cumberland

  I rub my teeth along my lower lip, sucking it in as I stare intently at him. “I’m looking forward to seeing what you teach this semester.” His lips curl up into a satisfying grin as he shoves his hands in his pockets and begins walking toward the next student.

  I turn back around and continue working, my heart pounding rapidly in my chest. I associate drawing and art with many things, but most significantly, Ariel. Every time I get my head into a creative mindset, my heart goes with it.

  MORGAN

  I never should’ve sat down next to her, but once I saw her, I couldn’t help myself.

  I recognized her facial profile the moment I walked into the classroom from the few self-portraits I studied in her portfolio. So detailed, so emotional.

  I had only meant to introduce myself and get a few minutes alone with her to discuss the pieces in her portfolio. However, that plan derailed as soon as her friend sat down next to her.

  The moment I hear the sweet hum of her laughter, I’m even more intrigued than before. For someone who draws such passionate pieces, I assumed she’d be covered in black clothing, wear heavy eyeliner, and be plastered with a permanent scowl on her face. But she’s nothing like that at all. In fact, she’s the complete opposite.

  Her laughter is infectious. Her golden blonde hair lies in loose waves against her shoulders, and I can’t help but notice how tight her purple shirt hugs her breasts and waistline. I lower my eyes and smirk at the leopard print fuck-me heels she’s wearing with her dark skinny jeans.

  Not what I imagined at all.

  The moment I hear the girl next to her call me a hot piece of ass, I nearly choke on my tongue. She finally turns and we make eye contact, but it doesn’t last for long before her friend continues with her inappropriate string of comments. I smile and laugh in return at her antics.

  Aspen confesses that she’s thrilled about class and for some reason it makes me weirdly giddy inside.

  Fuck.

  Scratch that last part. I haven’t felt giddy in over five years, not since I’ve lived in this god-forsaken state.

  However, the tinge of panic doesn’t go unnoticed as I see Aspen’s expression as I stand up and walk to the front of the classroom. Her eyes go wide and cheeks flush pink. A small part of me feels guilty she’s so embarrassed, but I find it freaking adorable. Ellie’s whispering in her ear and Aspen looks like she’s about to die.

  I really should leave the poor girl alone. Clearly she’s not a social person, but I just can’t help myself.

  “Aspen Evans…” I call out because I want an excuse to look at her again. And hear her voice.

  That voice.

  It’s so small and smooth that I’m afraid she’d float up to the ceiling if her six-inch heels weren’t weighing her down. I hadn’t expected her to stand up, but she does. I should tell her we don’t have to be so formal in this class, but I can’t deny getting the opportunity to get a better look at her.

  Once introductions are over, I hand out the syllabus and repeat my typical mantra. Look over the syllabus carefully. Don’t skip my class. Don’t be a lazy participator.

  I make sure to look around at all the students so I don’t get caught staring at her. Although that’s where my eyes are directed since Ellie’s once again whispering over to Aspen.

  “Do you have a question, ladies?” I really don’t appreciate students talking when I’m talking, so I make sure I’m firm just so the rest of the class knows I’m not to be taken advantage of.

  Ellie’s quick-witted response takes me off guard, and I really have to fight to hide the smile that wants to spread wide across my face.

  I need a second to breathe, so I put the students in groups for their first exercise. I start numbering students off into groups of five, but when I come across Aspen’s seat, she’s gone. I look around and catch her just as she’s running out the door.

  I finish grouping everyone and hand out the worksheet I want them to start on. I wait a few minutes to see if she returns but worry I’ve embarrassed her. When she doesn’t return, I decide to go after her.

  I’m not exactly sure what I expected to see when I found Aspen, but it wasn’t this. I know an anxiety attack when I see one. I’ve experienced them myself, but she’s…she’s a mess. It seems unfair that such a beautiful and talented woman has to suffer this way. From the outside, I never would’ve guessed she held this kind of pain.

  I don’t believe her in the least when she says she’ll be fine. I want to comfort her, wrap my arms around her so she doesn’t have to handle it alone. But I barely know her and it’d be highly inappropriate given I’m her professor. I tell her to take her time and wait anxiously in the classroom for her to come back.

  When the groups finishes, and everyone is seated again, I discuss what I want them to do next. Although I was able to look at their portfolios beforehand, I want to see how well they each do with a shortly timed assignment. They all grab their supplies and sit back in their seats except Aspen. She stays standing.

  It’s hard to not notice her as it is, but now I’m able to watch her while she draws. She moves her hand so effortlessly as her eyes follow every stroke her pencil is making. I walk around the classroom silently watching, but I stop just behind her as she begins to shade in her outline of a tree trunk. I can’t tell which number from the questionnaire she’s drawing from, but just the intensity of her focus tells me how important it is to her.

  She grabs her putty rubber to lighten an area near a branch when she finally senses my presence behind her, but I tell her not to stop. I could watch her draw for hours. Just the simple act of watching her eyes and body captivates my attention to the point that I forget we aren’t alone.

  Students begin filing out at exactly eight p.m. They have plenty of time left to work on their project before it’s due, but that doesn’t stop the wave of sadness that overcomes me as I watch Aspen pack up her supplies and leave. Her portfolio is so somber, but in person, she radiates light. She’s friendly and gives off that carefree vibe on the surface, but when she’s lost in her work, her persona changes into something completely different.

  I’m just not sure what that is yet.

  I pick Natalia up from school every day in between my classes. She was able to continue attending the same school after she moved in with me, but it hasn’t been an easy transition. She’s been getting into trouble for talking back, pushing girls in the locker room, and even throwing food in the cafeteria.

  They’ve been pretty sympathetic given her situation, but she’s still had to do detention after school multiple times. I know there’s nothing I can say that’ll help her feel better or give back what’s been taken from her. I know there’s nothing I can do that’ll change it either. And that guts me.

  “Hey, Short Stuff,” I say as she hops into the passenger side. “What number?” I ask her every day after school. It’s a rating system from one to ten that I came up with to so she’d talk about her day.

  She tosses her backpack into the backseat and scowls at me.

  “If you’re expecting me to read your mind, this could take a while.”

  She huffs at me. “It was an eight…” Which means her day was going quite well. “Until Cooper Turner spit on me.” So much for that.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. Oh, for fucks sake.

  I turn and angle my body toward her. “What happened?”

  She hands me a piece of paper that was concealed in her palm. “Here.”

  I take it and pull it open. My eyes move quickly over the note, and I gasp.

  “Natalia Hampton!” I’m biting my lip to avoid bursting out in laughter. “You said what?”

  “I said he had an itty, bitty penis and that must be why he’s such an obnoxious airhead.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s compensating for having a small—”

  “Not that! Why did you say that?”

  “Well, it’s not a lie.”

  “I don’t think talking about
those body parts in school is appropriate.”

  “Whatever.”

  “So now what? You have another week of detention?”

  “I guess. I don’t know why Mrs. Fields got so upset. He’s the one who spit on me!”

  “Before or after?”

  She frowns and it’s all the answer I need.

  Tonight she has her therapy appointment, so I wait outside the room for forty-five minutes while Dr. Kingston tries to teach her ways of dealing with her feelings by using a healthier outlet. Six months of therapy later, and we’re still trying to help her manage the way she acts out.

  Not that I can really blame her, though.

  Once her session is over, we drive home, and I start browsing in the kitchen for something to make for dinner.

  “Shit, I forgot to go grocery shopping,” I mumble as I stare at the half-empty orange juice container and Chinese takeout boxes in the fridge.

  “You shouldn’t swear.”

  I slam the door shut, not realizing she was behind me. “You shouldn’t creep up on people,” I tease, spinning around to her sitting by the breakfast bar.

  “Grandma says swearing is the devil’s voice.”

  “Well, you should ask Grandma what whiskey is then.”

  “I already did,” she responds matter-of-factly. “She says it’s the Lord’s blood.”

  I snort. “Grandma’s a liar.” I begin opening cupboards and digging through boxes of food.

  “I know.” She grins. “So what are you making? Or should I say…burning?”

  “You know…for an eleven-year-old—”

  “I’m almost twelve,” she interrupts.

  “Whatever. For an almost twelve-year-old, you have quite the smart-mouth.”

  “I prefer gifted.”

  “I prefer it shut.”

  She narrows her eyes at me and sticks her tongue out.

  I opt for pizza delivery instead of cooking until I get to the grocery store again. And even then, I’ll probably grab frozen pizzas and boxes of mac ’n cheese.

  Back in Ohio, there was this small family-owned deli and sushi bar that I always stopped at on my way home from work. But now that I have Natalia with me, I actually have to remind myself to hit the store.

  Either that or I’m going to go broke from ordering in seven days a week.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ASPEN

  I arrive at my night class early Thursday, knowing the room will be empty beforehand. I can paint in my apartment, but there’s just something about the atmosphere and being in a room filled with other paintings. I grab an easel and settle in with my ear buds while I paint.

  Most recently, See You Again by Wiz Khalifa has hit home for me. I’ve had it on repeat for several days and every time I draw or paint, I’m able to tune everything out when I listen to it and think happy thoughts about her.

  The lyrics inspire me to paint an abstract of her face. I use the entire canvas to lightly outline her features—her heart-shaped face, almond-sized eyes, and the strong bridge of her nose.

  Once I finish, I lightly draw a line down the middle of her face to emphasize her different layers—happy on the outside, depressed on the inside.

  I grab a tube of red paint and squeeze it out onto the palette. I swirl a round brush into the paint before outlining the lines and angles of the face.

  I focus on one side at a time. Warm colors with light shading reflect her outside personality the best, so I add in some yellow with a blending brush over her cheeks and jawline. I add in some white to create the lighter shading around her eye and slant of her nose. Once I’m finished with that, I add some teal paint and use my fan brush to accent the cheekbones with the yellow underneath it to create a lighter allusion.

  I finish up the left side with my pointed round brush and paint in the eye blue. Once that’s complete, I smooth everything together with a flat brush and wait for it to dry. I stand back and study it for a moment before deciding I’m satisfied with it for now. It feels like her—happy and energetic—the teals and yellows of my past life.

  I begin the other side with a base coat of purple and then layer a light shade of blue on top. This side of the face is meant to be dark and oppressed—her inner personality—so I add in the shading to exaggerate the features more.

  I wait until it dries a bit before adding another layer of blue, this time a couple shades darker than before to accent the cheekbones. I run the angular flat bristles alongside the jawline and up near the ear, making the blue stand out more than the purple. Once I’m done with the blue, I blend in the white to outline the other side of the nose and eye.

  The song continues repeating in my earbuds as I sing some of the lyrics aloud. I take a step back and look at the two sides as a whole.

  I tilt my head left and right, checking out the different angles before deciding to add another layer of blue to the right side.

  I quickly glance up at the clock and see I still have a good twenty-five minutes before I need to clean up and pretend I was never here. Just as I’m dipping a clean flat brush in the paint, I feel someone behind me.

  I feel a hand on my shoulder and jerk around so quickly the paintbrush between my fingers follows. A streak of blue paint wipes across Professor Hampton’s face before I even realize it’s happened.

  “Oh my God!” My eyes go wide as I feel my cheeks heat with embarrassment. I quickly yank my earbuds out. “I’m so sorry!” I lower my hand and examine the damage.

  He smiles and a small laugh escapes his throat as he blinks. “Guess I deserved that.”

  I frown. “It wasn’t on purpose.”

  “Never sneak up on a painter,” he confirms. “Sorry about that. I was trying not to startle you, but apparently, my plan failed.”

  “It’s fine,” I assure him. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to come in yet.”

  “Yeah, I figured I’d come early and prepare.” He smiles that crooked, drop-your-panties and beg-for-it smile, sending a rush of excitement through me. I’ve had some amazing professors in the past, but they’ve never made me feel as nervous to be around them as he does.

  I can feel his breath against my bare arm, alerting me to take a step back. I put the brush down and look away. I start cleaning up my supplies, but I feel him grip my wrist and squeeze.

  “Wait.”

  I turn to look at him staring at the painting. I swallow at the intensity of his voice and eyes. His hand stays wrapped around my wrist as he stares intently at it, almost as if he’s examining every detail.

  “You started this just today?”

  “Yeah, about an hour ago.” I look back at the painting. “It’s a rough start. Something I did on a whim.”

  He releases my wrist and smiles at me. “It’s stunning. The contrast between the warm and cool colors really catches your attention, drawing you into the tones. It's almost like they are forcing you to feel the agony and heartache she's feeling from her struggles.”

  “Thank you.” I lower my head to hide the blush creeping over my cheeks. When I need to get out of my own head, I just start painting. Getting lost in whatever piece I’m working on helps me cope. It’s the only non-medical thing that keeps my anxiety under control. “I was trying to show her two contradicting personalities by putting them side by side,” I explain.

  “So she’s struggling with inner demons but doesn’t reveal it on the outside?” he asks, intrigued, and I nod.

  “There’s a struggle with who she wants to be on the outside and what she feels on the inside.”

  “Sounds intense.” His lips tilt down slightly into a frown. “I love it, Aspen. Would you mind if I kept it in the classroom to exhibit for a bit?”

  I look down and bite my lip. I slowly bring my head back up, his eyes trying to read me. “Um…” I hesitate. “Actually, it’s kind of personal.”

  “I won’t tell anyone it’s yours.” He grins slyly, and I find myself having a hard time resisting those damn dimples.

  “Okay, so if anyo
ne asks…” I prompt.

  “I’ll claim it’s a student from the old college I used to teach at. Someone named…” He pauses briefly. “Regina Hopintale.”

  I bite my lip to keep myself from laughing but fail. “Thanks.”

  His lips curl up even higher, showing off his dimples again. Lord, those dimples are like fresh strawberries covered in melted chocolate. They look so delicious and perfect that you can’t deny the explosive flavor once it hits your tongue.

  Oh my God…did I just compare my professor’s dimples to chocolate covered strawberries?

  I seriously need to get some fresh air. Or perhaps a second pair of panties.

  He walks to the front of the classroom, setting his briefcase down on the desk. I clean up my area and put my supplies away before the first few students walk in.

  “How’s it goin’?” Ellie asks in that southern twang of hers as soon as she sits down in the chair next to mine.

  “You’re surprisingly early…” I narrow my eyes at her suspiciously.

  “Not that early…” she denies, her cheeks turning a soft red.

  “Does this have anything to do with that guy over there eye-fucking you?” I noticed it during our first class. He stares at her every chance he gets.

  “Who? Kyle Simmons?” She pretends to not notice him as she digs through her supplies bag.

  I playfully scowl at her. “I don’t know his name! But it’s apparent you do.”

  “We might’ve had a couple classes together last semester.”

  “And?” I prompt, knowing there’s so much more to the story.

  “And…” She lingers. “We might’ve hooked up at a party.”

  “So you came to class early to what? Have a staring contest?”

  She wrinkles her nose at me. “No…I don’t know. It’s just once class starts, the easel will block my view.”

  “So…go sit next to him. Wouldn’t that solve your problem?”

  “Oh, bless your heart, Aspen.” I furrow my brows, confused. “He should come sit next to me. It’d be the gentlemanly thing to do.” She crosses her legs and folds her hands in her lap.