Hot For Teacher(189)

My future is entangled with my past since I’ve returned back to my old high school to teach. Each day I walk down the same concrete pathway I did as a fourteen-year-old with braces. Now I’m a teacher who’s crossed the forbidden line with one of her students.

I run my fingers through the tight waves of his hair. “Daniel.” My voice is a whisper. “We should…” I can’t find the words to finish.

“Don’t,” he says. “You’re all I think about. It’s why I’m failing this class.”

His confession shocks me, and at the same time gives me the missing piece to the puzzle I’ve been searching for.

“I had no idea,” I try to pull myself off his lap, but his arms tighten their hold on me.

“Let me ask you a question, Ms...” He trails off, and I know the reason. The formal sounding Ms. Tillman would be ridiculous to use after what we’ve just experienced together.

“Call me Staci,” I say. He smiles at hearing my name.

“Staci.” He speaks my name slowly. Letting every phonetic sound roll over his tongue. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

“What a loaded question?” My laugh mixes with anxious nerves and comes out a little too high-pitched.

“Gotcha,” he says with a wink, and I exhale the long breath I am holding. “But I do believe in lust.”

He runs his hands up my sides to lace them behind my neck. He pulls me forward and presses his lips to my ear. “And I lust you.”

My eyes widen when I realize sweet, quiet Daniel might be a hot dirty talker. He’s a man; yes I’m calling him a man now, whose buried passion is being freed.

I bend to kiss his swollen lips when I hear the clicking sounds of heels from somewhere down the hallway outside my classroom. Usually the noise would go undetected, but the hallways are abandoned right now and the sound bounces off the walls.

We both still and glance at the clock against the back wall. “How could an hour have gone by?” I say.

“I bet it’s my mother,” he says in a rush and we react quickly to the possibility. I wonder how he’s endured his parent’s paranoia as their captive son.

I scurry over to what had been my side of the table, and straighten my clothes. I try to soothe down the locks of my hair, hoping I don’t look as disheveled as I feel.

“She probably wants to meet you. I’ve never been allowed to be alone with a girl.” He looks away from me.

“Oh shit, “ I say before a quick knock on the wooden door echoes throughout the room.

I feel my back straight as I watch the doorknob turn. Daniel faces me across the desk with his back to the door, but he can see what’s happening in my eyes.

“Good afternoon,” a woman says as she steps into the room.

“Good afternoon,” I respond in kind while rising out of my chair and walking toward her. “We were just finishing up.”

Daniel may have inherited the color of his mother’s skin and eyes. But the coldness I see in her stare chills me. There is no warmth or depth, just judgment and scrutiny.

“So you’re Ms. Tillman?” Mrs. Johnson says with her head cocked to the side. The disdain in her question can’t be missed either.

“Yes, I’m Daniel’s teacher.” I fiddle with my hands and stuff them inside my pant pockets. The very hands that ran through her son’s hair, and held onto him as I came only minutes ago.

“I see.” She taps her chin in thought.

A quick scan over me from head to toe and she moves past me toward Daniel. I panic when I realize he didn’t have a chance to clean up. I’m praying there isn’t a telltale sign exposing us.

I see he’s thrown on his jacket and zipped it up, so we are in the clear. But I still can’t keep from shaking. This woman is no fool and Daniel is not a deceiver.

“Hi mother,” Daniel says.

“Pack up your things, Daniel.” She points to the papers still scattered on the table. “We are finished here.”

What does she mean by that? And her tone sounds ominous. Daniel and I glance at each other. I can tell he’s nervous too.

“Okay,” he says. He starts putting a couple papers into his backpack, but most of the work on the table belongs to me.

“I’ll get the rest,” I say. His mother pivots on her respectable heels and faces me. The blood in my veins turns cold. She appears ready for a fight.

“I think we need to chat.” From her position with her hands on her hips, I don’t believe our chat will be friendly.

“Okay,” I say, realizing I sound just like Daniel. A scolded child.

“Daniel, wait for me outside the door.”