Pushing the Limits(26)

"What a cliché." She laughs, stepping down. Her golden blonde hair is  pulled up into a high ponytail, making it sway effortlessly in loose  waves from side to side, as she climbs down. She looks flawless as usual  in tight jeans and a curve-hugging shirt, but I notice her infamous  heels are missing that I'm used to seeing her wear in class.         

     



 

"What is?" I inquire as she walks toward me barefoot.

She takes the final step, closing the gap between us. She's much shorter  without the heels, making the top of her head just barely reach my  shoulders. "Talented artist, not-bad-to-look-at professor, and  Shakespeare know-it-all. It's quite the impressive resume."

"I never claimed to be a know-it-all, but I'll accept the rest." My lips  spread into a wicked grin, the scent of her perfume overpowering me and  making me forget I shouldn't, in fact, be this close to a student. But  at this moment, I don't care what rules I'm breaking. I'm not backing  away from her again.

"However, you've never even seen any of my paintings. So that's just based on assumption."

"Perhaps, but I always go with my intuition."

"And what's your intuition telling you?" I lower my face to hers, focusing on the warmth of her lips.

A sly smirk spreads over her face, feeding the anticipation I've been feeling at wanting to kiss her.

"That you are way over-dressed for this." She slaps a clipboard against  my gray dress shirt, and when I look down, I see it's Aunt Mel's to-do  list before the gala this weekend. "I'm putting you to work, Professor."  She winks and takes a step back, making me groan in response.

I follow her to the front section of the gallery. The walls are bare,  waiting for pieces to be displayed. The gallery and the college work  closely together, so this event is important for both. The gala helps  raise money for the program and provide funding for students to come to  the school.

"Since the focus is to get people to buy the pieces and to bid in the  silent auction, Aunt Mel wants the student pieces in the front to  represent the school they'd be donating to. Normally, they're in the  back … well, you've gotten the tour, so you know," she rambles. "Anyway,  she wants them displayed by assignment."

"All right … " I glance around the tables where the pieces are laying. "Do you-"

"The list is on your clipboard."

As I flip through a couple of sheets, I begin wondering how the hell I  got myself into this situation in the first place. Aunt Mel and my mom  were close growing up, so I spent a lot of summer's with Aunt Mel and  her then-husband, Henry. I have another aunt and uncle, but they both  live in Tennessee, so they usually flew in once a year for the holidays.  So when Aunt Mel asked me to come help in between and after classes, I  couldn't say no.

"All right, Boss," I mock. She spins around and glares. "So, what's first?"

"You tell me." She nods her head toward the clipboard I'm still holding.

"Landscapes."

"Okay, so that'd be from first and second-year students. They should be  on that table over there." She points behind me. "Those can go over  here." She walks in between the portable walls.

"Sounds good, Boss."

"Would you stop?" she snips. "We're out of the classroom, remember?"

"Which means what?" I challenge, begging her with my eyes to say it-say we're more than just a professor and student.

"That we're on equal ground." She walks toward me, her back straight  with confidence, but her eyes lower with restraint. "We're just two  normal people setting up for an event."

I can't help the disappointment of her words, but I know she's right. As  much as I know she feels what I feel, I have to be careful about my  approach. I know she battles with anxiety, but I hadn't considered her  fear of getting close to people.

I can't say I blame her, though. Without knowing her entire back-story, I know I can relate just from my past alone.

I just have to figure out how to crack her, get her to say what she's really feeling.

After checking the list again, I see after landscapes, it's abstracts,  and then portraits and pastels. We're each working on a different wall  when Aunt Mel comes in to check on us. She's working with the curator  and Christine on setting up everything else. Tables, booklets, silent  auction pieces. She looks stressed out and a bit over-caffeinated.

"How's everything going in here? Doing all right? Need anything? Perhaps  some water? Is the temperature okay in here for you guys?"

Aspen spins around slowly, wide-eyed and pursing her lips together.  "Everything is fine," she replies sincerely. "It's coming together."

"Good. Great. Okay then. Holler if you need me!" She waves quickly before nearly running out.         

     



 

"I'm starting to see the resemblance." Aspen laughs.

"How so?"

"Highly energetic. A bit crazy." Her lips tilt in a taunting grin. "Obsessive."

"Perhaps that's just the nature of the Hampton genes."

"No, I'd say it's more nurture than nature."

"Oh," I say with a laugh. "I didn't realize this turned into a psychoanalysis review."

"Well, Professor Hampton … " she drawls out slowly, seducing me with her  voice, "just because you're the teacher doesn't mean I can't teach you a  thing or two."

I'm two seconds away from rounding the table in front of me and pushing  her up against the wall, demanding that she show me when another visitor  interrupts my thoughts.

"Oh my God, A! You'll never believe-"

I turn and meet Aspen's friend, Kendall, as she freezes mid-sentence when she notices me. "Oh, hi, Morgan."

"Hi, Kendall."

"Sorry to interrupt, but Ms. Jones just flew up the stairs screaming … in  Spanish." Her eyes light up and she starts giggling. "Shane fucked  something up in security real bad. You should go save your boyfriend  before Ms. Jones bursts of an aneurysm." She nudges her with her elbow.

My brows rise at the mention of the word boyfriend. I turn my back and  continue working to avoid looking interested in their conversation. The  last thing I need is her friend to get suspicious of my feelings for  her.

"Shane doesn't even speak Spanish." Aspen deadpans.

"I know. That's just how mad she is." Kendall giggles.

"It's so unhealthy how crazy she gets before these events." I hear Aspen setting things back down on the table.

"She needs a valium," Kendall adds.

"Well, I'll go see if I can do anything although I doubt it. Ms. Jones can be stubborn."

"Stubborn?" Kendall asks in a mock tone. "That's putting it lightly."

I hear the clacking of shoes as Kendall walks away, leaving Aspen and me  alone again. "I can go talk to her if you'd like." I turn and face her  already facing me. "See if I can help your boyfriend out."

An amused expression flashes over her face as she bounces her feet from  left to right. "No, it's fine. I'm kind of used to it. After three  years, you kind of learn to get out of Ms. Jones' way during times like  these."

"Ah … high-stressed."

"Just a bit." She smiles. The awkward tension in the air is killing me, and so I suggest taking a break.

"Yeah, sure. I could use a drink anyway."

"Great, I'll meet you back in like ten minutes."

"Perfect." She smiles, but it's forced. I flash one back at her and walk away, defeated and feeling hopeless.





I walk upstairs and find Aunt Mel in her office. Her brows are furrowed and her body tense. "Everything okay?"

"Jesus, Morgan. You scared the living daylights out of me." She places a hand on her chest.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to sneak up on you. I just heard you were having some issues and wanted to see if I could help."

"Oh, you sweet boy." Her lips spread into a genuine smile at the mention  of the nickname she used to call me as a child. "It's nothing. Just  some of my idiot security team ordered the wrong part, and now I have to  rush ship it here in time for the gala. Big event means more  surveillance."

I step inside her office and stand in front of her desk across from her.  "Well, if you need anything, let me know. I have my mom taking Natalia  to her therapy tonight."

"Oh, how is she doing?"

"She's … making some progress." I shrug. "Baby steps."

She frowns. "That poor child. She's lucky she has you, Morgan." Her lips  curl back up into a sweet, sympathetic smile. "You're good for her."

My lips turn up. "No … I think she's the one who's good for me." I wink before walking out and head back down the hallway.

Three guys in security shirts are standing in the hallway, and I find  myself eyeing them up, wondering which one of them is Shane. I know it's  stupid to even compare, but I can't help wanting to know considering  I'd even asked her if she had a boyfriend and she'd told me no.