with mine. “Mrs. Hamilton.”
10
I ’m parked in the comfortable chair behind my desk with my head resting against my palms that are propped up by my elbows. It seems most of my time lately is spent waiting, sometimes for something inevitable and other times for something uncertain, but I’m always waiting.
I don’t dare take my eyes off the clock positioned on the back wall of the classroom, above a shelving unit housing spare textbooks. I watch each tick of the clock, ticking from one second into the excruciating next.
The thirty-something students in front of me all stare at the textbooks folded open on their desks. Some of them are reading, while others are daydreaming, but most of them are playing on their phones.
But Kemper, the man—boy—who seduced me three nights ago, is too busy watching me to indulge in any heavy reading. He’s studying me, and it’s a struggle to not give him any ammunition, so I attempt to keep a straight face.
Another minute passes, but there’s still far too many to go. I grow uncomfortable knowing he’s watching me, and knowing that anyone could see him watching me if they were interested enough to care.
My eyes grow heavy and I feel myself drifting away. There’s nothing more calming, and tiring, than watching the clock tick by.
The bell rings, ripping me out of a trance like state. I push myself back against the chair and sit up straight, forcing a smile as students begin to rush out the door.
“See you at the game, Mrs. H.” Scotty waves as he exits the classroom, leaving only two people remaining in this increasingly claustrophobic tiny box.
Kemper and I.
He slings his backpack over his shoulder as he approaches. For a brief moment, I contemplate running so I don’t have to have this conversation, whatever it’s going to be.
He on the other hand, looks thrilled for the inevitable, if for no other reason than he doesn’t realize it’s going to be a knock-down, drag-out fight. He smiles widely as he reaches my desk.
“You told me you weren’t a student here,” I scowl and look over to the open door for a split second, ensuring we won’t be interrupted. I think about closing the door, but there are already too many whispers about me when it comes to my students.
“To be fair, I wasn’t a student Friday night.” He flashes a cocky grin. “I just enrolled today.”
“You told me you were an adult!”
His dark, brooding eyes flip acrobats, as if my confusion comes as a shock to the system. “That’s because I am.”
I lean across the desk and look up at him with apathy. “You may be eighteen—“
“Nineteen,” he corrects me sternly.
“But you’re still a child. A student.”
A smirk hitches across his beautiful, unobtainable, off-limits face. “Age ain’t nothing but a number.”
“So is a prison sentence.”
“Don’t be dramatic,” he sneers.
I climb out of the chair and poke him in the chest. “This is my life. My career.” A life and career I’m holding onto by a thread, but they’re mine regardless.
“I can see it in your eyes.” He leans across the desk until we’re face to face, an inch apart or less. “You’re damaged, and I’m okay with being your distraction.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” I say with gravel in my voice, because that’s not exactly true. He knows too much about me. He’s seen me at my most vulnerable, more than anyone else has ever seen me. He races to the door and scans the hallway to make sure nobody sees him, then pulls the door shut. “What are you doing?” I scold him and dart to the door with the intention of ripping it open, but he cuts me off with his strong body.
He bites into his lip and presses forward until he’s hovering above me. “I know that you like my lips.”
I step back.
“I know that you love to be fucked, if for no other reason than to take a break from the world for a moment at a time.”
I swallow a lump in my throat.
“I know that when you were
10
I ’m parked in the comfortable chair behind my desk with my head resting against my palms that are propped up by my elbows. It seems most of my time lately is spent waiting, sometimes for something inevitable and other times for something uncertain, but I’m always waiting.
I don’t dare take my eyes off the clock positioned on the back wall of the classroom, above a shelving unit housing spare textbooks. I watch each tick of the clock, ticking from one second into the excruciating next.
The thirty-something students in front of me all stare at the textbooks folded open on their desks. Some of them are reading, while others are daydreaming, but most of them are playing on their phones.
But Kemper, the man—boy—who seduced me three nights ago, is too busy watching me to indulge in any heavy reading. He’s studying me, and it’s a struggle to not give him any ammunition, so I attempt to keep a straight face.
Another minute passes, but there’s still far too many to go. I grow uncomfortable knowing he’s watching me, and knowing that anyone could see him watching me if they were interested enough to care.
My eyes grow heavy and I feel myself drifting away. There’s nothing more calming, and tiring, than watching the clock tick by.
The bell rings, ripping me out of a trance like state. I push myself back against the chair and sit up straight, forcing a smile as students begin to rush out the door.
“See you at the game, Mrs. H.” Scotty waves as he exits the classroom, leaving only two people remaining in this increasingly claustrophobic tiny box.
Kemper and I.
He slings his backpack over his shoulder as he approaches. For a brief moment, I contemplate running so I don’t have to have this conversation, whatever it’s going to be.
He on the other hand, looks thrilled for the inevitable, if for no other reason than he doesn’t realize it’s going to be a knock-down, drag-out fight. He smiles widely as he reaches my desk.
“You told me you weren’t a student here,” I scowl and look over to the open door for a split second, ensuring we won’t be interrupted. I think about closing the door, but there are already too many whispers about me when it comes to my students.
“To be fair, I wasn’t a student Friday night.” He flashes a cocky grin. “I just enrolled today.”
“You told me you were an adult!”
His dark, brooding eyes flip acrobats, as if my confusion comes as a shock to the system. “That’s because I am.”
I lean across the desk and look up at him with apathy. “You may be eighteen—“
“Nineteen,” he corrects me sternly.
“But you’re still a child. A student.”
A smirk hitches across his beautiful, unobtainable, off-limits face. “Age ain’t nothing but a number.”
“So is a prison sentence.”
“Don’t be dramatic,” he sneers.
I climb out of the chair and poke him in the chest. “This is my life. My career.” A life and career I’m holding onto by a thread, but they’re mine regardless.
“I can see it in your eyes.” He leans across the desk until we’re face to face, an inch apart or less. “You’re damaged, and I’m okay with being your distraction.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” I say with gravel in my voice, because that’s not exactly true. He knows too much about me. He’s seen me at my most vulnerable, more than anyone else has ever seen me. He races to the door and scans the hallway to make sure nobody sees him, then pulls the door shut. “What are you doing?” I scold him and dart to the door with the intention of ripping it open, but he cuts me off with his strong body.
He bites into his lip and presses forward until he’s hovering above me. “I know that you like my lips.”
I step back.
“I know that you love to be fucked, if for no other reason than to take a break from the world for a moment at a time.”
I swallow a lump in my throat.
“I know that when you were
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