Read Online Can't Get Enough by Harper Bliss - Free Book Online Page B

way to a Brit’s heart?” I regret it the instant I say it. It’s a silly lapse of the tongue. And I’ve only had two sips.
    She leans backwards and treats me to a lazy smile. “As a teacher, I’d be more than happy with just your brain.”
    “No,” I stammer, “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just an expression.” I fold my right leg under my thigh and sit back to get a better look at her.
    “Sure.” She brings her glass to her mouth without taking her eyes off me. “Was that your girlfriend I saw you with?”
    “Ellen?” I shake my head. “We’re just friends.”
    “I saw you stumble out of the labyrinth together. You looked quite flushed.” She pauses. “As if you had a really good time in there.”
    “We were just window shopping.” I draw my lips into a defiant smirk. “Do you ever go in?”
    She doesn’t reply immediately, just looks at me and bats her eyelashes a few times. “I’m not that much of a watcher.”
    She’s wearing faded jeans and a simple grey sweater, looking more lesbian than I do today. Her scarf has some blue tones in it, bringing out her eyes. Her stare melts my insides and I feel an inappropriate shortness of breath coming on. Part of me wants to escape from this uncomfortable situation, but I’m chained to my seat. She must know. There must be a reason why I’m here.
    “Do you think you can write a story about it?” She breaks the silence I left between us. “In German, of course.”
    “About Berghain?”
    “The dark room.” She shuffles her body forward, making rustling noises in the couch. “What you saw and how it made you feel. You should be able to do that with what you’ve learnt so far.”
    “What if I tell you now?” The wine is making me overzealous. “You can correct me as I go along.”
    “I’d feel so naked without my red marker.” She moves closer until our knees touch. “But go on then.”
    In broken German I tell her about the maze, about how the deeper we penetrated, the more audacious the actions we witnessed became. She doesn’t interrupt nor correct me, despite my many blatant assaults on her language.
    “And all the while,” I conclude my story, “I wished it was you in there with me.”
    It’s Giselle’s turn to swallow hard now. Or maybe I’m just projecting as my own throat goes dry. I look away, suddenly gripped by a desire to study the bottom of my wine glass. In agonising silence I wait for her response. It comes in the form of her hand on the back of my neck and her lips grazing my ear.
    “Top marks for honesty.”
    My entire body starts throbbing, blood speeding through my veins. I take a deep calming breath that fails miserably and face her. Her eyes are so close, the clear blue of them slicing through me. Her lips are even closer as they touch mine for a split second I’ll never forget. She pulls back to take the glass from my hand and puts it on the table next to the sofa. Both our hands are free now but I don’t know what to do with mine. I don’t know if I’m allowed to touch my teacher the way I want to—yet. She cups my face in her hands and stares into my eyes.
    “How long have you known?” I ask.
    She kisses me again, her lips brushing against mine before they trace a path of featherlight pecks to my ear. “How long have you?”
    “Known what?” With great difficulty I withdraw from her embrace to scan her face.
    “That this teacher has been improperly lusting after her Friday afternoon pupil for months.”
    “Are you kidding me?” I’m torn between laughing hysterically and crying over all the missed opportunities. I’m also baffled by my own glaring cluelessness.
    “I’ve been the worst teacher ever. Disgracing myself and my profession by letting you off the hook every time you didn’t put in any work. Not scolding you for refusing to study. That’s not how it normally works.”
    “It’s been a while since I was in school.”
    “I noticed.”
    “I’ll get straight A’s from now on,