Instead of You(32)

“Hayes, stop it. I’m being serious.”

“So, seriously, I’m your boyfriend?” I’d never needed the title like I did with McKenzie. I was unused to feeling vulnerable with girls. I was never in a situation where the girl had the upper hand, never put myself in that position. But with McKenzie, I’d give her just about anything, including my ego, if she could provide just a little bit of reassurance.

She must have sensed my insecurity. She walked back over to the couch, straddled my lap, wrapped her arms around my shoulders, and pressed her face into my neck. I heard her inhale then felt her body melt into mine. I held her close, trying to enjoy the moment before it was over, before I had to let her go again for another day of pretending I wasn’t acutely tuned in to her every move. When she pulled away her hands moved to cradle my face.

“Are you worried about whatever’s going on between us?”

I shrugged. “I’m not worried, per se. It just didn’t sound horrible when you called me your boyfriend.”

“And you think boyfriend is an appropriate title?” The side of her mouth quirked up.

“What would you recommend?” I smoothed my hand down her back, then let it continue over the curve of her ass.

“Hmmm,” she played, tapping a finger against her lips. “How about ‘Hot Guy I Let Kiss Me’?”

I gave her ass a sharp slap.

“Ow,” she said, laughing, but forcing an insulted expression across her face. Her face softened and she leaned forward, kissing me gently, then whispering, “I have to go, boyfriend.”

“See you in class.”

“Yes, Mr. Wallace,” she said, just before she winked at me.

She climbed off me, smiled, and walked out the door.



Thirty minutes later, after I’d reluctantly showered and washed away the scent of Kenzie’s shampoo or perfume that had bonded itself to my skin overnight, I quietly opened my mother’s bedroom door. I hadn’t heard anything from her since the night before, and that was unusual.

She was still in bed and I could tell by the rhythmic way her chest was moving up and down she was still asleep. I let out a relieved sigh, thankful she’d gotten a full night’s rest for the first time in weeks.

I debated with myself about whether or not to wake her, to see if she needed anything before I left, but eventually decided to let her sleep. I could call her on my lunch break.

All week I’d been nervous at the high school, worried that somehow everything would come crumbling down around McKenzie and me. I was afraid to even be in the same room with her, let alone stop and talk to her in the hallway. I didn’t trust myself to not reach out and touch her, or look at her in such a way that everyone around us would see how I really felt. But as I drove to the school that morning, I almost felt invincible.

After holding McKenzie all night, everything else seemed like cake. Bring on the world; I was ready.

I spent my days at the high school observing Mr. White and working on the final project I would turn in to my advisors to obtain my master’s degree. I also worked on curriculum and lesson planning. I’d been in the same high school for the first two terms of the year, working closely with a teacher who taught me a lot and gave me a lot of support, and I’d had time to create lesson plans that fit in to his plans for the class. But once I took over Mr. White’s class, I had to start over again from scratch, and fast.

I was there to teach, but I was also there to learn, so I observed Mr. White whenever I could, and hoped, as the term progressed, I could reach out to some other teachers in the building to ask if I could observe their classes as well.

That day, Mr. White was exceptionally distracted. He seemed scatterbrained and ill prepared for the day. I had learned early on it wasn’t unusual for teachers to be running around at the last minute to prepare for class—they weren’t allotted nearly enough time to do the jobs expected of them. So, when he asked me midway through third period to make copies of the test for the next class, I gladly agreed. I owed a lot to Mr. White, and I definitely wasn’t above making copies.

I walked down the quiet hallway of the high school I thought I’d left far behind me. I hadn’t had a terrible high school experience, but once I left town I realized there was so much more outside of my world I had yet to experience. That was part of the reason I liked studying history—in the grand scale of things, very little history had happened here. The real stories were all set somewhere far away, somewhere I’d never been, and I grabbed on to those stories hoping one day I’d care about something deeply enough to fight for it as so many had in the past. There’d always been that little voice in the back of my mind reminding me that Kenzie was that one thing, the one thing I’d go to war for, the only thing I’d fight to the death for.

I turned down another empty hallway; only the sound of my footsteps and the soft murmuring of voices behind doors could be heard. Until McKenzie turned down the same hallway.

She was at the far end, walking toward me. She was looking down, watching her feet, unaware of me for a moment, until her head tilted up and her eyes met mine. Her hair was down, bouncing gently with each step as she reached up and tucked some behind an ear. The shy smile that bloomed on her face was both adorable and sexy.

I was suddenly jealous of every lucky bastard who got to see this image every day; all the eighteen-year-old punks who got to look at her and take their fill. She was stunning and she had no idea.