Not So Nice Guy(27)
“I’ll never learn! This is ridiculous! They can’t just move me three rooms down!”
She even typed up a multipage essay outlining why it was important for her to get the use of her old classroom. She printed it out and had me read it aloud over dinner. I made it halfway through then proceeded to rip it up over the trashcan and tell her she was crazy.
We didn’t talk for two days.
Eventually, she realized she was being unreasonable.
Another time, I tried to convince her we should move West Wing Wednesdays to Tuesdays because I wanted to check out this new trivia night at a bar down the street.
“But it’s an alliteration, Ian. West Wing Wednesday—get it? Without the Wednesday, it’s anarchy. I won’t abide lawlessness.”
Some people might think I’ve wasted good years being “just friends” with Sam when I actually wanted something more, but really, it’s provided me vital information I can use to my advantage. I know her favorite things (citrus-flavored candy, especially if it’s sour) and I know what she hates (strangers who breeze by without a thank you when you hold the door open for them). I know what kind of guy she needs (me) and what kind of guy is all wrong for her (Logan).
In other circumstances, I would have taken my time during this transition. Phone sex would have happened weeks into dating, after I’d planned and discussed it with Sam ad nauseum. I’d have provided her with diagrams and flow charts. But, Sam ruined that the day she told the school we weren’t dating. Sharks prowl in the water now, and I’ll be damned if I step aside and let Logan woo her with coffee and cheap teddy bears.
It’s time to break out the big guns: Signor Armani.
9
S A M
I can’t stop looking at Ian. We aren’t even talking. He’s across the cafeteria, stationed at the punch bowl, and I’m on the other side of the room, wishing for a pair of binoculars so I can inspect every delicious inch of him.
“Ms. Abrams, you look radiant tonight.” It’s my student Nicholas. He’s trying to get my attention. “You know, like Wilbur in Charlotte’s Web—not that I’m saying you look like a pig, it’s just…never mind. Hey, would it be too forward of me to ask for your company during the next dance?”
I shove him a few inches to the right so I can still see Ian over his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, Nicholas. That’s great.”
He shrieks. “Are you serious?!”
Oh no. I jerk my gaze toward him and see his eyes welling with tears. What have I done?
“Nicholas, god no. Sorry, I was distracted. Obviously I can’t dance with you. I’m a teacher. Principal Pruitt wouldn’t allow it.”
He fists his hands with determination and spins on his heels. I think I’m done with him for the remainder of the evening but then I catch sight of him over by Principal Pruitt. They both turn in my direction. Nicholas clasps his hands together in front of his chest in prayer. Principal Pruitt laughs and pats him on the shoulder then looks my way so he can throw me a thumbs-up. Oh goody, permission—just what I wanted.
Nicholas finds me at the end of the next song. I now notice he’s wearing a bowtie and a fancy pair of glasses he must keep tucked away for special occasions. They’re horn-rimmed. He’s also wearing a boutonnière on the lapel of his tuxedo. Most other students are just wearing jeans. I like the effort and tell him so as we go out onto the dance floor.
“You look so…smart tonight, Nicholas.”
“You really think so?”
“Of course.”
“Because I was thinking…I know you’re ten years older than me, but maybe after—”
“No.”
“I graduate, we could—”
“Nicholas.”
“Date.”
I sigh heavily. “Nicholas, this is just a dance. I’m your teacher, and while my job is trying at times, you know what’s worse than dealing with checked-out seniors who don’t care about English? Prison. Prison is worse.”
There’s no deterring him. “That’s fine. I hear you loud and clear. We’ll revisit the topic when I’m legal.”
I sigh and give in to the moment. I’m not hurting anyone, and Nicholas is so damn happy to be out on the dance floor with me. So what if he weighs 95 pounds and is seventeen years old? He likes me! He asked me to dance, which is more than I can say for Ian—who, by the way, is still over there chatting with a few other chaperones, not bothering to look my way.
We haven’t spoken all night.
We drove separately.
Principal Pruitt assigned me to the left side of the cafeteria when I arrived earlier. Ian was already stationed on the opposite side. I stashed my cell phone and purse in my classroom and didn’t think to bring walkie-talkies, so there’s been no communication thus far. I’m not sure he even realizes I’m here. I know this because I’ve had my eyes on him for 99% of the evening. I can’t help it. Tonight, he looks magnificent in a black suit. He’s taken the time to style his chocolate-brown hair in some kind of debonair sexy way I’ve never seen him do before. Usually, the short, slightly wavy strands are free to do what they will. It’s cute like that, bedhead chic, the stuff wet dreams are made of. Tonight, he’s decided he hasn’t taunted us enough already. He wants to make it worse with the suit and the hair and the smoldering gaze. Oh yes, he’s stepped it up all right. No doubt his blue eyes are gleaming like sapphires beneath his dark brows. His sharp cheekbones could probably take out an eye.