See Me After Class(43)

“I’m not getting emotional, I’m just a little shocked.”

“Well if that’s the case, I’ll be sure to never do it again.”

“Stop.” I playfully push at his shoulder. “Lighten up, you know you want to.”

“I was having a perfectly fine time grading mediocre papers.”

“Sounds riveting.” I smile at him and nudge him with my foot. “You know it wouldn’t hurt you to smile.”

“Give me a reason to smile and I will.”

“Is that a challenge?” I ask, liking this lighter side of him.

“It’s however you take it.”

“Fine, challenge accepted.” I rub my hands together and realize I have the perfect story. “I have a policy in my classroom that if a student’s phone rings in class, they have to give it to me to answer.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, yesterday, someone’s phone rang. I immediately stopped my lecture and found the culprit. Joe Wallace. I held my hand out and he gave me his phone reluctantly. I answered it, and found out his mother wanted to tell him she found the superhero underwear he loves so much in his size at Costco, and she got him two boxes of them.”

He doesn’t crack a smile, doesn’t even flinch.

“Oh, come on, that’s funny.”

“Barely comical.”

“You’re such a liar.” I nudge him with my foot again, only for him to grab my calf and move his hand up my leggings to my thigh. God, his hands are big . . . strong . . . enticing. “Back to this, huh?” I ask.

The corner of his lip tilts up and I nearly gasp.

“That, you smirk at? Not the superhero underwear?”

“I’m not easy.”

“You seem easy.”

He gives my leg a squeeze and pulls away, going back to his papers. “Well, I’m not. Now if that’s all—”

I don’t know what possesses me—maybe it’s from him not yelling at me today, or the tiniest of smirks to ever cross someone’s face—but I reach out and push a wayward strand of hair off his forehead.

His eyes lift up and focus on mine, head tilted, those blue-greens staring up at me as if I could possibly hold his happiness in my hands.

“Who do you get your eyes from? They’re gorgeous.”

Wetting his lips, he says, “My mom.”

“Does she have long eyelashes too?”

He nods.

“Were you close with her?”

“Not even a little.”

I smooth my fingers over his jaw and he leans into the touch.

“Was she the one you were talking about when you mentioned no one gave you the opportunity to trust anyone?”

“Yup.”

“What a nice gift for her to give to you,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. And it does just that, because the furrow in his brow recedes.

“She’s a thoughtful one.” His eyes search mine and then he turns back to his papers. “I should get these done.”

“Can you talk to me for a second?”

He leans back and rolls his eyes—without the normal disdain. “What, Miss Gibson?”

“Don’t sound annoyed or anything.” He’s about to open his mouth with a reply when I point at him and say, “Don’t say anything snarky or that will piss me off.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

I wait for a smirk, I know he wants to, but he holds strong and gives me all his attention instead. I’ll take it.

“So, if I’m getting this straight, you’re more than happy to speak to Blair about her paper, you’re not punishing her because of me, and we could possibly be friends.”

“Yes, if Blair comes to me during lunch, I’ll help her with her paper. I can be an asshole, but not at the expense of a student. I invite you to remember that. And acquaintances will be just fine.”

“Acquaintances? You think we’re mere acquaintances?”

He sighs. “What do you want from me, Greer? You want a relationship?”

“What? No.” I shake my head, my cheeks flaming. “I wasn’t even thinking about that. I just thought it’d be nice to . . . I don’t know, be nice to each other.”

“I can be cordial.”

“Heaven forbid anything more.” I take in his whiteboard and wonder what I want from him.

“This past week got the best of me.” He clears his throat. “Don’t expect that mercurial behavior anymore. Which means, I think it’s best we keep things cordial, but nothing more. I have no interest in the way you educate, nor do I have interest in your volleyball team or any other extracurricular activities.”

“Wow, okay, tell me how it really is.” I stand from his desk and start to walk away, when he stands as well, grabs my hand, and spins me back toward him. I catch my balance with my hand to his muscular chest, which I quickly remove.

“You want to know what I really think?”

“Yes, please. I want you to be real.”

“Real. Fine.” His eyes grow darker. “Those dresses you wear are my undoing. The skirts, well, they’re a bonus. I envision peeling them off you over my desk after class. Your eyes—they’re unlike any color I’ve ever seen, caramel-colored with a hint of green on the outer ring. Enticing, curious. They bother me but intrigue me at the same time, making it hard not to give you the privilege of being looked in the eyes. And your perfume . . . it’s dizzying, mystifying, causes me to lose my frame of mind and puts me in a headspace of lust. Demanding lust.”