See Me After Class(95)

Okay.

Usually he’s a lot more talkative than that.

“Coraline said she had fun,” Arlo chimes in. “She especially enjoyed meeting some of the players afterward.”

“Yeah, they both did,” Romeo says, nostrils flared.

Oh.

Ohhhh . . .

I’m going to have a talk with Stella.

“Well, I should get back to my class. Have a good day,” I say, not giving Arlo one last glance.

When I return to my classroom, I quickly unwrap the note and read it to myself.

Dear Miss Gibson,

I thought about you all weekend.

I thought about the dress you wore at homecoming.

I thought about the way your hair swept across your shoulders in a ponytail and how I desperately wanted to push it away.

I thought about how your legs looked in those heels, even more gorgeous than normal.

I thought about how I wished I could have taken your hand and shared a dance with you on the dance floor.

And then . . . I thought about our kiss.

And now, I’m thinking about how I can spoil you on our date, so that maybe . . . I can feel your lips against mine again.

Have a great day.

Arlo – Grandpa.

I snort and fold the note back up.

That man has done a complete one-eighty and it’s starting to scare me, because not only do I get butterflies in my stomach whenever I see him, get a text from him . . . or read a note, I’m starting to become infatuated.





“Hey,” Arlo says, knocking on my open classroom door.

A huge smile spreads across my face when I see him.

“Hey.”

“Love that smile.” He approaches me and hands me a note. “Coraline is coming for lunch, but I wanted to give this to you before she does. Also, she’s going to want you to join us. Don’t feel like you have to.”

“Would it be okay if I skip it?” I ask, wincing. “I have a lot of catching up to do.”

“That’s fine. I’ll let you get to it.”

He winks and starts to walk away, when I call out, “Date night tomorrow.”

He turns and walks backward. “Excited?”

“Thrilled.”

“Me too.” He smirks and then leaves.

Sighing, I open up the note and delight myself in his perfectly scrolled handwriting.

Dear Miss Gibson,

Tapping into my inner intimate self has been difficult. I decided to go to a marriage counselor session with Coraline—I can tell you more about that later. It’s not what you’re probably thinking. But I learned something yesterday at my session—not sure if I’ll go back, we’ll see—but what I did learn, I took it to heart.

There are people on this earth who don’t need the touch of another human to be happy. They’re pleased with minimal contact and living their own life. And then there are people who need that extra touch. Who crave it. Who—as the therapist says—love love. And if we find ourselves matching up with that person, we need to put in a valiant effort to meet their needs.

I’m not saying you need human touch to survive, but I do believe you’re someone who needs altruistic attention. Because you’re considerate and compassionate.

And I’m prepared to give it.

But it might take me some time to get used to giving that to you.

Why am I telling you this? Because our date is tomorrow, and if I forget to touch you from across the table, or you don’t feel like I’m giving you enough attention, please know, I’m trying.

Arlo





“I’m heading out,” I say, at Arlo’s door.

He turns in his chair, pen in hand, casual and sexy simultaneously. “Got a big date to get ready for?”

I smile. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

He stands, tosses his pen on the desk, and then, from his pocket, pulls out another note. “Here.”

I take the note from him. “And I thought you weren’t going to write me today.”

“Nah, just wanted to save this one for after school.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets, as if he didn’t, he’d be too tempted to touch me. “Am I still picking you up?”

“If you’re okay with that.”

“I prefer it.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you at seven.”

“See you at seven.”

I want to kiss him.

So badly.

Just a little peck.

Something to tide me over.

But this is not the place. Anyone could walk by and see.

So I muster my self-control and walk away, feeling his eyes on my retreating back the entire time.

When I reach my car, before I even turn it on, I unfold the note and read the simple sentence scrolled across the stark white paper.

I can’t wait to take you out tonight. I’m glad you didn’t change your mind.

I chuckle. As if I could change my mind at this point. The man has done everything in his power to get me hooked. Although, that sounds almost childish. The man is making more effort for me than anyone else I’ve known. He’s trying to learn how to drive his emotions differently.

I do believe you’re someone who needs altruistic attention. Because you’re considerate and compassionate.