This Girl (Slammed #3)(63)

Having her in my arms fills the constant void that has been in my heart since the first night I kissed her, but with every passing moment, every kiss, and every stroke of her hands, an even greater desire builds within me. I need more of her than these stolen moments of passion. I need so much more.

“Will,” she breathes.

I mumble against her skin, unable to get out an audible response. I don’t really feel like talking at the moment. I run my other hand up the back of her shirt until it meets her bra and I pull her against me as I work my way back up her neck toward her mouth.

“Does this mean . . .” she breathes heavily. “Does it mean we don’t have to pretend . . . anymore? We can be . . . together? Since you’re not . . . since you’re not my teacher?”

My lips freeze against her neck with her breathless words. I want more than anything to cover her mouth with my own and make her stop talking about it. I just want to forget about it all for one night. Just for one night.

But I can’t.

My incredibly irresponsible moment of weakness just gave her the wrong idea. I’m still a teacher. Maybe not her teacher, but I’m still a teacher. And she’s still a student. And everything happening between us right now is still completely wrong, no matter how right I want it to be.

In the process of thinking about all of the potential complications of her question, I’ve somehow released her from my death grip and have taken a step away from her.

“Will?” she says, sliding off the dryer. She steps closer to me and the fear in her eyes makes my stomach drop. I did this to her.

Again.

I can feel the regret and agony creep up to my face, and it’s obvious she can see it, too.

“Will? Tell me. Do the rules still apply?” she says fearfully.

I don’t know what to say that can make it any less painful. It’s obvious I just made a huge mistake. “Lake,” I whisper, my voice full of shame. “I had a weak moment. I’m sorry.”

She steps forward and shoves her hands into my chest. “A weak moment? That’s what you call this? A weak moment?” she yells. I flinch at her words, knowing I just said the wrong thing. “What were you gonna do, Will? When were you gonna stop making out with me and kick me out of your house this time?”

She spins on her heel and storms out of the laundry room. Seeing her walk away causes me to panic at the thought of not only upsetting her, but losing her for good. “Lake, don’t,” I plead, following after her. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again, I swear.”

She turns to face me, tears already streaming down her cheeks. “You’re damn right it won’t! I finally accepted it, Will! After an entire month of torture, I was finally able to be around you again. Then you go and do this! I can’t do it anymore,” she says, throwing her arms up in defeat. “The way you consume my mind when we aren’t together? I don’t have time for it anymore. I’ve got more important things to think about now than your little weak moments.”

Her words slam me. She’s absolutely right. I’ve gone so long trying to get her to accept things and move on so she won’t be burdened by my life, but I can’t even resist her long enough not to cave in to my selfish desire for her. I don’t deserve her. I don’t deserve her forgiveness, let alone to be loved by her.

“Get me the measuring tape,” she says, standing with her hand on the door.

“Wh—what?”

“It’s on the damn floor! Get me the measuring tape!”

I walk back into the laundry room and retrieve the measuring tape, then take it back to her, placing it in her hand. She looks down at my hand clamped over hers. She wipes away falling tears with her other hand. She refuses to even look at me. The thought of her hating me for what just happened between us terrifies me. I love her so much and I want more than anything to be able to give it all up for her.

But I can’t. Not yet.

She has to know how hard this is for me, too. “Don’t make me the bad guy, Lake. Please.”

She pulls her hand from mine and looks into my eyes. “Well you’re certainly not the martyr, anymore.” She walks out, slamming the door behind her.

The words “wait for me” pass my lips just as the door closes, but she doesn’t hear me. “I want you to wait for me,” I say again. I know she can’t hear me, but the fact that I can say it out loud gives me the confidence I need to run after her and tell her to her face.

I love her. I know she loves me. And despite what Julia thinks is good for us, I want her to wait for me. We need to be together. We have to be together. If I don’t stop her from walking away right now, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.

I swing open the door, prepared to run after her, but I pause when I see her. She’s standing in her entryway, wiping away the tears that I’m responsible for. I watch as she takes a few deep breaths, trying to pull herself together before walking into her house. Seeing her effort to move past what just happened so that she can help her mother inside her own home brings it all back into perspective.

I’m the last thing she needs in her life right now. I have too much responsibility, and with how things are going for her right now, the last thing she needs is to put her life on hold for me. Everything I say or do just brings her more grief and heartache and I can’t ask her to hold on to that while she waits for me. She doesn’t need to focus on me. Julia’s right. She needs to focus on her family.