The Teacher (5 page)

I faced
Chance
, needing to do some damage control of my own
. "I just want to-"

"This was a mistake wasn't it?"

He wasn’t waiting for any apologies and the harsh tone of his voice scared me into complete silence.
He was furious.

"Answer me, Cassandra
!"

"I'm
sorry about Alicia," I said in a small voice
. "She just remembers how
it
was when you left."

"And you just let her march over and embarrass me in front of a cafe full of people?
In front of a student?"
He let out a sigh of frustration. “I don’t have time to play these children’s games, Cassandra.”

"I didn't know what she was going to do," I lied.
Badly.

"It's really not even about her, Cassandra. She's your best friend—o
f course she's
protective," he said tersely. "
I saw the look on your face when you walked over. You thought I was cheating."

I shook my head. "No, I-"

"And now you're lyin
g to me." He let out a sound of pure disgust
. "I must have been stupid
to think that we could start over
.
That you could ever really forgive me."

I grabbed
his hand,
not even caring that we were in
public and anyone could see. "
I'm trying
, Chance
. I'm really trying."

He snatched his hand a
way immediately. "
You obviously want to be left alone. You've got it."

****

I was fifteen
minutes
early for British
Lit. I didn’t get
any sleep the night before, especially when I thought about everything
going on between me and Chance. He all but saying he loved me; t
hat pretending I was just a student was torture. And then there was coffee and drama wi
th Alicia;
shame that I couldn't just write off Chance for what he'd done, the terror that he'd played me, and then the sadness wh
en I realized that he really was
trying.
‘
Was
’
being the key word since he hadn't answered any of my calls or texts and then canceled his office hours before British Lit.

There was a bitter part of me that
wondered
why I was the one begging and pleading for him to talk to me when I had every right to be leery. It wasn't like I was gun
shy without cause
. But there was another part that was guilty because if I wasn't ready to give it another shot, he gave me an out. If I would always think the worst of him, I had to let him go.

But I couldn't.

He walked into class a minute before it was due to begin. He wore a faded black tee and a wrinkled blazer and jeans with a shadow of stubble but he still somehow looked like pure sex. He took off his shades and I saw his caramel eyes were as tired and bloodshot as mine and I took a measure of comfort at that he didn't sleep last night either.

He put down his stack of books, his weary gaze scanning the room. He settled on me and I smiled but there was no forgiveness
—he just
glared at me before turning to the white board. He wrote out 'First Impressions' in big angry letters and underlined it
before he wheeled back to face the class
.

"Austen was originally going to title
Pride and Prejudice
‘
First Impressions
’
," Chance said gruffly, tossing the dry erase marker on his desk with a thud. "Who can tell me what role first impressions play in
Pride and Prejudice
?"

A handful of arms shot in the air like vines and I grabbed my pen and jotted the date at the top of the paper. I guess he was phoning this class in because that question was so softball it was ridiculous.

"What do you think, Miss Woods?"

I glanced up in surprise, expecting him to keep up
the
whole ignoring my existence thing. "Excuse me?"

"How were first impressions relevant?" h
e said, crossing his arms.

I tapped my pen on my desk, my cheeks warm from all of my classmates staring at me. "Um, it was relevant because first impressions played a huge role in Elizabeth and Darcy's interactions." I swallowed.
"And in their courtship."
Good.
A lackluster response for a lackluster question.

But he wasn't done.
"How so?"

"Well because her first impression of him was that he was an
arrogant
,
self-entitled
prick and he thought she was criminally dull. With time, when they released their animosity and actua
lly got to know each other they,
found their first impressions couldn't be farther from the truth."

His eyes flitted around the room. "Who wants to expand on Miss Wood's elementary analysis?"

"Elementary?" I repeate
d incredulously.

"That's right," he said smugly. "Last I checked this was an upper level course which calls for
more than a surface level analysis
."

"Well maybe if you asked an upper level question, I'd give an upper level answer."

All the eyes shot back and forth between us, waiting for the next punch. The room was so quiet, so still that I thought I might have gone deaf until Chance nodded at a student in the front row. Her answer didn't sound all that different from mine, but he acted like it was the best thing since sliced bread.

I kept my head down for the rest of the class, me ignoring him
for once
, refusing to look at hi
s face. H
e didn't call on me again.

I
let out a sigh of relief when I heard the rustle that meant it was 11:20 and I could leave before I let him see that he got to me. I'd reined in the emotion bubbling beneath the surface, hoping that my face was as cold and unreadable as his was as he embarrassed me in fro
nt of everyone. But I couldn't help but hope
that he'd look up and know that this was torture for me.

I stole a look at him, seated behind the desk, looking intently at the screen of his laptop. I took the smallest breath when I was front and center but the herd pulled me back in motion. The heartbeat was more than enough time for me to
realize he didn't even look up and
didn't call me to the side to apologize.

****

I burrowed into the cushion, spoon in hand. I was hoping something light with Reese Witherspoon would take my mind off the worst day ever, but I was starting
to believe
Sweet Home
Al
abama was a big mistake.

Her chemistry with her ex felt like
dejavu
, all tortured and heart wrenchingly passionate. Even though I’d seen it a million times before, I found myself screaming at the screen as she stormed away from him, off to pout instead of surrendering to a fact that was as clear as the button nose on her face.

“Just kiss him already,” I said in between bites of Chocolate Therapy. And she would--Reese would get her happily ever after. Mine got bulldozed three years ago and
when there was a spark of hope,
I snuffed
it
out.

I snatc
hed up a throw pillow and groan
ed into the cushion. There was so mu
ch
still simmering beneath the surface, but I felt like I was swimming against the tide, struggling to find something to hold on to, something to believe in,
then
drowning underneath the weight of what he’d done. Maybe he was right. Maybe we were just kidding ourselves, foolishly thinking we could move past something so heavy.

I clutched the pillow to my chest, watching the screen ruefully. Who was I kidding? Chance was the love of my life and I could never let him go and I didn’t want to.

Two solid knocks sounded at the door, cutting through my pity party. I
paused
the flick and put aside my pillow. It could only be one of two people--Mom or Alicia, armed with more reasons why Chance and I were a bad idea.

I hadn’t even noticed it was dark out but I could see the silver of the moon filtering in through the blinds. Since Mom turned into a pumpkin after dark, it had to be Alicia.

I unlatched the chain and grabbed the knob. “If you’re here to-”

“Apologize.” The voice was way too deep to be my best friend’s. I tightened my grip on the door knob, not sure if I wanted to
pull it
open
—
and wondering why I was pretending I wasn’t going to open it.

“I know you’re there, Cassandra.” His deep voice melted through the steel door, cocooning me in warmth. “Can we talk?”

I pulled the door open, standing solidly in his way. “That depends. Are you going to grill me about my
‘ele
mentary observati
ons’? T
hat was pretty awesome.”

He held up a small paper bag. “I came with a peace offering.”

I crinkled my nose.
“Booze?”

He opened the bag and pulled out a pint with the
Coldstone
logo on the front
. “I got your favorite. Peanut Butter Cup P
erfection with dark chocolate instead of milk, with extra peanut butter.”

I took it gingerly, stepping aside to let him in. “This will go well with Ben and Jerry’s.”

He clicked the door shut and regarded me slowly
without saying a word.

I tugged at my ill fitting tee. "I know I look like c
rap." I just figured my outside
should match my insides.

He glanced past me and took a few cautious steps
, scanning my apartment
. "You couldn't look like crap if you tried." He fingered one of the few droopy leaves left on a
ficus
I'd neglected then maneuvered around a leaning tower of dirty clothes. "Your apartment however..."

"It's not that bad," I said defensively.

"Babe,
you're a stack of boxes away from
Hoarders
."

My heart clenched into a fist at the sound of him calling me babe. Neither of us had been big on pet names but every now and then, in between the sheets, in those quiet moments when we were worried or concerned, 'babe' or 'baby' would make an appearance. It had been months since anyone had called me anything remotely romantic and even longer since it actually made me feel special.

"It's just a bit of clutter," I said, swallowing the emotion throbbing all over me. "If you came over here for some sort of intervention-"

"I didn't come over for an intervention. Or to argue," he added. "I came over here because I wanted to say how sorry I am."

"Well it certainly wasn't very adult
of you," I said pointedly, his angry spiel from the coffee shop rushing back. "Especially not when I was bending over backward to talk to you and explain."

"I know," he said quietly. "I wasn't ready to talk. Not when I had so much going on in my head." He moved toward the couch like he was going to disassemble my fort of pillows and candy wrappers but thought better of it. He rolled back his shoulders, his golden eyes boring into me. "I was furious about the coffee shop. I thought I was just mad at you, hurt that you believed I could cheat after I told you how hard it was to be around you and not kiss you." He paused. "And not love you."

The last time that word was said out loud, panic made me want to run as far from him as hu
manely possible. But now,
screeching desire coursed through me and I there was nowhere else I'd rather be.

"If I was a better man, a stronger man, I'd keep my distance," he continued, his voice filling the room. "With time, we'd both heal. We'd move on, find a love that was easy. Do it right this time."

"Right?"
I repeated, taking a step toward him. "I did what I thought was the right thing. I hated your guts. I tried to move on. I dated. I....fucked." He raised an eyebrow at the word. "But I wouldn't let any of them in. I thought it was b
ecause you
ripped my heart right out of my chest." I gripped the hem of my tee, fingering a hole. "But as soon as I saw you, I knew I never got over you. Right or wrong, you still had my heart."

"Cassa
ndra..."
The sound of my name on his tongue gave me chills. "I'l
l do anything to make this better
." He stopped a few inches from me, heat and need radiating. "Just don't ask me to do the right thing. Don't tell me to leave."