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She licks her lips and looks over at me. “Yeah. Just a little shaken up.”
Is it wrong of me to reach over and take her hand? Yes, probably so. But I do it anyway. Not because I’m unreasonably attracted to her, but to simply offer comfort.
She looks down at our hands for a moment before lifting her eyes to me. “Can you not take me home right now?” she asks, her voice so low I barely make out the words. “I don’t think I can face my parents just yet.”
“Sure.”
I wait a beat, not wanting to let go of her hand, but needing to get her out of here before the coach and team leave the school.
Releasing her hand, I put the car in drive and leave the parking lot. At the stop sign, I debate with myself about where I can take us. In the end, I make a decision, and probably not a wise one.
Ten minutes later, in which the cab of my truck is filled with silence, I pull into my driveway. Luna looks around.
“Is this your house?” she asks.
“Yes.” I keep the truck running. “We don’t have to go inside. We can stay out here for as long as you need, then I can take you home.”
She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, looking out the windshield. After a moment, she says, “I’d like to go inside if that’s alright with you. Would you mind if I freshen up in your bathroom before you take me home?”
“Of course. Stay there.”
I get out of my truck and walk to her side. She’s already unbuckled when I open her door. My hands itch to help her down, but I keep them at my sides, ready to help if she has trouble. Her head moves from side to side, looking at everything she can, as we walk the sidewalk leading to my front door. I unlock the door and gesture with my hand for her to enter.
My house, a single-story brick, looks old on the outside but has been remodeled on the inside.
“I bought this place a few years ago and have been slowly remodeling. The inside is mostly done. I’m starting work on the outside soon,” I tell her, tossing my keys on the table beside the couch.
She looks around for several seconds, taking in everything she can see. I turn and look as well, seeing the living room through her eyes. She’s young and probably thinks my style is boring compared to the more hip styles young people like these days.
I have a brown leather, L-shaped couch with a big screen TV on the wall opposite. End tables sit on each end of the couch and a coffee table in front of it. In one corner sits a bookshelf filled with old mystery and crime books. The walls are painted a light gray and the shades hanging over the windows are beige. There’s nothing spectacular going on, but it’s comfortable.
“This is nice,” she comments.
I pull my eyes away from the living room and point them at her. She looks so small and fragile standing there with her hands clasped tightly together in front of her and her bottom lip once again caught between her teeth.
She has no idea how fucking badly I want to pull that lip free and bite it with my own teeth; how goddamn hard it is to keep my hands at my sides and not put them all over her body.
For as long as I’ve been a high school teacher, I’ve never been tempted by one of my students before. So what in the hell is it about this girl that makes me want to throw caution to the wind, not to mention risk my career, just to have a simple taste?
Before I realize what I’m doing, I’ve taken two steps toward her, my intentions far from what a teacher should do with their student. She’s staring at me, and for a moment I think I’ve frightened her with my advance. But a closer look shows it’s not fear she’s feeling.
Fuck no.
What has her body going rigid, her eyes widening, and her mouth dropping as her breathing becomes heavier isn’t fear. It’s unadulterated lust. It shines so damn bright in her eyes, I can practically feel the heat of it.
She wants me. And I’m guessing her need is nearly as strong as mine.
As much as I want to give both of us what we want, I can’t. She’s too fucking young and innocent. She may think she wants me, but she really doesn’t. She’s not old enough to know what she truly wants, which should be a nice young man who can give her hearts and flowers.
Not to mention, she just went through a horrible ordeal. Even if I did toss away all of my morals, the last thing she needs is me mauling her after an asshole just did the same.
Clenching my jaw, I spin on my heel away from her and toss over my shoulder as I head toward the kitchen, “Would you like something to drink? I think I have orange juice and some tea in the fridge. Or a bottle of water.”
I feel rather than see her following me. When she doesn’t answer, I stop at the fridge with the handle in my hand and turn to her. She’s just inside the doorway, her hands still tightly strangling each other. But, thank fuck, that bottom lip is no longer caught between her teeth.
She eyes the kitchen, a modern style with stainless steel appliances and light gray walls, before she sets her eyes on me. “Water, please.”
Opening the fridge, I grab out two bottles of water. What I really want is to pop open the fifth of Johnnie Walker I have in the cabinet above the fridge, but I need to keep my head when I’m around this girl. I’m so on edge, there’s no fucking telling what my mouth will say or what my hands will do if I’m not completely clear-headed.
