For the first time, those worry lines appeared on his brow again, and he adjusted his weight from foot to foot. But why in the world would he be nervous now? They’d already made out, already proposed plans for actual, full-on sex within the next several weeks.
“I haven’t done this before,” he began, and she couldn’t help but snort.
“I don’t think that’s true.” She patted his cheek. “Unless you really did pluck Bea from the cabbage patch. And based on your performance tonight, you’d have to be a prodigy of some kind. A sexual wunderkind.”
He took a moment to bask in the praise. Smugness looked good on him.
Then he sort of shook himself. “That’s not what I meant. When I said I haven’t done this before, I wasn’t talking about sex. I was talking about prom.”
Poor thing worried way too much. “You haven’t chaperoned before? That’s okay. It’s not for another month or so. I’ll fill you in before then.” A yawn caught her by surprise, one so big her jaw cracked. “But I should really get g—”
“No, Rose. Please let me finish.” His hands clasped her shoulders in a gentle hold. “What I’m trying to say is that I’ve never asked anyone to prom before.”
She blinked at him, too tired to make sense of it.
“But I’m asking you. Now. Will you go with me to prom as my date?”
Prom. In front of the entire school. Teachers and students and staff, all suddenly aware of her relationship with Martin. All suddenly able to speculate. Gossip.
Pity and mock her if everything fell apart.
She cared about him too much. She wouldn’t be able to hide her devastation if they broke up, and then all her armor wouldn’t help her fend off the scrutiny and judgment of others.
No. Never again.
His thumbs stroked her skin through her blouse. “We’ll still have to chaperone, of course, but we could talk. Dance. Spend the whole evening together without a single paper to grade or parent call to make.”
His blue eyes were so earnest, so sincere. So nervous. So beloved.
She had no clue what to think. What to say.
God, her head hurt. For a moment, in his arms, she’d completely forgotten.
He brushed a tender kiss on her temple. “Please, Rose.”
“I don’t know.” The words emerged in a tumble. “I just…don’t know. My headache is getting worse. Can we talk about this later?”
And then, like a coward, she got into her car and drove away before he could request a more definitive response from her. Because the only answer she could give right now was one he wouldn’t want to hear.
Fourteen
Martin satat his social studies department office desk and opened a new document on his laptop. Then stared at the white screen, unable to remember what he’d wanted to write.
At some point this morning, he was going to have to stop last night’s encounter with Rose from tumbling over and over in his mind, but he hadn’t found that off switch yet.
Another mug of heavily-sugared coffee didn’t help. Neither did a perfunctory check of his e-mails. Five minutes later, he closed the blank document with a disgruntled mumble and gave in to his need to obsess over, replay, and analyze everything that had happened.
In his past, he could claim exactly one previous girlfriend. One previous lover.
Sabrina. His ex-wife.
So on the one hand, his ability to arouse Rose almost to orgasm in an empty school parking lot—up against the side of her car, for Christ’s sake—seemed somewhat miraculous. A gift he hadn’t even dared request, given the decidedly temperate nature of his union with Sabrina.
He’d expected awkwardness. Fumbling. Possibly apologies on his part.
Instead, Rose had melted like marshmallow fluff under his hands and mouth. And in return, she’d kept him aflame the entire night with the memory of her nails in his back, the heat between her thighs.
He could only count that as a win.
