AllFreeNovel
Share Us
My hand reaches out for his arm but I pull it back. I want to tell him not to be silly, that I’d be happy to help. But I also have to remind myself that he’s a coach. A member of staff.
An older man too.
Old enough to be my father.
I think.
Before I can stammer out the words, he’s already asking another question.
“Unless you do have other plans? You don’t have a date or anything… Boyfriend?” he asks bluntly, the sound of the word making his brow knit and his eyes move past me.
I can’t be sure, but I think he actually makes a fist for a second.
“Uh, no,” I almost laugh. “No boyfriend here,” I remark, looking around and even behind me.
As if one might magically scurry by like a mouse from the baseboards.
Once he can see I mean it, that there’s no boyfriend and I really have nothing else going on tonight, he seems to relax for the first time since he came to my door.
His huge shoulders look less rigid and he smiles. A smile that makes my chest ache inside it’s so perfect. His eyes shining too as they hold mine with that satisfied look again.
Satisfied with an edge.
Like I’ve passed a test or something.
“How about you?” I hear myself blurting out, wincing once I see his expression.
“I mean, do you have anyone? A wife I mean… not a boyfriend – not that there’s anything wrong if you do,” I blurt out louder.
Making it worse, but it’s okay.
He’s laughing now. Chuckling softly and shaking his head, enjoying my embarrassment for some reason.
“No, no boyfriend here either. Or wife. Or girlfriend.”
His eyes hone in on me at that last word, the sound of it sending another shiver right through me.
I can’t be imagining this. Nobody is this nice, this cute when they first meet someone, especially a teacher. Even if it is only because they want help with their computer.
Nah, something’s up with Mr. Heart and I hope we can get to the bottom of it otherwise I won’t just have trouble sleeping tonight.
If I don’t know what his real motives are, I might never sleep again.
“Is your computer in your office?” I ask, steering things back to business as I pull my door closed.
“In my apartment,” he says, a matter of fact, waiting for me to start walking first.
“Your apartment,” I parrot, feeling a mix of excitement and caution. This isn’t breaking any rules though.
Not yet.
“Sure, I live on campus too,” he adds, which makes me feel relieved but also disappointed.
It’s not unusual for some staff to live on campus, I know Professor Bernstein does. It’s like a small town really.
Something in me just wants to get away from all this though. All the college campus stuff that’s hung around my neck for all these years.
“Oh,” I comment absently, smiling as he holds the doors open for me, looking for his car that isn’t there.
“I walked over,” he explains. Makes sense.
The guy looks like he could run the distance and not even break a sweat.
“You close by then?” I ask, wondering just how I’ve only ever seen him once if he lives on campus.
“Other side, right across the hall from your Professor Bernstein, actually,” he adds with another of those winning smiles.
I feel butterflies in my stomach, having to take twice as many steps to keep up with him and all the while trying not to stare up at him like some starstruck schoolgirl.
Even though, I guess technically that’s what I am right now and I don’t mind one bit.
It’s late afternoon, and I can’t remember seeing the campus so deserted.
“I’ve dropped off papers at Professor Bernstein’s,” I confess, “plenty of times, and yet we’ve never met,” I tell him, blushing as I remember that we have met once before.
He doesn’t mention it, but maybe he does remember.
Maybe it’s filed away for future reference, I hope.
I feel like reaching out to him again like it would be the most natural thing in the world if he hooked his arm in mine or if we even held hands.
Walking down some brick stairs, our hands accidentally brush and I feel a jolt, making me gasp.
We keep walking, but there’s no denying it. A teensy touch from his fingers makes me a throbbing wet mess.
I’d die happy if I could know what it felt like to have those huge thick fingers working the same magic someplace else.
To calm my nerves, I try and pick his brain about what could be the problem with his computer.
“Mr. Heart? What were you trying to do when things stopped working?” I ask. “With the computer, I mean,” I add nervously.
He makes a face. “Katelyn, can you call me Wesley? I mean… I’m not your teacher, you don’t have to call me ‘Mister’ anything,” he says firmly, almost annoyed.
