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The big red clock in the back of the room ticks over to dismissal time, and I jump down off the platform on which my desk sits and approach the class.
“I want you to write a five-hundred-word personal experience essay about a time you had good intentions but less than optimal follow-through.” The class gets restless, and I laugh. “Relax. They’re not for grades other than participation. On Thursday, I’ll read through them anonymously. Now, get out of here.”
They all jump up and pack their belongings, and I head straight to the front row—to Rachel. If the past couple of hours are any indication, she’s going to blow this popsicle stand as quickly as possible without looking back, and to be honest, I don’t blame her.
But that’s not how I want it to be between us. That’s not the kind of environment I want to foster for months on end. And it’s certainly not the kind of working relationship that’s sustainable.
The right thing to do is to talk it out. Come to a truce. Figure out a way to work together without so much mental anguish for either of us.
“Rachel,” I call, grabbing her attention as she packs her laptop into her bag. Her head jerks up, and her pretty sage eyes round. “Can I talk to you in my office for a couple minutes after this?”
She glances around the room hesitantly, students still milling about as they make their way down the stadium steps and out the door, and then, finally, nods.
“Okay.”
“Just talk,” I assure her, reaching out to squeeze her elbow. It’s a rookie mistake, touching her when I have this tight a tether on my control, but I suck in a gulp of air to keep it together and step away.
She glances down to the spot I’ve just touched as though I’ve branded her, and I back away another couple of steps. Distance. Distance is good.
“I’ll meet you in there,” I say, still backing away, and she agrees with a quiet, “Okay” again.
I can do this.
I can have a conversation with Rachel and keep things professional.
We can address the sexual-tension, constantly-challenging-each-other elephant in the room without it being awkward, or, you know, turning into a repeat where her tongue ends up in my mouth while my hand is up her skirt.
It’s those thoughts right there that aren’t helping you, dude.
Fuck. I mentally shake myself out of it and head to my office.
I can do this. We can do this.
Rachel
Hesitantly, I step into Ty’s office, and when I shut the door behind me, the quiet click makes my heart kick up at a nervous pace. I have no idea what’s about to happen, but I feel like I’ve just walked into the lion’s den.
Truthfully, it’s odd, but everything between us has been anything but straight-forward and simple.
“Uh…hi.” I swallow past my discomfort. “You wanted to talk to me?”
“Yeah. I did,” he says, getting up from his chair to round his desk and lean back into the front of it.
All I can do is stand there and wait, barely able to meet his eyes.
This whole day has been awkward as hell, and I have no idea what he’s going to do or say, but every part of my body feels like it’s trying to head back toward the door. My nerves. My organs. My arms and legs. Somehow, though, I force myself to stay rooted to my spot, still staying close enough to the door that if I need to make a quick exit, it won’t be a hard task.
“So…things are pretty weird between us.” He finally says something, and for some insane reason, a laugh bubbles up from my throat. Call it embarrassment or nerves, I don’t know, but it’s the only reaction my body is willing to give.
Ty furrows his brow, but he also smiles. “I take that as you agreeing?”
“Yeah.” I glance down at my heels and then back up into his searching gaze. “Things are definitely strange.”
“We…uh…maybe let things get a little out of control, huh?”
Instantly, I appreciate that he’s considering this problem a “we” problem.
“Yes.” My smile is tentative. “We have.”
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you,” he continues and uses his hands to stabilize himself on his desk. “I was hoping we could find some sort of truce. An agreement that would make our working relationship a hell of a lot easier than it is right now.”
The push and pull, the constant playing and challenging, well, it’s taken a nose dive ever since I found out what it felt like to kiss him.
Sitting through a root canal without being numbed would feel simpler than how it felt to sit in an empty room with him before his ENG 101 class. Hell, getting a Brazilian wax done by someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing would be easier than this.
