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I’m falling for Cal, hard. Every moment that we’ve spent together over the last week and a half, every text, every surprise visit, every thought and memory has me smiling despite myself. I never imagined feeling this way, so completely happy and fulfilled. He’s more than any fictional book boyfriend I could have conjured up from my imagination.
So how can I still be hanging on to my feelings for Ezra?
At first, I told myself that it will just take time to break my heart’s habit of beating overtime every time Ezra walks by or makes eye contact in class. But somehow, it’s only gotten worse.
The other day, when he took me up on the roof, I felt soconnectedto him. There were multiple moments that I could have almost believed he was feeling something, too. I berated myself, telling myself how stupid I was for reading into his kindness that way. He was just being kind, getting to know his best friend’s temporary girlfriend.
But then, for a moment, I swear it felt like he was going to kiss me. And I was dangerously close to letting him. I turned my head at the last moment, but it was so hard you would have thought I was a starving person turning away from a meal.
Since then, every glance across the classroom feels illicit. I find myself caught in his gaze, and I don’t think I’m imagining that he’s been watching me more closely. And either I’m deluded, or he’s finding more opportunities to walk by and look at my work.
“Miss Heaton, would you mind?”
My head snaps up, looking up at Ezra, who is standing on the podium at the center of the room. Today’s class is more of a lecture for his figure’s class, and he’s been discussing the positioning of light and shadows.
“I—I’m sorry?” Blushing fiercely, I look around with an awkward smile. So not only does he know that I wasn’t paying attention, but the whole class does as well.
He gestures for me to come over to him, so I stand and slowly walk towards him. I mouth, “I’m sorry,” as I approach. Chuckling under his breath, he reaches for my hand to help me up onto the podium. I’m suddenly aware of all the eyes on me as I step up, looking at him with a worried expression.
“Mr. Cruz was asking for a visual example of what I meant by the dynamics of shadow and how to capture them. I feel like you have the best understanding of this already, so I’m going to use you as my model to demonstrate.”
“Oh, uh, I don’t know about this,” I whisper, not sure I want to be on display for the whole class. I rather like blending into the background, and I certainly don’t want to be the center of attention, shining a light at all of my flaws for everyone—mostly him—to see.
“It’s okay, it’ll just be a moment,” he says before he drops his voice to a whisper that only I can hear. “You look beautiful today, Beth.”
“Th-thanks. I have a, um, date. With Cal,” I say quietly. The warring of emotions going on in my head makes my words come out slow and unsure.
He smiles and addresses the class as I stand awkwardly beside him. There are just under two dozen people sitting in a semi-circle around the podium. Their attention is on him, soaking in his expertise about the positioning of light and shadows and how to use them to accentuate your subject. I fall into an almost hypnotized state as he speaks to the class, walking around me and moving my arms to demonstrate the angles of the shadows.
Turning to me, he continues talking to the crowd, pointing out the different factors to consider. Placing his hands on my shoulders, he positions me to the right, tilts my chin up towards the hanging lamp he’s using for the demonstration. As he walks around me, positioning my body like a doll, his hands are soft and warm, skimming against my skin in barely there touches that make every nerve come to life.
My skin feels hot, gooseflesh breaking out over me as he stands behind me, directing the class to notice the shadows cast by the curves of my body. Normally this would mortify me, but the words he uses and the direction he gives are somehow both professionally mechanical, but also flattering. I actually overhear one of the students mutter the wordbeautiful.
“He’ll love this dress,” he whispers on the back of my neck, raising my arms above my head in such a way that I have a flash of imagining him pulling it over my head.
Ezra continues to speak to the class, but in my haze, they’ve disappeared. He uses terms like core and cast shadows and ideas on how they might use them to enhance a drawing or painting, but I don’t process a word. We move in slow motion, his hands hot on my body as he moves me around into different positions. There’s nothing illicit, or even unprofessional about the way he’s touching me. I’m certain no one would think anything of this lesson or even remember I was part of it as his visual aid. But my skin is alight with every touch, every breath against my neck.
By the time the lesson is over, I’m a pile of goo, and would probably strip off every article of clothing right here in front of everyone if he asked me to.
He clears his throat and gives me a knowing smile that sends electricity shooting down my spine.
“Thank you, Miss Heaton,” he says, loud enough for everyone to hear. Some of the students clap lightly to express their thanks, and Ezra holds his arm out to guide me down the few steps back towards my seat. As I pass through the small crowd, I notice one of the women in the class make a face and fan herself to the friend sitting next to her.
Face flaming, I sit back down and focus on catching my breath, feeling both exposed and turned on. I’m so aroused, I can feel moisture pooling between my legs. The more I think about it, the worse I feel.
I’m a terrible, terrible person.
Later that evening, I meet Cal for a movie in the park. But I’m so distracted by the feelings I’ve been trying to deny all day, my aroused state makes it impossible to focus on the movie. Halfway through, I find myself leaning over to whisper in his ear.
“Take me home, Cal.”
Turning his head to look at me, his gaze locks on my eyes and then flits down to my body. His eyes rest on my cleavage, clearly visible from his vantage point. One of his big hands runs up my leg and rests on my waist, pulling me in for a scorching kiss. His hand runs up my back to hold the back of my neck, deepening the kiss, swallowing my quiet moans. My own hand travels up his thigh, pressing into the rapidly growing hardness straining his jeans.
When he pulls back, his pupils are blown, like a shark that has caught the scent of blood in the water. He looks around us, and then stands, pulling me up with him. I grab the basket of snacks and wine, and he grabs the blanket we were sitting on, holding it in front of his body to hide his erection. Taking my hand, he pulls me through the park, but instead of heading towards the parking lot, he walks casually into a dark trail entrance.
Both terrified and excited, I look behind us to see if anyone notices us disappearing into the shadows, but everyone seemsto be focused on the huge outdoor screen. Cal pulls me along a dark path, waiting until we’re far enough into the path to pull out his cellphone to use as a flashlight.
Silently, he leads me deeper into the wooded area, eventually turning off the path and into the trees and brush. Branches catch at my legs and the bottom of my dress.
