Lesson Learned {Student Teacher Romance}

Chapter 5

As Mr. Benedict goes on, I become mesmerized by his mouth. His berry-colored bottom lip is slightly larger than the top, which is far sexier to think about than Shakespeare's work. 

My eyes keep roaming to explore the plains of his muscular chest. He's lean but built beneath the European cut of his sweater. 

And it's super-duper cute when his stormy eyes barely conceal the joy he takes in talking about the written word.

By the time class is over I've memorized the way his hair flops in his eyes before he reaches up to push it back. 

I've got a few notes scribbled down for the essay I'm supposed to write this weekend, I only hope they make sense later.

"Thanks for taking the bullet," Keira says as we gather up our things to shove in our bags.

"No problem, it wasn't a big deal," I duck my head and try not to blush all over again.

"You know, we should hang out," she eyes me with a smile. "You're cool."

"I've been called a lot of things," I joke, avoiding the awkward conversation that is my life schedule. "But cool isn't one of them."

I'd love to hang out with Keira. Heck, I'd love the freedom to hang out with Keira and talk about fashion or school, or anything really, but then life creeps in. 

It's always a conversation killer when someone finds out I'm a high school dropout that lives with my addict mom in a trailer park.

"We should grab a coffee," she suggests lightly as we zip up our raincoats.

"Sure," I answer with a warm smile. "That would be great."

"What's your cell?" Keira asks pulling out the latest iPhone and swiping across the screen with her thumb.

I give her my number as we push through the door out into the drizzly Washington weather, dreading the day I have to make up excuses to push her away.

She seems really nice and down to earth, but I've gone down this road before and it always ends the same. 

Eventually, they find out the complications that come with being my friend, and they quietly distance themselves before they get too tangled up in the drama. I don't blame them.

Shivering like a hairless chihuahua at one of the campus bus stops, I settle in for a soggy wait. 

Cars pass by spraying up a mist of muddy water that I do my best to avoid while warming my seat on the covered bench. 

I've got fifteen minutes until my bus shows up, assuming it's on time.

In my peripheral vision, I can see a silver or white car slow down as it's about to pass by. It's a late model of some sort, boxy and classic, but it's hard to make out under the orange overhead lamp and the misting rain that's coating my eyelashes.

The car stops and rolls back a few feet until I'm at eye-level with the driver's window. 

The tinted glass disappears into the door to reveal Mr. Benedict's elegant features stitched with concern.

Whatever sense of humor the Universe has is cruel.

"Are you going to be alright out here?" He asks.

"I'm fine," I lie and force a smile. "It's a little damp, but I've seen worse."

"When is your bus coming?" He presses as another car rolls up behind him.

"Soon," I promise, trying to sound more confident than I really am in the city bus system.

"Maybe you should-" Whatever he's about to suggest is cut off by the sound of a horn.

The car behind him obviously doesn't approve of our conversation. 

Without missing a beat, Mr. Benedict sticks his arm out into the rain to signal the vehicle to go around him.

"Do you want to wait in my car until your bus arrives?" He finishes as the other driver swerves around.

While trying to make his point, the other car revs its engine, sending a zealous wave of mud-water to soak me. 

In a humiliating flash, I'm dripping wet and looking all the more pathetic.

Thank you, Universe.

Just as I'm about to accept Mr. Benedict's offer, my bus rolls up and its headlights force me to shield my eyes against the glare.

"Oop! That's my bus," I wave him off and head for my ride. "Night Mr. Benedict!"

Mr. Benedict's surprising kindness clings in my memory like the muddy water soaking my clothes. I can't get the puzzled (and slightly piteous) look in his eyes out of my head. 

Staring out at the watery streets rushing by outside I picture what it would have been like to climb into his car. 

Would it be awkward to sit next to the man I find so intimidatingly attractive? Or would his eyes flash playfully as we talked about our favorite books like friends?

I'm still wondering what it would be like to have a casual conversation with Mr. Benedict, and what the interior of his car smells like when I hop in the shower to wash the chill out of my bones.

While drying my hair, I tried to focus on more important topics, like my dress for this Friday.