An Endless Serenade

Chapter Eleven

I shifted on my feet, suddenly uncomfortable. Was that how Paul felt too? A wave of guilt washed through me. I'd been a jerk for no reason.

"A-anyway," Mr. Tucker continued, clearing his throat, clearly embarrassed by his words. "Did you catch anyone?"

"Only you," I said unhelpfully.

His eyebrows furrowed. "Maybe she's decided to quit...?"

"So you believe me when I say it's Olivia?" I asked, hope swelling up inside me.

"Yeah. You sound pretty positive to me so I won't doubt you."

"Thank you," I breathed, offering him a warm smile. At least someone believed me wholeheartedly. Paul, I thought bitterly. Why wouldn't Paul believe me while Mr. Tucker did? I'd only known Mr. Tucker for a little over two months; Paul basically my whole life. And yet he wouldn't believe me?

Well, whatever. It didn't matter. At least Mr. Tucker believed me, even though I had no solid proof. Friends were supposed to believe in each other. An overwhelming affection toward him rushed through me at that thought. Even though we'd only known each other a short time, he believed in me more than Paul did.

"Allie?" His eyebrows furrowed in concern at my sudden silence.

"I was hoping to catch her today," I spoke, pulling myself out of my thoughts.

Shrugging, Mr. Tucker started walking away. I followed after him. "You never know," he began, a hint of amusement in his tone. "Maybe she gave up. Too intimated by your skill and charm."

"Charm?" I echoed. "What charm?"

"I think you have plenty of charm," he continued, throwing a smile at me. "More than her, at least." Then he scratched the back of his head, something I noticed he did when he was nervous. It was cute.

Once again, I found myself smiling back at him. Now I understood how the other student's had fallen for him. Even though he was much older than them. Only four years, a very unhelpful, but very correct, voice pointed out. "Thanks, Mr. Tucker."

Without warning, he came to an abrupt stop, heaving a sigh. "Allie."

Unprepared for his stop, I bumped into him, my nose tingling as it smashed against his firm back. Fit for a soccer coach. "What?" I demanded.

"How many times have I asked you to call me Kyle?" he asked, turning around to face me.

My voice caught in my throat at our proximity. In this position, I'd only have to lean forward an inch (and stand on my tiptoes) to kiss him. Mentally, I slapped myself. No matter how handsome and kind he was, he was still a teacher. "I... uh..." Teacher or not, it was hard to think straight this close to him.

A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, his eyes playful and mischievous. "Well, whatever. You can call me anything that makes you comfortable."

"Maybe Kyle, if we were closer," I told him; surprised I'd been able to make a coherent sentence.

"Aren't we close enough?" he responded, raising an eyebrow.

Abruptly, I felt like I wasn't in control of my actions. Maybe it was the intoxicating scent of his cologne, or my lack of sleep. "Just a little closer..."

And then I kissed him.

Well, almost. I thought I was going to kiss him, but I came to my senses just in time, stopping my head when it was barely two inches away from his face. Still, there was the little problem of the proximity of our faces. It was pretty obvious about what I planned to do.