52. Preston
CHAPTER 52
PRESTON
Monday afternoon finds me nestled behind my desk in my tiny, cluttered office, wading through an endless stream of emails from disgruntled students. Among the sea of messages, one from “Silver Spoon Single Serve” stands out, its subject line shouting, "I have a client I know would be perfect for you!” My interest is nonexistent; I've no desire to entertain thoughts of other women. One woman already commands my heart and soul entirely, and it's a complicated situation since she’s my goddamn student.
Throughout the week, my fingertip grows intimately acquainted with the delete button, tirelessly erasing every email from the relentless matchmaker, while my mind is a whirlwind of complex emotions concerning Megan. I’ve seen the way she looks at me in class and know she feels the same way. She ignites something deeply primal within me, a spark I can't ignore.
Her smile, adorned with those irresistible dimples, sends my heart into a wild, erratic rhythm each time our eyes meet. Her curvaceous figure exudes a raw, captivating allure that perfectly complements her striking face, demanding attention with every glance. Her sharp, perceptive hazel eyes draw me in, their gaze piercing right through to my soul, leaving me vulnerable and buzzing with a thrilling surge of adrenaline.
Friday night, I find myself settled on my back patio, the chill of a cold beer seeping into my hand as I grip it tightly. The horizon before me is a canvas of deepening shades, the sky transitioning from twilight to night.
My eyes wander to my phone, where yet another email from the ever-persistent matchmaker waits. My gaze lingers on the message, and with a resigned sigh, I steady my hand to type out my decision to decline. It isn’t long before another email pings through, the matchmaker promising, "You won’t be disappointed. This will be the most exciting date of your life."
A small flicker of curiosity ignites within me. Could it possibly be Megan? My fingers move swiftly across the screen as I send a query back, asking if this is a student of mine. The response is almost instantaneous: a teasing "Maybe."
Damn. Deep down, I feel certain it's Megan, and that certainty propels me to agree to the date. I can't fathom what I'll do if it turns out to be someone else, but I’ll cross that bridge if it comes to it.
I type out my acceptance, and the reply is immediate: "Tomorrow night. I’ll send you the details a little later."
A surge of excitement washes over me like a powerful wave crashing against the shore. It's time to make my sweet girl, mine.
Saturday night, I pull into the gravel parking lot of the Midnight Scares, mentally rehearsing my plan to win over Megan. The crisp autumn air nips at my cheeks as I make my way down the dimly lit walkway, scanning the crowd for the tall skeleton statue where my blind date is supposed to meet me.
As I approach the statue, I catch sight of a short brunette out of the corner of my eye. A second later, her gaze locks with mine, and hunger strikes me like a bolt of lightning. My heart skips a beat as the shock evident on her face reveals she had no idea I’d be her date.
She’s adorned in a long, breezy dress that dances with the slightest whisper of the wind, offering tantalizing glimpses of the curves elegantly hidden beneath as she strides toward me, her eyes set with a certainty that echoes my own. At that moment, I know this is exactly where we’re supposed to be.
The silence between us is thick as I stride toward her, my foot nudging aside a discarded newspaper. Her breath hangs in the cold air, mirroring my own, though I don't let my nerves show.
As I get closer to Megan, she hesitates, fiddling with her bag strap, shifting her weight. “Professor Caldwell, I can’t believe it’s you.” Apprehension flashes across her gorgeous face. “I'm sorry to waste your time,” she adds, taking a step back.
No goddamn way. She's not slipping away from me. I'm kind of annoyed she was actually going on a date with another guy. But then I snap out of it and remind myself she doesn't know how I feel. "You're not wasting my time. Tonight, I'm just Preston, and you're the stunning woman I'm hanging out with," I say, unable to hide how relieved I am that she's not ditching me. I thought I was ready for anything tonight, but I was wrong.
"This is a bad idea. You're my professor," she says like she's trying to convince herself. Then her voice drops to a whisper. "Aren't you worried someone might see us?"
I probably should be, but my job doesn't matter compared to how I feel about her. Her hazel eyes are full of questions I want to spend the night answering, and that makes everything else disappear. "I don't fucking care," I say like it sums it all up. And in a way, it does. Nothing else matters except Megan.
I've imagined this moment a thousand times since I replied to that email. But it was never Megan in those thoughts. It was always a stranger, some mystery girl who couldn’t hold a candle to her. All the tension I've felt for months fades away, replaced by something way stronger. Fuck it. I’m tired of fighting my feelings for her. The universe dropped her right in my lap and I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep her.
"So, do you feel like a walking ghost tour?" she asks, her voice light and unsure.
I tilt my head. "Let's do it."
It doesn’t take me long to realize she's already embedded within every molecule that makes up my body. This is exactly what it should feel like, exactly what I once convinced myself it could never be. The night air crackles with anticipation. Each dimly lit alley we slip into feels like a direct path to the secret we no longer wish to keep hidden.
"This is so much fun," she exclaims, her voice bubbling with excitement as we navigate the dark, winding path. The moonlit trail twists and turns, shrouded in shadows that dance playfully with the flickering light from our torches. I grasp her soft, delicate hand tightly with my own, feeling the warmth of her skin against mine, while in my other hand, the ghost map is crumpled, its edges worn from our journey. The paranormal meter in Megan's hand buzzes erratically, its lights flickering like fireflies caught in a gentle breeze, casting an eerie glow that guides our way.
Before I can even think it through, I lean in and crash my lips against hers, feeling the raw heat and urgency that wraps around me like a tight, unyielding grip. My mind empties as her taste hits me hard, a surge of emotions and sensations slamming into me, leaving me breathless and utterly trapped in the intensity of the moment.