16. Nathan
sixteen
I haven’t gottena single productive thing done since I sat down at my desk this morning.
I work in a middle school, and this is the strangest thing that has happened to me all week.
I thrive on order and structure. I have a morning to-do list that gets completed before most of my staff has walked through the front doors, and yet, here it sits, untouched, while the rest of the school is through almost two full class periods. And I have done nothing but stare at the tube that was on my desk when I arrived.
I know it’s makeup. There is nothing inherently baffling about it.
And yet, since last night, it feels as if my brain were thrown into a waffle maker, and just when things were settling down, someone flipped me.
That someone being Claire Benson.
There was a note attached to the gift, written in neat, loopy handwriting, that I have traced no less than one hundred times.
Just in case.
-C
We won’t talk about the way I traced the curve of that C like it was the curve of her Cheshire smile standing before my cock. We also won’t talk about the way I had my hand wrapped around myself before I even had my shoes kicked off after I arrived home last night. I came twice—twice—in the shower, picturing her in too many ways to be considered polite. I thought I’d gotten it out of my system, but the moment I saw her car in the parking lot, my skin heated, and the moment I saw the package on my desk, I was half hard again.
In your office, Harding. Get it together.
The sad fact is, I don’t even need her gift.
The excuse I would’ve been able to make to see her, to walk down and show her that I used the gift she’d gotten me, is out the window. Her ice pack must’ve done the trick, because all that was left from my run-in with the door frame was a slight red hue.
Now you’re wishing for a bruise? Pull yourself together.
The ring of the bell snaps me from my trance—Claire’s fingertips on my skin and the way her cheeks turn the sweetest shades of the color wheel—and I have to will myself back into a modicum of professionalism because now that it’s third period, Claire is on her prep, and she has so graciously allotted it to working beside Lucy and me on this mentorship program. We are going to spend the next forty or so minutes together, and I have to pull it together.
“Lucy had an emergency meeting with a student. Do you mind if it’s just you and me, or would you rather reschedule?”
My body prickles with awareness, both at her presence, and at the new news that I will have her all to myself.
“I don’t mind. Please, take a seat.”
I hope she doesn’t notice how gravelly my words ring out.
“Door open or closed?”
“Closed.”
Claire takes a seat and opens her school-issued laptop. We spend the first chunk of our meeting fine-tuning the mentorship program, the credentials for a student to enter, and how teachers can request a meeting with the team. Once we finally come up for air, I’m proud of what she has helped our building to accomplish in just six short weeks. Despite the fact that I hate being in an administrator’s seat, I am glad that right now, I’m making a difference for students—the reason I got into this profession in the first place.
“I think this is a good stopping point for today,” I say, rolling some of the tension off my shoulders as I sit back from being hunched over my keyboard.
Claire nods. “I can update Lucy later. I’m sure she’ll want to go over what we finalized. If you guys want to make any tweaks, go for it. This is my passion project, but it’s your school.”
“It’s yours, too,” I insist. “Being a substitute doesn’t make you any less valuable.”
“Thanks,” she answers sheepishly. Claire tucks her hair behind her ears to fidget, and my fingers itch to get to do that instead. And just like at the bar, I also itch to keep talking to her.
“Have you ever considered working in the classroom? There are several programs to expedite a teaching license if you already have a degree, and you’re clearly a good fit.”
Sticking to neutral topics allows me to double dip—I get to keep her here, keep her talking to me about her dreams, but within the boundaries of work.
We aren’t technically breaking any rules.
She laughs, this light airy sound that makes my chest expand like a balloon.
“Oh, I don’t ever see myself teaching content. But I…” She inhales, exhales, and when her blue eyes land on mine, I can almost see to the depths of her. “Lucy mentioned social work. I’ve kind of started looking into it. I don’t know. It could be a good fit for me, I think.”
She shrugs, just like she did last night, when she’d so casually decided that putting her needs above her siblings’ wasn’t worthy.
“You would make a fantastic social worker,” I say, with added gusto. Anything to make this girl believe that her potential reaches beyond the cage of her family. “I’m sure Lucy would be a great resource for finding a program. She’s working on her Master’s now.”
Claire nods, and a hint of a smile returns.
“What about you? Why’d you leave teaching?”
Here it is. The red carpet of opportunity rolled out at my feet. The last time, Sam and Aaron had been in my office, offering me a taste of friendship. This time feels different. More significant, somehow. Because Claire Benson is not my friend. She is my subordinate. But then, she’s got her manicured nails slowly digging their way deeper and deeper. The more we toe this line, the more I begin to fear how far I am into the deep end.
So why do I give in? Why do I lean over that line of boss and employee and let my chest crack open for her?
“I miss it,” I choke out, fully not expecting the bubble of emotion to swell in my chest and seep into my words. “If I didn’t need the extra income, I don’t think I would have made the jump.”
That admission makes my chest a full ton lighter, but spikes the temperature in this small office up to a thousand. Claire and I have been spilling our secrets left and right, little by little. I can’t find it in myself to want that to end when her eyes are my soft place to land.
“I can see you being that teacher that had high expectations, but that everyone loved. You probably pushed your students to be the best because you knew what they were capable of—and they believed more in themselves because of it.”
I could walk out of this office right now, walk back into the classroom right now, because in a span of a few minutes, this woman has reached into the depths of my soul that I decided to bury the moment I sacrificed my own wants to save what was left of my parents.
“Thank you.”
It comes out of me in a choked kind of desperation. She nods, then lifts the corners of her smile.
“Of course, you probably didn’t even let them watch movies, right?”
I scoff.
“We watched several documentaries.”
“But you taught American history! You can’t tell me they didn’t at least get to watch Liberty’s Kids. It was a cult classic!”
I shake my head, laughing. Laughing, despite my soul being tugged from my chest and splayed out smoothly with her hands.
The bell rings, and I both loathe and long for it. If I spend any more time here in these free moments with her, I just might free fall without a parachute. And still, as she reaches my office door, I can’t help myself.
“Claire.” She stops and turns, her smile like a beacon. “Don’t paint yourself into a corner.”
Awareness paints her features, and I see something like determination settle over her.
“I won’t if you won’t.”
It’s a challenge that I would have never taken, until it fell from her lips. Something turns in my chest, and for the first time in a long time, I’m not intimidated.