College. Not high school, but college.
Why did hearing her say that make me want to squirm? The same reason my heart dropped when she thought I was just being nice for telling her she was special. This girl was beginning to have an effect on me.
If Wrenn had been a freshman in college when I was there, would I have . . . ?
It doesn't matter. God, why am I even thinking that? She's not in college, and I'm not back there, either. Besides, even if things were different, god knows I don’t do relationships.
I shouldn't have stayed. My intentions at first were completely innocent, and she'd given me no indication that she wanted anyone but someone to kill time with.
But the more I sat there, trying to watch that damn movie, the more my thoughts drifted to something more...inappropriate. Every shift she made on that damn seat next to me, every toss of her hair—sending another wave of her perfume my way—sent my mind into a spin. So many times I thought—fuck, I'd even hoped—that she was going to make a move. And as much as I wanted to invite her over to join me on the sofa, I kept thinking of how wrong it would be and I just couldn’t do it.
For the entire two hours and sixteen minutes of Rosemary's Baby, I had an internal battle, back and forth, of asking her to join me on the sofa, and then ripping myself apart in the debate of how I'd tell her we couldn't cross that line. My head was one big mess.
Being alone in her house while she was my student was a big fuck-up on my part, and I couldn’t let that happen again. What if someone had seen me? I’d be out of a job so fast I wouldn’t know what hit me, and I could kiss my entire career goodbye.
Besides, what the hell did I think was going to happen? How easy it had been to forget the real reason my friends had called me “Solitaire” in college: because I never spent more than one night with the same girl. I couldn’t do relationships. I’d never had one, and I probably wouldn’t—not anytime soon.
But she was different. And she had been through so much. I couldn’t deny there was a connection, not to myself. The sorrow I’d felt for her when she told me about losing her family—I’d so badly wanted to take all the pain away. That urge to protect her was going to get me into trouble. I had to be careful.
If I was being honest with myself, my career was the least of my worries when it came to Wrenn.
***
The week passed by uneventfully. I focused on my work and tried to minimize the number of creepy stares I sent Wrenn’s way during classes. Thank God most of them were when she had her head down, focusing on her work, or she’d have me up on a restraining order.
Paige and her snotty attitude toward Wrenn was beginning to irritate the hell out of me. Several times I had to bite back comments that would have been personal and downright nasty—not the way a teacher wants to react toward a student, but the way a man might protect his woman.
Wrenn, of course, handled Paige’s nastiness the same way she always did: by ignoring it and focusing on the things that were important to her. God, I admired her strength so much.
Memories of my own childhood were brought back, flashing through my head. Being picked on because of Dad’s disease had been frightening for a young kid. But even worse was the shame I felt for myself for asking him to drop me off around the corner from school, or to not attend my school events, all for fear of being picked on.
I will never erase the image of him on the day I told him I didn’t want him to come to my middle school graduation. The pain in his eyes would be something that would haunt me forever. All because a couple of assholes made fun of me because of his disability.
I’d broken his heart that day and I’d never forget how that felt.
***
The days seemed to be flying past, and by Friday afternoon I was at home, getting ready to head back over to the teacher’s lounge for a syllabus meeting. I decided to call Mom. I hadn’t spoken to her more than a week, and I knew she liked hearing from me regularly. Picking up the phone, I dialed her number.
“Dalton,” she said, sounding happy.
“Hey, Mom. How are you?” I asked, balancing the phone in the nook of my shoulder as I buttoned up my shirt.
“I’m good, honey. Just leaving work now. How’s the job going? Are you enjoying it? I hope everyone is being nice to you.”
“Work’s fine, Mom, and yes, everyone is great,” I chuckled. All she needed to know was I was fine and happy. She didn’t need the full, drawn-out story.
“Good. I told Layna to keep an eye on you, you know.”
“I’m aware of that, Mom,” I replied, amused.
“I worry about you. That will never stop, you know that. Especially when we don’t know—”
“Mom, I’m fine. Stop worrying about me,” I said, cutting her off. “I have to go, but I’ll call you soon, okay? I love you.”
“Love you too, honey.”
I hung up.