Tempting Teacher (The Pierce Family)

Every morning is the same. For a second, I savor the comfort of the sheets, the safety of the bed. For a second, I believe everything is normal.

Then I remember.

After I drag myself out of bed, I fall into my morning routine and head straight to class.

Students look at me with tired, uncertain eyes. They don't know me or trust me or believe the vague messages from the school about Raul's death.

Do any of them suspect the truth?

Did any of them see the signs?

The world is different than it was when I was in school. People know more about mental health. People talk about depression. People talk about suicide.

Not the way my mother does, clinging to ideals of honor—

Not the way my brothers do, rejecting her beliefs—

With respect for struggle and intense belief in saving lives.

They're more enlightened. But they're still young and myopic. Do they realize this can strike anyone, at any age, at any time? Or are they as foolish as I was?

I'm hopelessly out of place here. Too old, too out of touch, not experienced as a teacher.

But we are aligned in one way: we appreciate Raul.

"Good morning." I don't know where to start, so I start at the beginning. "I'm Professor Morrison. Professor Barba passed away a few weeks ago. I'm his official replacement, but I won't truly replace him. No one could."

The room stays silent.

"I'm sorry you've lost the professor. He was a great man, a great friend, and I'm sure, a great teacher. I will do my best to fill his shoes, but I'm sure you'd all prefer your first semester with him." I set the stack of papers on the desk of the student in the front-left corner. "The syllabus. Everything you need is on here. If you have any questions, see me after class. Please, pass these out."

The student nods sure thing. "Professor Morrison?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry for your loss."

My heart almost breaks again. My calm facade too. Kindness is too much to take these days. Especially from a stranger who was in my late best friend's class. "Thank you." I barely find my footing. "Let's have a moment, for Raul. Professor Barba. Then we can move on." I give him a full minute, an eternity in a room full of strangers, but not nearly long enough.

Then I begin.

Class moves quickly. I barely cover the necessary material.

"The reading assignment is in your syllabus and online," I say. "Any question, come by office hours."

Students pack their bags and file out of the doors in a chaotic fashion.

One by one, they move into the busy hallway, leaving the slow students and the ones who want to ask questions.

I answer one by one. Until a familiar voice greets me. "Professor Morrison."

And I see her.

The girl who spent the night in my bed.

Opal.

She's just as beautiful in jeans and a loose pink sweater. More even.

She waits for the last student to leave the room, then she trains her deep blue eyes on me. "I think we need to talk."

Chapter Six

MAX

There are many things I'm capable of doing.

Working sixteen hours straight, running an eight-minute mile, making a woman come.

Resisting dirty thoughts of Opal?

Not so much.

But they're my thoughts. Any awkwardness I feel around Opal is mine. She trusted me last weekend. I won't betray that.

"Is this why you left early?" She presses her lips together. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business."

"We're both adults."

"I lost my brother two years ago. I lost my mom two years before that. I know how hard this is. I'm sorry you lost your friend."

Kindness from Opal is far too much. I nearly melt on the spot. "Thank you."

"I don't want to make that harder but I… I really liked this class," she says.

"It's not a problem."

Incredulity fills her blue eyes. "It's not?"

"I didn't accept the position until yesterday."

"And you didn't know my last name. So how could you know?"

It's true, but it's not fair. I knew she was young. I knew it was within the realm of possibility. "It was one night. That's all. I can pretend it didn't happen."

"You can?"

"If you can."

"Sure… I, uh, well… I can't promise I won't think about it, but I'll do my best to keep it out of class."

She thinks about me.

It shouldn't move me, but it does.

"That isn't a problem," I say. "As far as I'm concerned, you're another student, one I met today."

"Okay." She plays with her backpack straps. In her normal college girl clothes, she looks impossibly young, small, in need of protection.

She isn't small—she's only a few inches shorter than I am in flat shoes—but she still radiates vulnerability.

She's still sunshine.

I still want to capture all her light.

I vowed to protect her on Saturday. I stand by that vow.

"If you aren't comfortable, I understand," I say. "I can help you find another class. Transfer."