I’d wanted to invite him in, which was so unlike me that I’d actually laughed a little hysterically when I’d asked him. To my infinite surprise, he’d gently rejected me, kissed me again so thoroughly it had taken the sting out of it and then told me he wanted to take things slow.
I didn’t know bikers had a slow function but I was curious enough about him and nervous enough about satisfying him, to agree.
Now, he stood before me, clearly trying to surprise me at work like some kind of superstar boyfriend. So, of course, I was teasing him.
“I’m Kyle Garro,” he said, which seemed bizarre because I very obviously already knew him.
Something about his abbreviated name sparked in the back of my mind but I was too distracted by the slightly defeated angle of his smile to figure it out.
I watched as he reached into an open backpack at his feet and retrieved papers. My pulse fluttered manically in my throat as he crossed to me, stopping close enough to touch. The scent of laundry and clean, male sweat made me woozy so it took a moment for me to realize he was holding out the papers to me.
“King?” I asked dumbly as I took the papers and realized what they were. “Are you kidding me?”
His smile tightened. He shoved his hands into the wrinkled pockets of his uniform trousers and shrugged somewhat sheepishly. “Nah. I’m King Kyle Garro, your new student.”
“No,” I bit out.
“Yeup,” he said, rocking back on his heels.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.
I’d sucked face with a student.
I’d let a child make love to my mouth the way most women never let any man take them, ever.
Oh my God. Oh my God.
“Oh my God,” I whispered.
The class laughed and Benito, my class aide, rushed forward to give King his new textbooks and show him to his seat. I watched dumbly as he chose between one of two empty seats but I knew before he was offered which one he would choose, front row, dead center in front of my desk.
A whimper rose in the back of my throat but I swallowed it.
“Are you okay, Mrs. Irons?” Aimee asked sweetly.
I was still reeling from the shock of having King as a student in my class but I’d had years of practicing my façade and I was more than capable of containing my freak out until later.
“Yes, thank you, Aimee. Well, I’m sorry about that disruption, class. What were we talking about?” I prompted them.
“How hot Satan is!” A few of the girls shouted.
I laughed with my students but I could feel the blush stain the exposed skin at my throat and collarbones. Though I didn’t look at him, I could feel King’s gaze like a hot brand on my face.
How could he have forgotten to tell me he was only eighteen bloody years old? Had he known he was my student? Was this all some horrible joke that he and his teenage friends had decided to play on the older teacher?
Mortification poured over me like hot lead, burning my eyes, choking me as it spilled down my throat.
“Satan is the villain of Paradise Lost,” Benito explained helpfully to our new student.
His voice was higher than normal, which led me to believe that Benny liked King just as much as I did. He wasn’t out of the closet yet but he’d given me the privilege of being ‘in’ on his secret and nothing, not even William’s marriage proposal, had ever made me feel more honored.
“Is he, though?” I asked, shaking off my thoughts to indulge in a teaching moment. “Or is he the anti-hero? Can anyone tell me what I mean by that?”
“A character that assumes the guise and most of the characteristics typical of villainy but throughout the narrative, the reader develops empathy for him or her,” King drawled.
I forced myself to look at him. He sat sprawled in his chair exactly like a typical indolent teenager, but the sharp edge in his diamond bright eyes undercut his youth, gave it a weight and somberness that made me feel less skeevy about previously believing he was an actual adult.
“Correct,” I said, after clearing my throat. “Characters like that have been attractive to readers for generations. Nothing is so black and white, just as Hester in The Scarlet Letter, Mr. Darcy in Pride & Prejudice and Jay Gatsby in The Great Gatsby. These are deeply flawed characters that we still found ourselves aspiring to be. Why is that?”
“We’re complicated,” King said again without raising his hand. “People judge everyone based on shallow crap: how hot they are, how rich and academically accomplished. It’s bullshit, because at the end of the day, the one thing everyone can relate to is the grind to get to that place. We all suffer, we all fucking grieve and sin every damn day. It’s that dark stuff that makes those characters real to us.”