She was in one of the smaller classrooms, old-fashioned desks all crammed in together. It was a windowless and uninspired space; she always left the door open so a little natural light could stream in from the hallway. Of her forty-two students, only a handful were looking at her; the others had their heads turned toward the door.
“Anyone?” she prompted, her smile fading. She died a little inside when no one participated. Shakespeare was her favorite,Henry IV, Part Ia special favorite.
One of the girls in the front row, Jamie, pointed to the door.
Sam turned, and was struck dumb a moment as the past smacked into her. If he’d been breathtaking at fourteen, Aidan Teague at thirty-two was…she was without words.
It was the same picture, him leaning back against the wall, his hair wild, his jeans dirty, his cut too obvious. But in so many ways it was different – the lines on his face, the scars on his arms, the complete lack of mischief in his eyes.
She wet her lips. “Hi.”
He started to smile, and it caught a little. “I wanted to see if you wanted to get coffee or something.”
“Uh…” Her mind didn’t know how to process his request. He wanted to have coffee with her?He…wanted to have…coffee…withher. “Well…”
“Say yes,” one of the girls said in a stage whisper. “He’sgorgeous.”
Muffled laughter rippled through the students and Aidan glanced their way with an amused, proud little smirk.
Sam gathered herself with a firm internal reprimand. She was done with him, remember? She’d made that decision. And she was sticking to it.
“I’m teaching right now,” she said. “Class lets out in ten minutes, but my break isn’t very long.”
He shrugged. “That’s fine. Mind if I wait?”
“Let him wait,” Jamie said, smiling shyly.
Kyla Davies shoved her backpack off the empty desk beside her and patted it. “You can come sit here,” she said to Aidan, batting her eyelashes dramatically, drawing laughter from her classmates.
Aidan’s high cheekbones colored; Sam couldn’t remember him ever blushing, but he was for sure doing it now. “Thanks, but…” He dropped into the spare plastic chair beside her podium. “I’ll just park it here.”
Kyla groaned. “Aw, man…”
Hiding her smile poorly, Sam cleared her throat. “Just a few more minutes, guys. Let’s focus. Specifically, I want to talk about Hal’s swiftly changing attitude toward Falstaff, after that epic dialogue with his father…”
Habit and her ingrained understanding of the play were all that pushed her through the last ten minutes of lecture. The awareness of Aidan sitting beside her was like a fever, flaring beneath her skin, prickling up and down the back of neck, tightening the skin of her scalp until her hair felt too heavy. All the logic in the world couldn’t fight the physical pull of him.
It was senseless, she told herself. He probably wasn’t even that good in bed, and all her goosebumps and shivers were wasted on him.
Yeah right.
Either way, her head and her body were at odds with one another. Aidan was a mistake she’d stopped wanting to make. But her hands wanted to smooth up the rough texture of his scarred arms, and her mouth wanted to know the feel of his.
At a minute ‘til, the students started packing up, the rustle of their bags and papers drowning out her final thoughts.
“We’ll pick up Thursday talking about the battle, and move on toPart II,” she said, raising her voice. “Bye, guys, have a good afternoon.”
A few smiles and “bye, Miss Walton”s were thrown her way as the students filed out, but Aidan was the one earning all the attention, the curious glances, the winks, the stares, the slightly envious glares of a few of the boys. In Knoxville, it didn’t get much cooler than a Lean Dog. No matter how respectable, composed, and preppy a college boy, there was always that streak of envy when it came to the MC, that curiosity and fascination. What must it be like to be all James Dean and Steve McQueen in your leather and denim? Not giving a damn about anything?
Judging by the shadows under Aidan’s eyes, not as cool as outsiders might think.
“I don’t have time for coffee,” she said, turning to him when they were alone. “But we could walk down to the vending machines.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
As they stepped into the hall, he said, “So what were you talking to them about? What’s up with that Hal and Staffy guy?”
She suppressed a laugh. “Prince Hal and Falstaff? One was the Prince of Wales, and the other his drunken, degenerate, but clever friend. Not your cup of tea, I’m guessing.” She shot him a sideways glance and saw him frowning, his profile limned in midmorning light.
